Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the dark, time disappeared.

Seconds slipped by; minutes wasted away.

Draco rolled from right to left, flipped from his stomach to his back, kicked the covers off then brought them back to his neck.

He couldn't sleep.

He stared at the ceiling. Talked to himself.

Cursed. Counted. Recited pi from memory.

Some hours stretched. Others dragged on like centuries.

When his patience grew thin, Draco tried to summon dreams with his eyes open.

Nothing came. But the darkness remained. It was, at least, comforting in its familiarity.

And terrifying.

The darkness crept in every night without notice, stretching in the space and filling the wrinkles of time.

Darkness was also the source of Draco's boredom.

"Will I sleep tonight?" he asked the empty room.

The darkness didn't answer.

It never did.

Draco turned over again, then again, pushing the covers down in a futile attempt to find comfort.

By the strictest definition of the word, he slept every night. Sometimes he even dreamed.

But years of chronic insomnia meant it was never enough. It started as a manifestation of guilt. His ability to sleep had been yet another victim in a long list of casualties of the war. Years later, it was just another part of life. Draco had adapted and learned to manage while quietly suffering through endless bouts of nocturnal thoughts and anxieties.

Despite the massive mountain of guilt and regret weighing him down, he coped. Well enough, at least, to sustain on the bare minimum and maintain the illusion of a well-adjusted adult.

Mostly.

As it was, slivers of colour crawled along the treeline, signalling the end of another restless night.

Draco wasn't sleepy.

He was tired. But of what, he wasn't sure.

Breakfast was always an indulgent affair filled with Mother's latest culinary fancies.

Too bright. Too much food. Too many aromas.

Draco didn't eat like the boy he once was, but he knew compliance was better than enduring passive-aggressive Floo calls where she lamented about being a footnote in his life.

"In some countries it is a crime to not visit one's parents. Did you know that?"

Draco was fully aware this was a trap.

It was not the first, nor would it be his last.

Adorned in plum robes fitting for the cold January morning, a regal aura radiated from his mother.

"How wonderful it is to see you, darling."

"You knew I was coming."

"That does not make it any less wonderful." After accepting his air kiss, Mother gave him a once-over and shook her head in mild disappointment, "Your eyes are tired, darling. You are not sleeping, are you?"

"I am."

This was an intermix of lie and truth.

She clearly didn't believe him, but didn't argue.

Instead, Mother did what she did best—put on a show. "I had all your favourites prepared."

Ignoring the array of robust cheeses, fresh pastries, cold fruits, sauteed vegetables, and variety of eggs and meats, Draco asked the house-elf for his usual: toast and jam with coffee.

Lifting her eyes above the book she was pretending to read, Mother squinted her judgement and turned the page with a flourish. "Not even a cheese danish? But it's your favourite."

It smelled delicious, but Draco knew a bad choice when he saw one. He had a voracious sweet tooth, and it never allowed him to stop at just one. He'd regret his life choices in an hour and that wouldn't do. He had an important meeting today with Saul Croaker, Head of the Department of Mysteries.

Draco has been selected for a secret intradepartmental project; the first in his entire career.

He was eager to get started.

Croaker was a no-nonsense man, who protected the secrets of the Department of Mysteries from Voldemort himself. Every step was earned; there were no favours and he meant that. As someone who was born expecting to be given the world, his climb to Head Keeper in the Brain Room had been a gruelling trek of hard work with long hours and more setbacks than successes.

It had been humbling, and Draco had earned his position, no matter what rumours said. He'd published articles, made discoveries that expanded what they knew about the brain, and had once nearly died trying to protect his work—and everyone on his team.

Yet, he still wasn't number one.

As always, that spot belonged to Granger, Keeper of the Time Room.

Apparently training the brains to synchronise swim around their murky tanks without attacking anyone wasn't nearly as impressive as the creation of a Time Turner from the broken pieces of old scraps.

Which was… fair.

Draco loved his work as much as the next ambitious sod, but he was ready to climb higher.

Like the Undersecretary position. Then beyond.

But first, this project.

And before that, surviving breakfast.

"Where is Father?" Draco gestured to the empty seat.

"He has already eaten and is on his morning walk," Mother replied.

"You mean he's caring for his prized possessions."

Peacocks.

Rare award-winning, white peacocks.

Draco never thought it was possible for his father to give a damn about any creature, including nearly all the humans they knew.

White peacocks had been living on the grounds all his life, but he'd been fixated on breeding them since the war ended ten years ago. At first it was a means to occupy his time while under house arrest, but now they were one of many expensive passions that kept him fulfilled. Although Draco was grateful they kept Father somewhat distracted, he hated those fucking genetic tragedies. They were loud, aggressive, and he'd ruined too many shoes stepping on their shite while running for his life.

Draco's lip curled. "Bloody chickens."

"I cannot believe you still hold resentment towards pheasants."

Why Mother was surprised, he'd never know. Draco had always been petty enough to plot out several scenarios that ended with his father's pests being fed to a different mythical creature.

Today's vision featured a Nundu.

"They'll be sorry," Draco muttered.

Mother's brow arched in question, but the arrival of his food ceased all conversation. After spreading a thin layer of strawberry preserves on his toast, Draco quickly downed his coffee, complete with enough cream and sugar to rival the sweet treat he secretly enjoyed. When his plate was empty, he began to make excuses, but stopped when Mother placed her book on the table.

Time to spring her trap.

"I invited Astoria today, but she continues to make excuses."

One of her many talents.

"She's busy."

This was a partial lie.

Astoria avoided his mother like one would a hazard to their health. Sinking behind sofas, hiding behind sculptures, or disillusioning herself to blend into her surroundings like a chameleon.

Draco couldn't deny Astoria's creativity.

"Too busy to meet with her future mother-in-law to discuss wedding plans?" Mother's irritation was audible. She smoothed down her robes. "One might think she were—"

"With the state of the world and destruction of many natural habitats all over it, Magizoologists never rest."

Tapping a manicured fingernail on the polished dining table, his mother eyed him. "You are making excuses for her and dawdling, Draco. You both are."

"So what if we are? There's no rush."

"It is not uncommon for people to have fears about marriage, but sometimes we must face them head on." His mother's haughty, put on empathy aggravated him. "This betrothal contract is now seven years old and there is no end in sight. You both have been dragging this out with the excuse that you desire careers, but it is time to put such silly things aside and fulfil the contract."

"Glad that you think the career I've worked so hard to establish is silly." Draco scoffed.

Realising her mistake, she backtracked. "You know that is not what I mean. I just want you to be happy. Are you not tired of the chastity agreement?"

He shrugged. "I hardly think about it."

Thoughts of bedding Astoria on their wedding night made him want to launch his brain into the sun. Possibly his body, too.

"Get married, Draco. Focus on what is important and continue the family line."

"And this is my cue." He stood and smoothed the front of his black Unspeakable robes. "While this has been a…thrilling breakfast, I need to go or I'll be late for my silly meeting regarding my silly career."

"Draco—"

"Goodbye, Mother."

Her comments hadn't upset him, he was used to them, but a dramatic exit would leave her feeling guilty. Not forever, but it should last a few weeks.

The things Draco would do for a guilt-free existence.

"Give Father my best."

After stretching out on the sofa, Draco crossed his legs, brought his hands behind his head, and bathed in the gentle glow of artificial light.

The office's faint lavender scent had been overpowered by the fresh croissant he'd delivered to Daphne as a favour. Classical music poured from the wireless, something overplayed and utterly generic that made decent background noise.

"As a reminder, I'm not a therapist." Daphne's low drawl came from her desk across the office where she was busy reviewing reports of magical activity in the area.

"But thanks to you, I've had so many breakthroughs."

"That you've willfully ignored," she replied dryly. "You do have other people to talk to besides me."

"Yes but you know all the relevant secrets."

Not all. Strange as it was, Draco felt compelled to keep his insomnia close to his chest.

"Everything I know about you I've learned against my will. Now get off of my couch, you cretin. Everyone refuses to sit there because they say it reeks of entitlement and generational wealth."

"Ah, yes, my cologne." And a deterrent charm he'd set ages ago to mark his territory. But she didn't need to know that either. "I'll buy you another sofa."

Daphne was quiet for a moment. "And new chairs."

"Done."

There was a light crinkle of parchment paper when she picked up the croissant before she fell silent, then moaned. "Greg has ruined me for anyone's baking."

Draco snorted knowingly, but kept his mouth shut.

He was very skilled at minding his own business.

"My parents are irritated again." Daphne flipped through parchment after parchment as she continued to work. "What has my wonderful sister done this time?"

"Nothing, we're pushing back wedding plans."

"Again?"

Draco gave a noncommittal hum.

Daphne was painfully calm, which meant she was highly irritated. "Still waiting for you to tell her to fuck off. I love Tori, I'm proud of her for being who she is and working towards her own happiness, but I don't think she's being fair by asking you to put your life on hold while she gets hers together."

"Believe it or not, I'm fine with this plan." Draco's arrogant smirk was for naught; Daphne didn't even look at him. "I might as well take my time to pursue my dreams before I marry, become a philanthropist, and give my mother the grandchildren she so desperately desires."

Daphne was quiet so long he almost looked to make sure she hadn't left.

"And what about what you want?" The question was soft, without rancour. She genuinely wanted to know.

"What about it?"

"You're letting your family dictate your life."

"It's easier to marry someone they want versus living like Blaise, always fighting with his mother about everything, including marriage. Or like Millicent, who was kicked out because she married that wizard from the States. And, of course, let's not forget Theo."

"At least they're all happy," she argued. "They're fighting for what they want. You're emotionally lazy."

"Actually," Draco drawled, exhaling and letting his body relax. "I'm both low effort and high maintenance."

Daphne barked out a dry laugh and the sound of sifting parchment stilled. "Are you listening to yourself right now?"

"I listen to myself all the time, but I'm ignoring you. Maybe by the time Astoria raises enough money to buy out the contract, I'll actually reach my career goals and be ready to settle down. It's a win-win for everyone."

"That you can't see everything you're missing out on due to the fact that you're willingly in this sham of an engagement is sad. Might I add, she's not missing out on anything."

Draco tensed and opened his eyes, his focus on the ceiling. "If you're talking about shagging, I'm not missing out on anything worthwhile."

"Not only am I not talking about shagging," Daphne snapped, spewing so much exasperation it was ruining his peaceful moment. "I'm too busy doing my actual job to sit you down and force you to see the truth."

"Some truths are only true for you because you believe them."

"Touché, Draco." The click of Daphne's heels on the hardwood floor was foreboding.

She appeared in his line of sight—loosely curled blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, and maroon lipstick. Beautiful in a way that he could acknowledge, but not enough to make him eye her with anything more than mild contempt.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"What I always want. For you to consider the idea that maybe—just maybe—the life you truly want for yourself is different from the life your parents want for you."

Draco pulled his hand from behind his head, glancing at his watch. "It's time for my meeting."

"Good chat today." Daphne ruffled his hair, immediately making him scramble into a seated position and pat his hair back into place while scowling at her grin. "I'm eagerly awaiting your much anticipated and long denied existential crisis."

"You'll be waiting a very long time."

"Famous last words."

Draco didn't mind surprises—as long as he knew before everyone else.

It allowed him to prepare for the worst and perfect his reaction so he wasn't visibly terrified or excited like a First Year before Sorting.

But, honestly, there was nothing that could have prepared him for this project. It was exactly what he liked—top secret, would boost his credentials, and it gave Draco a chance to prove that he was indeed the best choice.

So long as he survived working alongside Hermione Granger, the other best choice.

But back to that in a minute.

There were twelve doors in the Department of Mysteries—six leading to the chambers and rooms they worked in, but the other six were inaccessible. Three years ago, on the first new moon of the year, one such room had unlocked itself at exactly midnight.

"I've been trying to figure it out," Croaker explained. "Researching and combing through scrolls and texts that pre-date this department, but I haven't had any success. I no longer have the time or the means to keep this project a secret, so I'm asking my two best Keepers to solve the mystery of this open room."

The recognition did wonders for Draco's inflated ego, but it was bad for his time management. "I can't speak for Granger, but I have active experiments and—"

"Delegate to your Team Leads, review your data during your free time," Croaker said with an air of finality and turned to gaze pensively to the door. "This matter takes precedent."

"It's been three years, why the sudden urgency?" Granger pocketed her book then braced her hands on the armchair, curiously eyeing their boss.

"On New Year's Day this year, a door appeared."

Draco straightened in his seat.

Granger crossed her legs at the knee.

The melting pot of their friendship group meant they weren't strangers. They saw one another at get-togethers, holidays and birthdays, but they hardly ever spoke. By right, Draco shouldn't know when something piqued her interest, but he did.

He recognized the intrigue written plainly on her face. He was no stranger to it either.

"How much time do we have?" Draco asked.

"As long as you need," Croaker said. "What you discover could and likely will lead to the formation of a new department."

Granger didn't lift her head from the notes she was taking. "What does the chamber look like?"

"It's empty, save for glowing runes that cover one wall. I can't tell how many there are because they disappear when observed and reappear when I look away. A puzzle is my guess. Tell me what you need and I will provide it."

"All of your notes, books, and relevant materials," Granger said quickly. "Lanterns, too."

"In addition, we'll need unlimited access and privacy," Draco added. "We don't want curious interns to find their way into the room. Should we solve it, we want to be recognised and allowed to choose who becomes Keeper of the chamber."

"Done."

Once they were dismissed to notify their teams of the change, Draco was surprised when Granger stopped with him at the door to the Brain Room.

"I expected more of an argument from you."

"We're too old for childish rivalry." He rolled his eyes, a placid smirk on his face. "Our groups have been mixed for quite a while. Time to rise above believing I'm still a bigot."

"Our history isn't why I said that," Granger clarified with a defiant lift of her chin. "I expected an argument because you're ambitious. Not only is your work in the Brain Room revolutionary, I read your research paper and hypothesis about the rooms—brain, time, death, love, and space—being able to feed off one another. It's a fascinating theory."

Not often was Draco rendered speechless, but Hermione 'my credentials have credentials' Granger had done just that. She had read his research, and was praising it—and by extension—him.

"Colour me shocked."

"Why?" she folded her arms. "I'm fascinated with the work everyone is doing and make sure to read everything that's published in the department newsletter. I've noticed that you don't like sharing any glory beyond obligation, so why would you voluntarily share it with me?"

Draco had several answers lined up, but the way Granger was half-glaring, it was like she expected him to lie. So he decided to be contrary. He told the truth. "Theo might have built the new Time Turner, but you're the architect. It also doesn't hurt my reputation to ride on your coattails if I end up where I want."

"So the fragile male ego isn't so fragile." Granger chuckled. "What's your destination?"

"The Undersecretary position when it's available." The current one was set to retire at the end of June. "Higher once Croaker retires. And you?"

"Theo and I have brought Time Turners out of an extinction I was partly to blame for causing." Granger slipped her hands into the pocket of her robes. "We're working on another device that can take someone to the past and future without instantly ageing the wearer upon their return or cause the death of anyone they interact with."

"What does that have to do with this project?"

"Promoting before this is complete and tested would be detrimental to my legacy." Granger stepped back. "I'm not your competition, Malfoy."

"Then what are you?"

After several tense seconds, she extended a hand; a show of comradery neither had attempted before. "Until this project is complete, it appears I'm your partner."

Chapter Text

The next morning, a barn owl sat on Draco's kitchen table. It was a stately bird, with a heart-shaped face and enormous dark eyes that made him feel like he was being judged on sight.

Draco folded his arms. "Have you no manners?"

It didn't move.

"Apparently not."

After nearly getting nipped twice while trying to extract the tiny grey satchel tied to its leg, Draco decided that the only bird worth a damn was his own owl Ulysses.

Inside was a small rolled parchment and what appeared to be four shrunken books tied together with a black ribbon. Using his wand, he returned everything back to normal size and unwrapped the note.

Keeper Malfoy:

I hope this letter finds you well. I have secured our research material from Croaker and used the founding date of the Ministry to divide the texts. I have kept everything before 1707 and provided you with everything after. I believe it will be more effective if we have more information before we enter the room. Please read the texts within the next week and do not hesitate to write to me with your thoughts, hypotheses, inquiries, etc.

With Regards,

Hermione Granger, Unspeakable, Time Room Keeper

P.S. Oscar won't leave without a treat.

The treat he offered was begrudging at best, and the damn bird could tell. They glared at each other until the owl ate the treat, then flew out the window.

"Good riddance."

Draco turned to the books and cracked his knuckles.

It was time to get to work.

Padma Patil—now Zabini—stared at Draco as if he were a clown whose antics fell short of being amusing.

"Must you glare?" he asked with a drawl that oozed 'posh bastard', sighing dramatically.

Internal joy sparked when she bared her teeth.

Draco would rather walk a tightrope across an active volcano than golf, but grating Padma's nerves was his way of making the best out of a dull day at the golf course. Blaise had rented out an exclusive resort in Scotland to play a round and, like the extravagant bastard he was, closed it to members and guests alike.

Not that Draco could talk.

He'd do the same in a heartbeat even if he didn't use the course.

"Oi! Draco! Pay attention while I school you."

Blaise was an avid golfer and a decent friend—when he wasn't being an absolute wanker—so Draco kept his mouth shut about the fact that Padma was kicking both their arses handedly.

He ran a hand through his hair that had been tossed by the wind most of the day. "Since I'm playing so poorly, I'll return to the resort to—"

"No."

Exasperated, Draco rolled his eyes to the sky. It was as cloudy as the expression on Padma's face whenever he breathed. Truthfully, even with the unnaturally green grass and the chill in the air, it wasn't a terrible day to be outdoors. But he'd rather be in the skies, playing intramural Quidditch with the league of Ministry employees. Or literally anything else. When he shifted his weight while Blaise tried to find the best angle to get the ball into the hole, Padma's glare intensified, twisting and becoming more suspicious.

Blaise straightened and asked for a different putter.

The Muggle caddie rushed over with a new one then ran back to the bags.

"Surprised you're eager to accept defeat and run," Padma said in a low voice, folding her arms as they both watched Blaise line up his shot and take it.

"In theory, I should love the game. It's all about my favourite thing: angles and geometry. I've played all my life, but I've never cared for it because it's too slow and stuffy."

"Ah, harder to cheat then."

There was no ignoring Padma's accusation. "And here I thought my winning personality was finally wearing you down."

Padma poked him in the arm. "You're absolutely deluded if you think we could be friends after you cheated at Gobstones."

"That was four years ago!"

"My grudges have no expiration date."

"That's true." Blaise handed the putter to the caddy. "My mother is finally coming around to the idea of our marriage and…" He pointed to his wife.

"Not interested," Padma said. "She was the reason we never told anyone we were dating and why we eloped."

Draco hadn't heard about this before and loved a good messy story. "Tell me more."

"She tried to sabotage our relationship at least ten times and only stopped when I looked into her past." Padma's dangerous smirk spread into a lethal smile. "I specialise in poisons, my sister is a known gossip, and I am friends with at least six aurors—one of which heads the cold case division. I have the time, resources, and energy to ruin her livelihood."

"Impressive, really."

And terrifying.

Blaise gave his wife a proud, downright lascivious look, whispering something in her ear that made Padma's cheeks redden. "I love it when you talk nerdy and vindictive."

She swatted him. "You faced my entire family after the elopement."

"Rough day. Your mum chased me around with a Quidditch bat, but I would relive it again and again."

Draco pulled a frown.

Blaise laughed. "One day you'll understand."

"Doubtful."

Keeper Granger:

Please be advised that the reading materials you provided contain hardly any context regarding the room we are investigating. Please return Ulysses with a book you have already completed for my review.

Cordially,

D. Malfoy, Unspeakable, Brain Room Keeper

P.S. Ulysses is particular about owl treats. Please refrain from feeding him your low quality treats.

Keeper Malfoy:

I have provided the materials you have requested. Please do not hesitate to write if you need further assistance.

I have found what appears to be a list of items that may potentially be inside the room. Unfortunately, it appears to be written in a language in which I am not fluent. How's your Ancient Egyptian?

With Regards,

Hermione Granger, Unspeakable, Time Room Keeper

P.S. Skip Hop Owl Treats are natural, organic, and cruelty-free. Ulysses enjoyed them, despite their "low quality."

Keeper Granger:

I have completed the reading with two days to spare.

During my research into later texts, I found several hypotheticals in the eighteenth century by those who weren't alive when the rooms were closed. My obvious hypothesis is that the rooms were sealed preceding the Ministry. For what reason and by whom are both variables that remain unknown.

As far as my Ancient Egyptian, let me go to the Manor and find my copy of the Magical Rosetta Stone.

Cordially,

D. Malfoy, Unspeakable, Brain Room Keeper

P.S. I have sent a handful of Premium Owl Bites for Oscar because he refuses to leave after the proper number of treats. Do you feed him?

Keeper Malfoy:

To start, your sarcasm was not appreciated. I heard from Theo that you were a polyglot. While it may be unreasonable to ask if Ancient Egyptian is one of your languages, I find it is always best to ask rather than assume.

Furthermore, I have also completed the reading with two days to spare. I have taken notes and written down theories that I will share. Please review the following dates and times to schedule a meeting to enter the room.

11 January 2008 at 21:00

15 January 2008 at 22:00

16 January 2008 at 21:00

17 January 2008 at 22:00

Security will wait outside in the event of an emergency.

I look forward to your prompt response.

Respectfully,

Hermione Granger, Unspeakable, Time Room Keeper

P.S. Oscar is a well-fed, manipulative grouch and you fell for his trap. Soft-hearted Malfoy? Colour me shocked.

Keeper Granger:

Please be advised that my statement regarding the magical Rosetta Stone copy was not sarcasm. Dark artefacts aren't the only thing my father collects.

Much like the Muggles, ancient wizards carved texts in multiple languages. My forefathers secured such objects and they are kept in stasis in the Manor's underground vaults—the very same vaults the Ministry invaded and nearly emptied of everything they considered valuable.

Apparently, limestone carved texts weren't important.

I know my family's home is the last place you would ever set foot in, but should you change your mind, I would not be opposed to giving you a guided tour.

Additionally, for your information, I am fluent in Latin, French, and Mandarin.

As for your suggested time and date to visit the chamber, I believe 17 January 2008 will be most preferable. Do you need me to bring anything?

Cordially,

D. Malfoy, Unspeakable, Brain Room Keeper

P.S. Soft-hearted? Granger, I'm just as rude, arrogant, and self-serving as ever. Your owl is now requiring four treats and a head pat. He appears to be defective.

Keeper Draco Malfoy:

I had no idea about the Ministry's raid, but I admit I find the Malfoy vaults fascinating, despite my lack of desire to set foot on the grounds again. Should I ever change my mind, I will let you know.

The date is confirmed. I only need you to bring your notes, your brain, and coffee for us both. I have no preference for where, but I would like French Roast, sprinkle of salt, and one sugar.

With Regards,

Hermione Granger, Unspeakable, Time Room Keeper

P.S. Keep telling yourself that and maybe one day it will be true. Head pats? Oscar doesn't let anyone touch him. You must be a grouchy kindred spirit.

P.P.S. Oh, and Ulysses wouldn't leave without another handful of treats so I have provided you with the bag. My treat.

Theo was waiting for Draco when he arrived home from the benefit.

Draco took one look at his friend and immediately went to his bedroom to change. When he emerged in casual clothes, Theo was waiting with two glasses of scotch—neat.

"Figured you needed a drink after fake smiling all night."

"You would be correct." Draco picked up one and took a sip. He didn't sit. "Why are you here?"

"Straight to the point. You'd think we weren't friends because our parents forced us to be." Theo gestured to the bag Draco hadn't noticed and had the gall to scoff when he picked it up as if it were set to explode any second. "Seriously, Draco?"

"You build time machines for a living, I'll never be too careful." Inside was a box with a mobile and charger. "What—"

"Welcome to the modern era, you antiquated fucker. Don't bother trying to bin it, as I've charmed it to find you," Theo said with a wide smile. "You're on my plan with Harry."

"This is the worst day of my life."

"I'm honoured." Theo relaxed on the sofa after plucking his drink off the coffee table. "I hear you're working with Hermione on a project."

"We are set to meet tomorrow." Draco threw the mobile across the room. As promised, it never reached the targeted wall, boomeranging back into his hand.

The magic was impressive, but he'd never tell Theo. Not that it mattered. Judging by the smug look on Theo's face, he knew. "Need any tips on working with Hermione Granger?"

"I know enough."

Granger was the consummate, overachieving know-it-all. Reserved and almost prim. She observed more than she spoke and her sense of humour was, as expected, dry as hell. But admittedly, there were things about her that sparked his curiosity because they didn't make sense.

Theo ruffled his own curly hair as he tried to find the words. "She's not what you think."

When Draco arrived with Granger's requested coffee and his sparse notes, she was waiting with a lantern that glowed blue-white, her beaded bag slung over her shoulder. Draco instantly felt overdressed in casual black trousers, a light blue shirt, and suspenders. No tie or jacket.

Granger wasn't at all what he expected. Her attire wasn't the least bit professional: dark jeans, a burnt orange button down blouse, and Wellies. Her hair was pulled back in a plait with a feathered quill sticking out.

She appeared impressed by his punctuality. "I expected tardiness."

"I'm nothing if not a professional," Draco drawled as he handed her a cup that had a G written on the side. "The most boring coffee order alive for you."

"It's not boring." Granger sniffed the cup. "Plain coffee allows me to taste the flavour of the beans. An abundance of sweeteners and milk overpower the taste of quality coffee."

"So you're a coffee snob?" he deadpanned.

"I'm particular," she said, peering up at him with a surly expression. "I suppose to others that makes me a snob, but there's nothing wrong with having preferences."

It sounded like an old argument, now with a new audience.

Granger's quill feather was dangerously close to the flame. "Where's yours?"

Taking the torch earned him another offended look, but the last thing he needed was a burnt Granger. Somehow it would be his fault. "I finished it on the way. Just a shot of espresso."

"And you call me unimaginative."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Come on. Let's get started."

Granger rooted around in her beaded bag and paused, staring at him as if she expected him to turn away. Draco's blank expression earned him a wordless sigh. Her great reveal was a pair of boring navy glasses she put on in an agitated huff.

"Go on, Malfoy. Say what you have to say so we can get on with it."

Draco wasn't afraid of Granger, but agitating her into a repeat of their dynamic in Third Year—or worse—wasn't conducive to their newly-formed partnership. "I was only going to say that I didn't know you wore glasses."

Scepticism clouded her eyes, her brows knitting and her mouth tightening. "That's all?"

"I'm covered in scars, thanks to Potter using magic he didn't understand, and had to have my left eardrum repaired by Healers after nearly dying during the Screaming Brain Debacle four years ago, so who am I to judge?"

Granger began to unfurl, lowering her defence. "Then yes. Years of reading in poor light is how I got here. I usually wear contacts, but after too many late nights, they've begun to rebel."

"Why don't you let a Healer fix your eyes?"

"I have trust issues. I'd rather wear glasses than end up blind."

"That's fair." Draco pursed his lips. "My Healer was mostly successful, but occasionally everything sounds muffled or I can't hear a thing. Doesn't last long, but it's jarring."

Panic attacks were irrational when he knew the loss was temporary, but that never stopped the shaking and sweating. His throat tightened as he thought about life without sound until he could hear again.

Granger was oddly chastened. "I know about the incident, everyone does, but I had no idea that there were any lasting issues."

"Not many people do, so keep it that way." He hated even a whisper of pity. He didn't need it from anyone—least of all her.

"Deal."

A moment of silent agreement between them ensued with inaudible nods. Granger turned on her heels and led the way to a door shrouded with heavy wards. Draco followed, stopping short at a strange feeling. It was an awareness, he realised, the blending of old and new magic prickled his senses. It felt as though they existed in a layer just beneath reality.

"Croaker said he had to replace his privacy wards daily because the room's magic was so dense." Granger glanced over her shoulder at him. "I decided to manipulate the room's magic to construct ours in a way that we don't have to constantly repair them."

It would have been overkill anywhere else, but the department was founded by people too damn curious for their own good; who liked unknown variables and were fascinated by the mysteries of the universe.

Draco wasn't like his fellow Unspeakables in this regard.

Even after reparations, the Malfoys never had a need to work, much less in the Ministry, but a condition of his Wizengamot-appointed rehabilitation involved volunteer work. He chose the Ministry's Records Department and was perfectly bored until a chance errand to the Department of Mysteries put him face to face with the brains. A few more visits left him fascinated, wondering if the brains could be rewired. This reignited his drive, and after a few failures, he became an Unspeakable assigned to the Brain Room. Years passed, and Draco's successes bolstered his belief that his work could translate to humans.

To him.

That like the brains, he was just as capable of rewiring his own mind, recovering from trauma, and—

The door opened with a rusted creak.

The air was dry and musty.

Old.

Draco followed Granger into the chamber. It was empty and so dark they couldn't see a few steps in front of them. He noticed the sconce next to the door and brought the torch to it. A fraction of the flame broke away, lighting the torch enough for him to see the next. Each sconce Draco lit didn't diminish the original flame, but the new one grew to the same size.

Granger shut the door behind them and looked around. "All the walls are blank."

"Obviously." Draco couldn't help himself, but the dirty look he received was worth it.

"What do you see?"

He was about to say nothing, but a glow caught his eye. "Innermost wall."

"That's what Croaker said. At least we know the runes don't move." Granger sat her beaded bag on the floor, dropped to her knees, and rifled through it before pulling out a mirror as tall as him. "Can you place it on the side on the ground against the wall?"

Draco complied without argument. "Why a mirror?"

"Come and find out." Granger had a borderline feral look in her eye.

He got on his knees next to her. "This makes no—oh."

In the reflection, eight large runes glowed on the wall: four on the top row, four on the bottom.

Reading them was easy.

"Heat, lightning, power, and protection on the top. Ice, darkness, resistance, and attack on the bottom. Contrasting runes. How did you know to bring a mirror?"

"I did the same thing against the Basilisk Second Year, which, thankfully, ended with me Petrified and not dead."

He cut his eyes at her once more. "Wait, you actually went after that thing? On purpose?"

"How else was I supposed to figure out who the Heir of Slytherin was?" She pulled out her quill and sketched the runes. "At least I took precautions."

This reminded him of every single flippant comment Potter had made over the years about his many near death experiences, including the one time he had actually temporarily died like some Muggle deity. A whimsical, fond expression always accompanied a sigh when he talked about his paradise, which was fucking King's Cross.

Granger's expression was similar.

They obviously needed his therapist's card.

Chapter Text

It was two in the morning.

Their patience was long gone, as was Granger's coffee.

Draco had raked his hands through his hair so much that the product no longer kept it slicked down, but it was nowhere near Granger's level of chaos. Her hair tie had failed over an hour ago, and now she looked like she'd touched live wire. Thanks to faulty warming charms, he was wrapped in the extra blanket she carried in her bag. She looked absolutely ridiculous in earmuffs and a blanket with arms she called a Snuggie.

"We should try again tomorrow." Draco ignored her dark expression, too busy shivering. "Fresh brains and all that rot. I'll bring more coffee."

"I think we're on the cusp of figuring it out."

Granger's optimism, he found, was as ridiculous as her stubbornness.

Draco had long since lost count of how many times he'd sighed. "You're spinning your wheels, focusing on your research—"

"Research always has answers."

"But so does what's in our face right now: the runes."

Exhaling a harsh breath, Granger shifted a little closer so they could both look at the reflection of the glowing runes behind them. He noticed that they didn't glow as one, but rather one at a time like the ticking of a clock.

Seconds.

"We know what each rune is and what it means. We need to figure out the combination that unlocks the door." Granger tapped her chin. "Eight runes, all contrary to their pair. We don't know how many options there are to crack the code."

"At the most, there are seventy combinations." Draco glanced at her writing. "At the least, one."

"I don't think they would make it that complex."

"What did your research reveal?"

"The Department of Mysteries was created by magic itself. The lore states that the rooms were made by witches and wizards using powerful magic on the night of a New Moon. They knew the safest place for people with magic was underground, and magic gave them what they needed."

"Like the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts."

A place they had both used for vastly different reasons.

Draco looked away, leaving Granger to move past the awkward moment. "What we now know as The Department of Mysteries was the only space here. Magic created the twelve rooms, but only five were unlocked. Over time, the magic that created the department began to spread and form what would eventually become the other departments and the Atrium."

"And when the Wizard's Council voted in 1705 to create the Ministry of Magic and centralise it here, the Unspeakables set the wards to the department." Draco recalled that bit from his research. "They manipulated the old magic that created the department, much like you did tonight with the warding. Is that where you got the idea?"

"Manipulating magic isn't an uncommon concept." Her answer was as vague as Theo when they talked about why Granger was so hellbent on creating a Time Turner. "I do wonder why they didn't admit everyone into this place?"

"Likely due to their lack of trust in people—we're human and easy to corrupt. Better to only admit those who vow to abide by the code."

Granger, still wrapped in her sleeved blanket, paced back and forth, deep in thought.

"Each of the sealed rooms has an unknown unlocking date," she said at long last. "The theory is that the dates are hundreds of years apart. This one came first, but I'm not sure why."

"The Ministry was opened in 1707," Draco rattled off. "If the rooms were locked two years before, when the vote was done, the first room unlocked in 2005. Exactly three hundred years later."

Granger's eyes widened in recognition. "Three. That means—"

"You don't need to explain. I got my Arithmancy NEWTs under house arrest. I know just like you do that Pythagoras considered three to be the perfect number for harmony, wisdom, and understanding."

"Basic, but still complex." She looked around.

"Birth, life, and death—the performance of life."

"Mind. Body. Soul." She made a small noise. "Fitting for what we study here, don't you think?"

Draco didn't answer. He was too busy looking in the mirror at the reflection of glowing runes.

"Wait." Granger squinted and tilted her head. "The locked door in here appeared three years after the room itself unlocked. I wonder if these rooms are all tuned to the same unlocking sequence."

"I don't think either of us will be around in three hundred and thirty years to figure it out."

"Shame." She walked backwards to the wall, watching each step through the mirror. "Eight isn't divisible by three."

"No, only by one, two, and four."

She guided herself to the third pair of runes, shed her Snuggie, and cracked her knuckles, rolling her shoulders. "Nothing beats a failure but a try."

A bolt of fear carried Draco to her side. "What if the room reacts to wrong combinations?"

"I suppose we're about to find out."

If reckless disregard for human life was a person it would look exactly like Hermione Granger.

"Wait!"

She had to jump to slap her palm against the centre of the rune. The sight was ridiculous, but even that couldn't quell the terrifying prospect of the consequences. Draco cursed and shut his eyes, waiting for the fallout. With his rotten luck, the floors would crumble, the walls would close in, a noxious gas would fill the space.

This would be how he died and knowing Granger, she'd survive yet another damn thing that—

Nothing happened.

Draco opened one eye.

"Well, that's disappointing," Granger said.

"Now is an excellent time to step away from the rune wall."

Granger considered him for a moment before she sprung into action, pressing rune after rune, one right after the other. She went through all eight twice before Draco had the mind to grab her wrist and hold it away from the stone, all but growling as he dragged her along, "You fucking Gryffindors will be the death of me."

As always, she was ready for a fight but didn't lash out immediately. Neither did he. The sound of their breathing was amplified by the silence, puffs of air made visible by the chill.

Draco surmised her stillness was due to her waiting for the perfect angle to knock his teeth out.

Or not.

Her eyes cut to the wrist he was gripping, her tone oddly patient when she asked, "Are you going to let me go, Malfoy?"

"I'm undecided," he snapped. "Are you going to continue to be fucking reckless in the name of experimentation?"

"It's very likely."

Draco snarled at her response and dropped her wrist. "You just charge in with your wand out, thinking the answer to an ancient puzzle is going to be as simple as pressing a goddamn button!" He slapped his palms on both the top and bottom rune—power and resistance—with enough force to make his hand ache. "Magic is far more fucking complex than—"

The stones moved.

The rune colours changed.

Green for admittance.

The bloody door creaked open.

Light poured from the room.

What they saw left them awestruck.

The light was from a moving painting of the waxing crescent moon on the ceiling. It reminded him of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Stone slabs as tall as Draco lined one wall, books spilled from shelves in the back, and every conceivable space was covered by artefacts.

Moving paintings. Sculptures. Figurines. Tools. Pottery. Glass vases with colourful beams of light swirling around inside.

Large and small, different shapes and colours; it was all a mystery under a sheen of dust and cobwebs. It would take years to study everything here.

"You were saying?" Granger sounded awfully smug.

"I'm sending you my bill for the crisis appointment I'll be making with my therapist."

"How about I write the report for tonight instead?"

"Deal."

It was a truth universally acknowledged that Gregory Goyle would never lock his Floo.

This benefited Draco more than anyone.

Usually, Draco was in and out, taking with him a heaping amount of whatever dessert Greg made, but not tonight.

Tonight there were thirteen chocolate carvings of men in suits on Greg's work space island, all lined up like a miniature army. The edible figurines looked at him when he got closer. The first one screamed when Draco picked it up and ate it. Strange but tasty.

By the time Goyle came barrelling into the kitchen, clearly in a panic, Draco had eaten five. The rest were screaming and running all over the island.

Draco picked up his next victim.

"Oi!" Goyle waved his hands wildly like he was doing a modern war dance. "That's the groom for the bloody wedding this weekend!"

Draco bit the head off the chocolate man. "He's delicious."

Greg sighed like he was about to explain a complicated concept to a toddler, but gave up. "I actually left a caramel cake for you."

"But chocolate cannibalism is so much better."

He folded his arms, mimicking the therapist he'd been seeing for the last ten years. Greg exhaled a long-suffering breath. "Care to talk about why you're emotionally eating at nearly five in the morning?"

It wasn't emotional eating—at least not this time. And if it was, what did it matter?

Draco had a sweet tooth he spent ninety-eight percent of the time suppressing. There was nothing wrong with eating cake and pastries when he was happy or sad. Biscuits or toffee when he was frustrated or relaxed. Fudge when he was angry or serene.

Any and everything he could get his hands on when he was depressed or out of sorts.

His affinity for sweets was not nearly as bad as Greg made it sound. "I didn't die tonight, which is the cause for my current caloric celebration."

Greg was years past being shocked at such statements. "I know you can't talk about your work, so what if I make you actual food in exchange for the chocolate grooms."

It was too good to pass up.

Their friendship was an odd one.

Draco had known Greg all his life, but they'd only just upgraded from "spoiled little shite and his surviving lackey" to real friends in the last seven years. Reluctantly, he had to thank Luna fucking Lovegood for darkening his doorstep with her odd belief in the impossible—like invisible creatures and the redemption of bigoted, selfish prats. Lovegood had led him to seeing Potter for the first time since his trial, which led to an address for Greg, who had refused to speak to him—or anyone.

Months of silent Floo calls had built up to one. Draco had stopped with the sarcasm and pompous bullshit and spoke honestly, believing no one was listening.

"I was a shite friend to you."

The next day, Greg's owl had dropped off a tin of obviously homemade biscuits and a note.

You were.

Draco had apologised by choking down every single biscuit, returned the empty tin with a note saying the biscuits were too goddamn salty, and spent hours in the loo sweating and regretting every single second of his life.

But from that day on, Greg sent his cooking attempts, Draco returned empty tins and plates with his opinion and suggestions. Thankfully for the sake of Draco's poor stomach, Greg's cooking had significantly improved.

His meals had become edible after a month.

After four, they were the highlight of Draco's day.

Greg turned up to deliver the meal himself at the end of the seventh month, but brought enough for two. He spoke for the first time, Draco listened, and after a conversation neither will ever discuss, they'd been friends.

Equals.

"Your father is asking for my schedule for next year," Greg said while bacon sizzled in the pan, eyes on the pot of boiling water, one egg in hand. "I didn't know you and Astoria picked another date."

"We haven't. Father is being a nuisance."

He hummed with understanding, familiar with family problems. Greg had plenty of his own. "You could tell them the truth."

"Astoria needs time. Her parents—"

"It's not your problem, Draco." He tapped his wand against the side of the pot, waited for a minute then cracked the egg into the pot. "She can't expect you to wait forever while she raises the Galleons to pay the penalty. It's already taken years and she's only halfway there, and that's with help. Isn't there something you want to do? Someone you're interested in?"

"No."

Attraction was easy, straightforward and one-dimensional. He had eyes and knew what he liked physically in a woman. But interest implied he'd taken notice of something deeper than the surface, which wasn't a good use of his time. He knew how it would end—with him married to someone of his parents choosing.

"Malfoy marriages aren't matches based on interest or emotions; it's two people who have voluntarily agreed to marry based on a fairly rigorous evaluation. Financial stability, social stability, and a duty to family and siring the next generation. If love happens, then it happens, but feelings aren't a requirement."

"Once again I'm glad my family fell apart." Greg placed a plate of poached eggs, avocado, and toast in front of Draco. "At least I don't have to worry about anyone's opinion."

"It's easier this way. Dating is a waste of time."

"You're lazy."

"So?"

This earned him a scoff and a head shake from Greg. "You're still the same spoiled prat who won't take control of his life."

"Like you have?" Draco fired back. "Say, how's your five year plan with Daphne going?"

Greg's face remained hard for a moment before he deflated. Looking both agitated and forlorn, he plopped into the seat next to Draco. "It's going… well. She told me that she looks forward to the chocolate flower treat of the day."

He winced. "Still oblivious?"

"Yeah."

Daphne knew fuck all about flowers except how to kill them. For someone whose job was to notice anything out of the magical ordinary, she'd never notice someone who didn't draw the necessary attention to themselves. Like Greg. The poor sod was painfully awkward and shy in her presence. He broke out in sweats and looked visibly ill, barely able to string two words together. One time he'd vomited in a bush when Daphne waved at him first.

Patting Greg on the shoulder in sympathy, Draco was relieved he'd never have the misfortune of sulking about a woman over breakfast.

"Daisies mean beauty," Greg whispered mournfully.

Draco used to idolise his father, though the reasons for it had gone up in flames at the end of Fifth Year.

The following years were a complicated mess of emotions, trauma, and self-reflection due to his father's questionable decisions. Like berating him for not killing a man for the good of their family, even though he knew success likely meant his death. After enduring murderous houseguests, a goddamn war, confessing his sins openly during his trial, and surviving the grateful humiliation of having Harry Potter speak up in his defence, Draco's eyes had opened wide to the flaws in his father's rhetoric.

Lucius Malfoy wasn't the man Draco had thought, but neither was he.

At the time, he didn't know who he was, but after watching his father throw every person he could under the metaphorical Knight Bus while grovelling to the Wizengamot for a reduced sentence, he knew exactly who he wasn't.

Draco wasn't perfect, but he put the blame for his actions squarely where they belonged: on himself.

Father never once acknowledged the error of his ways or his parenting flaws, and for a few years, Draco couldn't forgive him. He barely tolerated his father's presence until his therapist reminded him that forgiveness wasn't for anyone else, it was for him. He couldn't move on without it.

Things never were the same, but he could live with it.

At least until he turned up at Draco's flat thirty minutes after he'd fallen into a fitful sleep.

Father had a Portkey to Barcelona to pick up a surprise from a jeweller. He wanted Draco to come. Deeming it a bonding trip should have been a warning.

When they arrived, after a pleasantly silent breakfast at a luxury restaurant where his father didn't scowl at Muggles, Draco almost turned the closest item into a Portkey and left—international laws be damned.

They were picking up diamond and emerald-encrusted collars.

Several of them.

One for each of his fucking peacocks.

Draco had the restraint to wait until the elderly jeweller shuffled into the back room to retrieve the order before snidely asking, "Why am I here?"

Father sat down his cane, which was less for aesthetics these days and more of a necessity. "One day everything I have will be yours, and you will pass it to your children."

"I'd sooner release your precious birds into the wild to be eaten by animals."

"You will understand that they are of great value."

Draco wanted to remind him that the last time he invested in his father's rhetoric it had ended with them being prisoners in their own home.

Oh, and nearly being burnt to a fucking crisp.

"I'll pass, thanks."

"I thought this would be a bonding experience."

"Usually that's an activity that we both enjoy, something we can remember fondly. This isn't it."

"I could buy you a dragon." Father offered the creature much like one would offer a spoiled child a sweet.

Draco considered this, finger on his chin. "Will it attack on command?"

"No…"

"Then it's useless to me."

He stared at Draco in confusion for a moment. "I will admit I invited you here to use this purchase to discuss your impending nuptials—"

"They have been postponed."

Father gave him a probing look. "For your benefit or Miss Greengrass'?" When he didn't immediately answer, his father placed a heavy hand on Draco's shoulder. "If there is something I need to know, I do hope you will tell me."

"Of course," Draco lied with ease.

It was a talent.

Chapter Text

Why am I like this?

You know why.

"You're right. I do."

Defeated, restless thoughts plagued Draco's mind.

Only when he was distracted and busy could he focus. He must remain occupied. But his eyes were heavy, shoulders sagged, muscles ached.

Draco paced the room, looked outside at the enveloping darkness, sat down, stood up, sat down.

The thoughts never stopped buzzing.

What if I never beat this?

You won't.

The corresponding bolt of panic left Draco flustered. He was hot, his skin stretched too tight and movements jagged. Sweat ran down his face; his damp clothes clung to his frame. He sought out a cup of water, hands shaking as he brought it to his lips, drinking every drop.

He went to the kitchen and drank until his stomach felt full, pressing the glass to his forehead.

"This will pass."

Draco closed his eyes to focus on untying the knot in his throat and settling the rising nausea.

Will I ever fall asleep?

No.

You will, a quiet voice in his head whispered like a breeze. You always fall in the end.

A silent reminder. Nothing more.

Draco took breath after breath, holding them in longer and longer until his blurred vision returned to focus, his heart slowed. He felt dirty and sticky.

Hot showers typically made him groggy enough to sleep, but after a shower that left his skin rosy, Draco found himself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling—still utterly exhausted.

Frustrated, he tossed and turned.

At half-past three in the morning, he gave in and took a drop of Calming Draught. It never put him to sleep, but, for once, his mind was silent.

As a result, his cock was half hard. Ignoring it was an option Draco didn't take.

He kicked away the covers, slipped his briefs off, and closed his eyes. What better way to tire himself out?

Draco rested his hand on his stomach, then slid it lower, his cock twitching in anticipation.

Simple and to the point, he always did just what was necessary to fulfil his needs. No imagined faces or bodies, no moans or voices begging him to fuck them—only blissful silence.

After a quick pause to dig around in his bedside drawer for lube, he squeezed a drop on his finger. He settled down, rubbing the head with a lube covered finger before spreading it, tugging himself languidly.

Eyes shut, the quiet made everything louder, his focus sharper. His heart was racing.

His first moan was barely a breath.

Draco tightened his grip, thrusting into his closed fist a few times before stroking his cock from tip to base.

Tension built, brick by brick. He picked up the pace, rough and fast, letting the pleasure take him. Breaths quickening, Draco was in a full rush to the end. Peace, quiet, and the emptiness of both pushed him over the edge. His lips parted with a long groan as he came on his stomach and relaxed, opening his eyes for the first time.

Then, he started again. It took two orgasms for him to fall into a deep sleep.

"You're late," Croaker announced, leaning on Draco's door as he gathered all the work he needed for his team.

"My apologies, I overslept."

He expected another comment, but the department head shrugged. "It happens to the best of us."

Draco didn't know what to say. He picked up his folders and turned, waiting for his boss to leave.

But he didn't.

"Is there something you need?" he asked carefully.

"Ah, yes." Croaker straightened. "I need your thoughts on a matter. We're having delegates from the French Ministry visit and wanted to hear your opinion about whether we should give each a spelled amulet so the department doesn't confuse them, or if we should use temporary spells on the doors to each room."

"I would go with the suggestion of your Undersecretary, that's a decision that would—"

"I'm asking you," he interjected, folding his arms.

Draco shifted his weight. "How long is the visit?"

"A week."

"Then I would use neither approach. Every visitor receives a pass when they check their wand in the atrium. I would spell their passes each day to counter the department's protection wards. I would make it so they neutralised upon exit. That way, there is no chance for any amulets to go missing and we don't have to risk any security breaches by lowering the warding."

Croaker nodded, looking faintly impressed. "I agree with this plan. Please be sure to execute it."

"Sir—"

"Call it a test."

Okay?

Croaker gave an impressive clap between his shoulder blades that was a touch too hard. "And congratulations on unlocking the room. Excellent work. I saw Keeper Granger's report regarding the initial forage into the room."

Thanks?

Draco didn't know if Granger's report was fact, fiction, or fucking satire.

Ultimately, it didn't matter because it painted him in the best possible light while mentioning very little about the extensive research she'd amassed. Not only had she credited him for solving the code to the artefact room, but she'd also noted his resourcefulness in using their memories to document each artefact without having to touch them before they could bring in a team of Preservation Unspeakables.

The truth was muddier and involved them arguing like children—Granger had been in favour of taking photos of everything while he didn't want to do a damn thing because it might bring the place down on their heads.

Dramatic, but knowing both his luck and the department, not improbable.

Granger's glowing report left him in a good mood the entire day. The unlocking of the room concluded the project, and he was busy praising himself for harnessing the Granger Effect for his benefit when the woman in question all but burst into his office.

"We have a problem."

Fucking fantastic.

Draco was on his feet in moments, wand in hand. Expecting an accident or someone's death, he was surprised when the news was far worse.

"Your code no longer works to unlock the artefact room."

Draco grabbed everything he might need and followed her. Using the mirror as his guide, he pressed the same two runes and nothing happened.

"Well, that's unfortunate," Draco muttered.

Granger pursed her lips and turned her head to stop from laughing. "Not sure why you felt the need to prove me wrong."

"I was just checking." He pressed it again, just as hard as he had that night. When it didn't work, he sighed and turned to a very smug Granger. "I'm sure you have a theory."

"Several," she replied haughtily. "No one has been here all weekend. Croaker approached me about an hour ago and wanted a private tour of the room, but the doors wouldn't unlock. I believe the runes are a locking system."

"Or a timing system," he muttered.

Granger whirled around, startling him. "Wait! We entered after midnight. Perhaps the unlocking code was different when we arrived."

"We won't know the answer unless we figure out the code for today and stay until after midnight to see if it's changed."

"You're right."

Draco raised his brow. "Keep agreeing with me and I'll end up with a complex."

"Your arrogance is doing just fine." Granger rolled her eyes. They looked at the mirror, standing on opposite sides with a clear view of the wall. "Two runes unlock the door."

"Twenty-eight options."

Granger eyed him. "How do you know that?"

"I enjoy numbers—statistics, calculus, linear algebra, and probability. Nothing happens by chance because chance doesn't exist."

"I agree… mostly. Life isn't completely predestined." She pulled out a small notebook and a pen from her bag and sat down, folding her legs before she started writing. "Where you start can determine where you finish, but not always."

Draco joined her, stretching his long legs, peering at her notes that simply include the date they'd gone into the room and the runes that unlocked the door. After drawing two lines that represented the weekend, she made a third with today's date. "Let me guess, you're going to debate with me about unknown variables."

"No, I don't mind the study of probability for what it is. I prefer rigid logic and proofs because they're trustworthy."

"You mean dull."

"Maybe to some, but I think that probability alone involves a dangerous type of hubris, claiming to know things that can't be known. You don't account for the spontaneity of separate outcomes."

She wasn't wrong, but Draco was in no mood to debate with Granger, of all people. "In this case, there are no outliers. There are eight runes, two that will unlock the door, which means there are only twenty-eight options. Nothing more, nothing less."

"And you're missing the point. The first question we should ask is why?" Granger looked at him. "There's always a pattern to these things, even if they appear random."

Then she started writing, labelling each rune one through eight. Writing down each option from start to finish, she circled the one that originally opened the door. She offered him the notebook when she finished. "Do you want the honours?"

"So long as you write in your report the entire truth. I don't mind riding your coattails, but you shouldn't leave out key information. It leads to future mistakes."

"I thought you would appreciate the literature."

"I care more about facts."

Nodding, Granger rested back on her hands. "Everything I wrote was factual."

"Still, don't delete yourself from the narrative."

She squinted but relented. "Sure."

Draco stood and walked towards the runes, running down the list of possible combinations. He skipped the option that had worked before. Four from the bottom of the list made the stone door slide open and before Granger could ask, he wrote the runes on today's date.

Granger stood and dusted her robes. "I'll get Croaker."

"And I'll call Greg."

"For what?"

"If we have to stay here until midnight to test our theory, I refuse to do it without good food."

They ate roasted chicken and vegetables with wild rice and pumpkin juice.

"I haven't had Greg's cooking in ages," Granger said after they packed up their plates. They were sitting on pillows in the artefact entry room while the Preservation Unspeakables worked carefully to ensure both the room's safety and the neutrality of each artefact. It was a multiple day process.

"He cooked at the group dinner a few months ago."

"I was busy."

An automatic response that wasn't necessary. He knew from several overheard conversations not to ever expect Granger's presence at any function, aside from holidays and birthdays.

"I've tried that excuse, but if I go too long without showing my face, either Pansy or Theo will nag me until I turn up."

When Draco ignored them, they pulled out thinly veiled threats and blackmail. The former liked to see him squirm. The latter only cared because the get-togethers made Potter happy, which had become Theo's main concern when he'd taken house unity a step too far and started shagging Potter.

"Harry's just as bad, but he knows me," she said. "I don't like large social gatherings, especially the ones that happen in public."

Draco knew social anxiety when he saw it. Greg became jittery whenever anyone looked at him for too long. Seeing the similarities in Granger didn't make sense. It didn't fit with the picture of her he had in his mind. Or who she was in school. Draco never considered the possibility that life had changed her just as drastically as anyone else. Maybe even the winners lost something victory could never return.

"People actually like you," Draco pointed out. "Hermione was in the top ten for baby names in Wizarding Europe."

"Not everyone. When Ron and I broke up, he was fresh off saving the goal that would have cost the Canons the Quidditch Championship. It was the closest game in like a century. He was all over magazines and had legions of rabid fans who didn't take too kindly to us splitting up. Didn't help that he talked about it ad nauseam over the first year. Dozens of worldwide articles wrote about his supposed heartbreak. Apparently our split blindsided him and left a lot of people convinced I'm… something that I'm not."

"You're scared of a bunch of teenagers," Draco deadpanned.

"I used to be one. I know how vicious they can be because I was just as bad...if not worse." Granger frowned. "It wasn't just his fans or the thousands of howlers they flooded me with—the howlers I still get, mind you. It was the press, parts of his family, and some of our friends. I kept quiet because I didn't owe anyone an explanation, but my refusal to talk was weaponised against me. Surely you saw the stories."

"A couple." He didn't know it had been that bad. "I cancelled my subscription to The Prophet and all other publications until fairly recent."

"So did I." Granger picked up her quill. "Random people would say things to me in public. Half our friends stopped talking to me. Even my parents were saying I shouldn't have left him until I laid out my reasons for breaking it off—something I shouldn't have to do in exchange for support. Things got worse. The stress was getting to me. It wasn't until Theo caught me crying over my research that Harry intervened and had it out with Ron about his public pity party. He smoothed things over with the Weasleys and our friends, who all apologised for isolating me, but there's no going back after that. Not really. I learned who my true friends were and made a couple in the midst of the mess, so I can't complain."

"Why did you end things with Weasley?" Draco hadn't intended to ask, but he was nosy and Granger was offering information with ease.

"I could go with the usual: personality clashes and poor communication. Immaturity on his part and an unwillingness to compromise on mine. Not to mention our wildly different priorities. The women threatening our relationship and his jealousy over the men I worked too closely with. Too much time apart, too many fights, too much drama."

"But is that the truth?"

"Gods no. The truth is more complicated." Granger peered at Draco over her notes. "You might not understand."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not—"

"I was no longer willing to accept even a tolerable level of unhappiness."

Silence smothered all peripherals, leaving a sharp focus on Granger's words. They reverberated in his mind. A strange shift left Draco restlessly picking at the skin around his nails.

He understood.

He fucking understood.

There was more Draco wanted to know. Was there a timeline? Or a countdown to the date when enough was enough?

But internalised emotions wrestled his curiosity into submission. Before apathy took hold, he asked, "Why are you talking to me like this?"

"Like what?"

"Conversationally. Last I checked, Granger, we aren't friends. Colleagues with mutual friends, at best."

"You asked and I answered." Granger shrugged. "I spent a long time holding my tongue to keep the peace. I have no reason to hide the truth, especially not from you."

"Fair enough." He pulled out a container of bread pudding from the bag of food Greg delivered to the entrance of the Department of Mysteries.

After Granger tasted her first bite, she closed her eyes. "If Greg's cooking, I'll go to the next meetup instead of sending Oliver."

Draco nearly forgot Granger was the reason Oliver Wood began coming around four years ago. He only knew they were dating from the rare times Wood offhandedly spoke about her or the even rarer occasions they turned up together. Despite Granger's absence, he fit in well enough for Draco to forget a time when he didn't belong. Even though he'd wasted his talent on the Canons before moving on to coach the Falmouth Falcons, Draco didn't hold it against him.

Wood would buy top shelf liquor when it was his turn and gave everyone free tickets to matches. The only time he got serious was during Quidditch debates that turned into drag out fights with whoever challenged his knowledge.

Draco wasn't above playing nice for his own benefit, in the form of box tickets, but weirdly, he found Wood tolerable. They weren't friends, but they had the occasional conversation and Draco never wanted to hit him on sight.

Which wasn't something he could say about most people.

Including his friends.

Granger checked her watch. "We have another four hours. You should call Astoria and let her know you'll be late."

Draco's sarcastic snort earned him a weird look. He'd forgotten not everyone knew their relationship was a sham. "Oh, um. She is preparing for her work trip to Morocco."

"Oh. How long will she be away?"

"A month."

A Preservationist exited the artefact chamber looking worse for the wear. "The room is clear. Tomorrow we'll clean the artefacts themselves."

Hours passed in a blur. Both spent their time engrossed in catching up with the work that had been delegated during this project.

At exactly midnight, the door to the artefact room shut and locked itself.

The runes glowed blue.

When Draco figured out the new code, Granger looked thoughtful. "Looks like we've still got work to do."

Chapter Text

The only people awake at three in the morning were insomniacs, addicts, heartbroken fools, and poor sods who had to work the hours.

Draco had fallen into a few of these categories in his life, but tonight he was part of the latter group.

Working at night wasn't all bad. It was easier to concentrate when things were quiet, the distractions were few, and all the reasons he was still awake had gone to sleep.

And there were plenty.

His mother said that the best way to handle a problem was to sleep on it. Wishful thinking from a woman whose last problem dropped dead a decade ago. Draco's had remained; his problems had multiplied until they outnumbered solutions.

But right now, he ignored everything to finish the report from their latest adventure in the artefact room. They were a week into arranging the locking sequence with too much to go and they still hadn't determined if there was a pattern. Draco spent more time checking his work than drafting the report for one simple reason:

The last thing he needed was Granger barging into his office in full lecture mode about the necessity of the Triple P's of documentation—punctuation, precision, and punctuality.

"I'll show you Triple P," Draco grouched.

When Draco finished, he straightened from the hunched position he'd been in and sent the report off to Granger for a final review. Ulysses didn't look amused when he was summoned, and before sending him off, he gave a finger-wagging lecture of his own. "Don't be greedy for Granger's owl snacks. I raised you better than that."

Ulysses gave a bored hoot and flew out the window.

Draco checked his watch.

Granger would have it by the time she woke in the morning.

Midway through reviewing the daily brain activity notes, he heard the tapping outside his window.

Oscar was at the window, bearing a different parchment.

A note.

From Granger.

Keeper Malfoy,

This note serves as confirmation of receipt and review of your report. Thank you for your promptness. Ulysses has forwarded it on to Croaker.

Sincerely,

Hermione Granger, Unspeakable, Time Room Keeper

P.S. Have you purchased the treats that he likes yet?

Draco checked the time. No, he wasn't so sleep deprived he hallucinated the hour that had passed since sending the report. It was now just before four. Before he could stop himself, Draco penned a note without professional salutations.

Granger,

Awake early or up late?

Malfoy

P.S. I have purchased the treats so he should not be begging for extras.

Not until Oscar—after four treats and a nip—had flown out his open did he begin to regret the note. It felt strange. It wasn't his business. It—

Not ten minutes passed before he received a response.

Malfoy,

I'm up late. You?

Granger

P.S. Ulysses doesn't beg, but he did let me pet him. Shocking that you have such a friendly owl.

He didn't bother with a fresh parchment, scribbling his note under hers.

Granger,

I'm up late, too. Why are you not asleep?

Malfoy

P.S. Ulysses is not a friendly owl. He is the danger.

Oscar returned quicker than before and wouldn't take less than five treats before dropping the note on the table.

"Extortion is unbecoming."

The owl hooted proudly before devouring his treats.

Draco scowled and found Granger's response on the back.

Malfoy,

Can't sleep.

Granger.

P.S. Just know "the danger" likes pets and cuddles. Also, don't let Oscar bully you into giving him too many treats.

Draco quickly scrawled one question under her note.

Granger,

Why not?

Malfoy

P.S. I will give as many treats as it takes to keep my fingers. Also, stop spoiling my owl. You're going to ruin his natural predatory instinct.

Tying his response to Oscar's leg earned him a nip that drew blood. He'd forgotten the treats.

"Bloody beast."

But Draco gave the necessary number of owl bites and waited in his chair by the lit fireplace. Oscar never returned.

It didn't matter.

Draco fell asleep.

Draco wasn't loyal.

He didn't have a favourite restaurant, wasn't a regular at any pub, nor did he have a spot that he frequented so often the employees knew his name. When meeting someone, he let them choose the location out of sheer laziness, but that never stopped him from complaining about anything that wasn't to his liking.

Never said he wasn't a bastard.

Self-awareness had been his first breakthrough in therapy.

Astoria's cafe of choice was a popular chain with stone walls, high ceilings, tacky rustic furniture, and terrible ambiance, thanks to the music and screaming children. But it smelled like they could make a decent cup of coffee so he didn't hold it against them.

It took seconds to spy a reporter from the Daily Prophet. Draco schooled his features to an impassive mask, a far cry from someone who had woken up in a bloody chair thirteen minutes ago.

Cloudy skies and February snow didn't stop Astoria from accessorising with dark sunglasses. How she managed to acquire a table in a place crawling with Muggles was a mystery Draco didn't want to solve, but it likely had every bit to do with her scowl.

He cleared his throat and she peered up at him.

"Performance time," he said in a voice only she could hear. "My twelve."

She trusted him enough not to look. Getting up, she gave him a hug in an uncharacteristically dramatic fashion. Astoria was hungover and the whiskey in her Irish coffee was a top-shelf.

When they sat down, instead of sitting across from her like usual, Draco took the seat next to her. A barista immediately approached their table with another Irish whiskey for Astoria and a hot drink for him.

"Tried to come out to your parents again?" Draco asked as he curled a finger around the handle, bringing it to his lips.

He didn't bother to ask what it was. Astoria always ordered him a cappuccino because she hated the way he constantly denied himself what he wanted.

Draco took a sip.

Sweet from the milk and added sugar and flavouring, frothy from the foam, and strong from the espresso.

Damn if it wasn't delicious.

"I didn't try, I did."

Draco no longer needed the caffeine to wake him up. "What?"

"I told them everything."

"And they said?"

"That I was wrong. Luna and I are only close friends and I'm lying because I'm afraid of marriage."

Draco nearly choked. "You live together."

"They know."

"In a one bedroom flat."

"They know that, too."

Incredulousness made his voice rise half an octave. "But it has one bed."

"Mmhmm."

"You do Christmas cards every year with matching ugly sweaters."

"Yep." Astoria popped the p. "According to my mum, it's normal. She says that when you and I get married, it'll end."

Wry looks were exchanged before they recoiled sharply. Draco was tolerant of a lot of things, but the few times they'd had to kiss due to breakup rumours or to keep their families happy it felt wrong. Like snogging a sibling. Or a cactus.

"You didn't tell them about the million Galleons you've saved for the last five years then."

"I didn't get that far. I started drinking. Daphne got me home. Luna was waiting with the sober up potion I didn't take. I cried and threatened to just bugger off with her to Finland, snap my wand in half, and damn the consequences. She told me if I felt that way in the morning, we would go."

"But you're here."

"Luna talked sanity back into me." Astoria held up her left hand. The engagement ring that had been enchanted to never fall off her finger so long as the contract was in force was still there.

Draco snorted. "Not going to mention how ironic that is."

Astoria's death glare conveyed her offence.

Unbothered, Draco finished his cappuccino. "My parents are pushing me to set another date."

"So are mine."

"What's going to be our excuse this time?"

"Luna and I are going to Ilulissat, Greenland for an expedition to track a water dragon living in the ocean. We're going to help guide it to warmer waters and away from Muggles. Then we're going to the Amazon for four months to track a pregnant Qilin that has been sighted by locals."

"Next year then. June?"

"I'm sure I'll come up with more excuses to push it beyond that." Astoria was the master of excuses. She played the role to the point where no one questioned her, only him.

Something else she was the master of?

Minding his business.

"Have you met someone?"

The question lacked the tact she was known for, but Draco didn't miss a beat. "No."

Astoria frowned. "Daphne thinks I'm holding you hostage, and I know she's right. You've put a lot on hold for me—"

"I'm not missing out on anything."

"Yes, you are. The contract's clauses are phrased in a way I've been able to navigate, but you—"

"I'm fine."

"You're a virgin."

Draco rolled his eyes. "The clause is to protect my legacy, so I won't have children outside of marriage. Besides, I'm not interested in the penalties, losing my wand, or having to abandon my wealth and work for a living. No one is worth that."

Astoria patted his hand. "You're wrong. Someone is. You either haven't met them yet or haven't realised it."

He scoffed. Impossible. "I'm bored with this conversation. Be sure to tell my mother about the change of plans over dinner Friday."

"Oh gods." Astoria went pale, mouth dropping. "You're joking."

"I absolutely am not." Draco grinned wolfishly. "I must get my entertainment from somewhere."

She finished her cup in record time and sighed, "I need another drink."

Draco grabbed the mobile and examined it before throwing it out the door leading to the veranda.

A tense second followed before it reappeared, landing on the floor in front of him.

He examined it.

Frowned.

Not a crack in sight.

He could hear Theo laughing in his head.

"Dickwad."

Fundraising charities weren't Draco's favourite events to attend, but he liked putting on his best dress robes and smiling for both the photos and at people who still resented his family for escaping Azkaban (amongst other things). An evening being polite to the point of condescension—all out of pettiness—was an ideal use of his time.

Killing people with both kindness and the largest donations of the evening.

A win for all.

Tonight's event was organised by the Department of Magical Creature Regulation to raise funding for the Hippogriff sanctuary in Northern Ireland. Astoria attended with Draco, donning a complimentary silver gown his mother had insisted she wear. It had once belonged to the Malfoy matriarch. This was their final appearance before she left for Iceland, so they posed like the happy couple they pretended to be.

"I can hardly breathe," Astoria muttered. "Your mother is the size of a fucking bowtruckle."

"She'll take that as a compliment." Draco nodded in the direction of his approaching mother, who wore emerald green, placing a hand low on Astoria's back. "Look alive."

"Shite." She forced a pleasant smile just in time. "Mrs Malfoy, how wonderful it is to see you tonight. I did not know you planned to attend."

"What a surprise," Draco deadpanned.

"I thought I would come to enjoy the festivities." His mother glared at him. "And to be certain that my son did not leave to avoid networking. You have not spoken to the Minister yet, or any of the Wizengamot members in attendance."

Draco wasn't in the mood to kiss anyone's arse tonight, but it was unavoidable with his mother here. The role of rebuilding their name in society had always belonged to him, thanks in part to his years-long armistice with Potter, Aunt Andromeda's willingness to publicly mend the bridge with their family and the numerous interviews that followed, and most importantly, the millions of Galleons his family donated to every cause.

He caught sight of Potter and Theo from across the room. They were standing with Wood, talking to Pansy and the Weasley she was shagging. That they were holding hands in public meant they were more serious than he'd been led to believe.

A photographer for Witch Weekly approached.

He and Astoria posed for several pictures, then more with his mother. Draco was half-blind from the flash by the time they moved to the next pair, but he could see the calculation in his mother's eyes. He didn't like it.

"Astoria, you look beautiful." It was a genuine compliment despite her voice being cool. "Perhaps the next gown of mine you wear will be my wedding gown."

She sputtered, which was his mother's intention.

"Perhaps this isn't the place, nor the time." Draco's eyes skimmed the room. "Oh, there's Lovegood."

Astoria took the offered escape. "I must go say hello."

They both watched her cross the ballroom to where Lovegood was dressed like a pixie. Draco turned to find his mother watching him with barely concealed suspicion. "What is it, Mother?"

"I wonder…"

But she never finished.

Instead, his mother left him with parting words—"Do socialise, Draco"— in favour of exchanging fake pleasantries with her arch-nemesis, Mrs Zabini.

Draco had more questions than answers regarding his mother's presence, but that nothing imploded—well, he'd consider the night a smashing success.

"Malfoy?"

The Scottish accent was all Draco needed to hear before turning to find the burly Oliver Wood standing behind him. He was as tall as Draco, built like he still played Quidditch daily, and dressed in navy robes, which made the sight of him with a pink velvet coin purse ridiculous.

"Looking for the donation table?" Draco asked.

"Na, but how come you're standing here by yourself?"

Another glance around made Draco realise he'd lost every familiar face. "Astoria went to talk to Lovegood and my mother is socialising. I was about to sign the note for our donation and leave. I have to meet Granger at the Ministry in a couple of hours and need to change."

"For the special project? I know she can't tell me anythin' about it."

"Charms won't allow it." Draco shrugged casually then looked around. "Where is Granger? This is a cause she'd support with all of her bleeding heart."

The corners of his mouth lifted in amusement as he raised the pouch, shaking it slightly. "It is, but she hates this sort of stuff, which is how come I'm here doing my duty as her boyfriend."

Like a common errand boy, but Draco kept that to himself.

When he spotted the donation table, Wood fell into step beside him. "Going to the match next week? Appleby Arrows versus Wimbourne Wasps. It's going to be a good one, a long one. They're evenly matched this year."

Normally, Draco would say yes and consider himself lucky when he was in the best box seat watching the match of the year. "We're taking a portkey to visit my father's relatives in the south of France. My cousin, Armand, has purchased a new vineyard as well as set up another location of Malfoy Apothecary."

Mother couldn't stand it, believing they'd only been invited to brag about their fortunes until Father reminded her that they owned the apothecary. The barely-illegal deal he'd made to keep the asset off the Ministry's radar when it came to reparations wasn't Draco's business. None of them were. And there were many.

Wood seemed disappointed. "Pity, but that's fine. Susan and Angelina are coming with Hermione so I wanted to even it up with me and Percy. Maybe I'll ask Dennis."

"Granger's going to a match?"

"Hermione's been a big Arrows fan for years. I saw her at their match a few years after the war. She tried to keep to herself because her split with Ron was still news everywhere and people were whispering and gawking at her, but that didn't matter."

"Why not?"

"Her seats were in the next box over and she didn't look over once, but I heard her cheering the whole match. Took getting a black eye and busted lip in my fight with Ron for me to even speak to her, but it's the best decision I've made."

"Fight? Wait, there—oh." He remembered hearing news of a brawl with Weasley and a teammate over the Wireless, but no one knew what it was about or who'd broken his nose.

"Got tired of him goin' on about their split. It wasn't right." A flash of anger crossed his face. "It was a PR nightmare, but they kept my name out of it. Got an offer to coach the Falcons and resigned before I could get sacked."

The conversation ended abruptly when they arrived at the table. Wood handed the pink coin purse over and began signing the form. Draco did the same and left.

He would deal with his mother's disappointment at his refusal to socialise the best way he knew how.

Avoidance.

Greg was proud of his cupcake creation.

The icing was decorated to look like a blush pink peony.

Draco blinked.

"It means bashfulness."

"Yes, I know." But Draco doubted Daphne would give it a second glance before shovelling as much as she could fit into her mouth.

He'd seen the way she ate. The cupcake didn't stand a chance.

"Ever thought about telling her?"

Greg recoiled. "Don't you remember the last time?"

Oh, right.

George Weasley's Christmas party two years ago.

With the host's tendency to test products out on guests, Draco never consumed or touched anything the moment he set foot into his house.

It was Greg's first party, and he was never warned. He ate what turned out to be a Truth Tart and concussed himself trying not to vomit his feelings to an increasingly worried Daphne. When he panicked to the point of blacking out and they had to rush him to St Mungo's, Draco covered by telling Daphne he'd had a heat stroke.

In winter.

Somehow, she believed him.

Or was too worried about Greg to listen.

Draco grabbed the box with the cupcake inside and frowned at the two cups of Greg's blend of highly caffeinated coffee. "Why two?"

"For Granger," he replied awkwardly, playing with the string of his apron tied around his front. "She wrote a thank you note for the meal so I'm sending her coffee."

Draco frowned. "I didn't know you were mates."

"We're not." Greg shrugged. "Spent a lot of time sayin' sorry whenever I saw her, but she only asked if I was all right."

"That's odd."

"Yeah. She knew about my mum leaving, cutting me off, and starting over in the States. Her new marriage and son she said she'd raise better than me. I told her I was getting better, seeing a mind healer, and she said the best apology I could give was by becoming a better person. So I did. I'm a coward, so here."

With his mind heavy with questions and thoughts, Draco took the coffees and left.

Granger unceremoniously burst into his office two hours after he left Greg's coffee on her desk.

"I've figured it out!"

By some miracle, Draco managed not to fall out of his chair, but wasn't lucky enough to save his inkwell. He knocked it over with a wave of his hand, spilling ink all over the parchment he was reviewing.

After a deep breath, he turned to the woman in his doorway, glaring, "Do you know how to knock or is that too much for you to handle?"

He was sure his death glare would make her retreat, but Granger was unbothered. Like he hadn't said a thing, she walked up to his desk with the book she was holding. A flick of her wand made the spilled ink vanish. Draco had barely enough time to move his research before she dropped the book in front of him.

"I was at the Quidditch match last weekend and it didn't finish until after dark."

Draco blinked. "Err…"

"What do you know about moon cycles?" she asked in a rush.

That was an easy question. "On average, it takes twenty-eight days for the moon to orbit the earth, but the moon cycle is about twenty-nine days. We can only see the moon because of the sun reflecting off its surface because the moon doesn't produce its own light."

Granger tilted her head. "I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting the random information regurgitation. Usually I'm the one doing it."

"You obviously need smarter friends."

That soured her expression. "My friends are plenty smart."

"So am I, yet you're continuously shocked when I show a modicum of intelligence."

"Actually, my surprise is from my realisation that you hoard random information. I do the same and didn't know we had much in common."

Draco folded his arms. "Just know the bigot living inside me is arguing violently against being anything like you."

"What about you?"

"I've always had an appreciation for knowledge in all forms. You never know when you'll need it." He leaned back in his chair. "Now, why do you care about moon cycles?"

"I think the locking sequence in the artefact room is based on the moon. You said it yourself, there are twenty-eight options to unlock the room, there is a moon on the ceiling and the phase matches the actual moon."

"So you think they're in an order?"

"Yes, and in order to test this theory we'll need to keep unlocking it each night for the next for the rest of this moon cycle. At the start of the next cycle, we can rearrange the order if need be."

"So we have to be here every night at midnight when the doors lock to—"

"It won't take a long time, but yes. It's fine if you don't want to, I can chart the results and complete the report myself. I don't sleep much."

Draco tilted his head in observation. "Neither do I."

Granger folded her arms. "We could just do the report right then and save time."

"Fine." A thought passed and he hesitated before asking, "Did you ever get my last note?"

"Yes, but I fell asleep at my desk before I could send off a response." She closed the book and picked it up. "When I woke up, I figured it was too late for an explanation and never circled back."

It was, but Draco was curious, having never known another high-functioning insomniac. He always felt like an anomaly and never knew how to talk about it with anyone. Granger suffering the same affliction made him feel almost normal.

"How long have you been an insomniac?" he asked.

The word made Granger visibly uncomfortable. "It started the year I spent on the run with Harry, went away for a while, then returned when I was stressed from my split with Ron. It never fully went away."

Years.

Like him.

"I haven't slept more than five hours since the summer before Sixth Year." Draco felt strange voluntarily offering that amount of information—or rather, ammo—but she looked moments from fleeing his office as quickly as she entered.

He could relate.

"I—I don't talk about it much." Granger looked around awkwardly, shuffling her weight from right to left. "Aside from my friends—Alicia, Angelina and Susan. Oh, and Harry, to an extent, nobody knows and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Why are you hiding it?"

"Why. Are. You?" Her voice held a biting calm, each word a staccato.

Before Draco could respond, an interdepartmental memo slipped into the room from the crack in the door and landed on his desk. He opened it and read the message. "Croaker wants to see us about the report."

"Lead the way."

Chapter Text

The rest of the moon cycle passed in a blur.

Draco delegated tasks with his teams and reviewed reports from Brain room experiments, but avoided his parents, Daphne's increasingly angry glares, and the Greengrass matriarch's thinly veiled attempts at cornering him like a wounded animal.

There were hardly enough hours in the day to complete any task so Draco skipped Potter's gathering and felt the wrath of Pansy and Theo, who only left him alone once they'd realised he'd worn himself down so badly he was coming down with a cold.

But at night, particularly in between the hours of eleven and two, everything slowed.

Calmed.

In those hours, he and Granger decoded the artefact room rune sequence and completed their nightly report.

Draco always brought coffee and complained about his drink when there was nothing lacking except sugar. Granger brought blankets and extra supplies whenever he forgot his. Sometimes, they explored the vaults deemed safe to visit, and Granger marvelled over artefacts and sculptures, curious to learn everything she didn't already know.

Granger mostly kept quiet, asking his opinion here and there about subjects beyond his expertise, to his eternal shock, but they traded nothing personal aside from random quips about their shared insomnia. When she realised he was sick, she brought him tea and Paracetamol because Pepper Up did nothing for his aches and pain.

On the first night of the new moon cycle, the door sealed like usual at midnight.

Draco approached Granger with the notebook. "Let's find out which is the first code."

Granger did the honours of going down the list until she found the first code. The doors unlocking left a feeling of accomplishment, like solving a riddle.

"We still have to put the sequence in order for this moon cycle, but that's easy enough for an intern to complete and report back."

Draco closed the book. "Croaker will be pleased."

"At least now we can get back to our work." It was Granger's turn to complete tonight's report. She sat down on one of the two transfigured armchairs and started working on it. "Theo wants to start building our new Time Turner and Croaker won't sign off on anything until we finish."

"I need a few days to analyse the backlog of data from the brains. Since we started this artefact room project, the brains are increasingly obedient."

"What about your long term plans? Department heads don't usually run experiments."

"My team is eager to keep testing, they come up with their own hypotheses. I'm not worried about the interest in the room dying. There's plenty of data to test, such as the subsonic noises that have been coming from the tanks for the last few years. It only recently settled, but we believe they're trying to communicate with us."

Granger's eyes rose from her parchment. "What?"

"The—"

"No, how long?"

Draco shrugged. "A few years, maybe three."

"About the time the artefact room woke up." Granger tapped her foot. "The space room saw a new speck that year that ended up coming from another galaxy. The Veil started making louder noises. One of the clocks in the time room started running backwards. The love room Keeper is secretive but I'm wearing her down. I know something happened there."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything returned to normal when we opened the artefact room for the first time, as far as I know. It proves that your theory about all the rooms being connected has some merit. At the very least, it's worth testing. I think you should present the idea to Croaker as something that should be examined, both historically and going forward."

Draco thought about it. "I already have a research paper done for this very idea that I planned to publish to the interdepartmental newsletter. Adding the recent changes is a good idea."

"It will certainly get the attention you'll need to secure the Undersecretary position."

Draco frowned. "Why are you helping me?"

"I'm not," Granger replied. "You had the hypothesis. I just believe in it now."

"Your faith in me is suspicious."

Granger laughed. "I suppose the judgmental part of me is a lot like the bigot that lives inside you, but I refuse to do what it wants."

"Which is?"

"To see you for who you were instead of who you are."

Draco folded his arms. "A thousand impressions are hard to shed."

"Don't pretend you've tried." Granger snorted, returning to the report. "A Draco Malfoy apology tour? Sounds dreadful."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not one for apologies or explanations."

"It's a good thing I don't need either."

Draco woke at his desk with a neck cramp.

His head was a foggy mess, pounding to an incessant beat.

Someone was shaking him.

Groggily, he peered up at Greg, who didn't look surprised to see his sleeping location. Draco was. He didn't remember dozing off.

"Go shower and I'll fry up."

Draco did just that without argument because the alternative would end like all the times he'd been unceremoniously picked up by the bigger and taller Greg and carried to the bathroom. Terribly emasculating. When he sat down at his kitchen table, his hair still wet from the shower, breakfast and coffee awaited him along with an expression on his friend's face that meant one thing.

Greg wanted to talk. That was the equivalent to torture.

It was best to set boundaries. Healthy shite. Draco laid down the first. "Kindly fuck off."

Naturally, he was ignored. "Is it getting worse or better?"

It being Draco's insomnia. "It's fine."

Greg wasn't placated by the non-answer, but didn't push. Yet. Like Draco, he had a host of problems he avoided, which made Greg able to relate with his restlessness. He'd retreat, talk to his therapist, and approach the topic again. "If not me, talk to someone."

"I have a therapist." The espresso he made was near perfection. And sweet.

"Daphne isn't a therapist."

"Semantics." Draco was close to kicking his feet as he enjoyed his drink. "She has a comfortable sofa and wise words."

"That you don't listen to." Greg buttered his toast. "You're not alright."

Draco's good mood evaporated under the hot sun of reality. An irritable sigh escaped as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Must we have yet another conversation I'm going to force myself to forget?"

A long moment of silence passed with Greg watching him. "You don't forget anything I say. Not anymore."

He was right, but that was something Draco would die before admitting. "I'll also never forget you're annoying as hell."

The joke fell on deaf ears. If anything his friend grew more serious. "How can you be okay with the way things are for you?"

Draco leaned forward, half irritated, half serious. "Why don't you tell me how I'm supposed to feel?"

"About?"

"Everything. My father and his genetic mutations." He held up a finger with each new point. "My mother thinking I'm the problem she needs to solve in order for me to get married. I'm lying to everyone about Astoria, but dreading the moment the truth comes out because it'll change the only thing that's made me happy. My career. The one thing that doesn't matter to my family."

Greg grew concerned.

Draco couldn't stand it. "They want me married, with a son preferably, and to live Richly Ever After, giving Galleons to anyone with their hands open—people who, might I add, hate my family and wish we'd all been thrown in Azkaban because their cousin's cousin's friend's mother whoever was killed by Voldemort. Apparently, because my father followed and I did what I had to do to save my mother, that makes me just as bad. And they're not wrong."

"Draco."

"I'm angry all the time, even when I don't even realise it! I'm—"

The plate cracked in half.

Draco inhaled sharply, shocked from his outburst. His hands were shaking.

The laugh that escaped was hoarse. "Your plates are bloody cheap."

"These are yours." Greg went about fixing the broken dish with his wand before sitting back down. He pushed the food around his plate, not eating, only frowning while Draco's wired nerves settled. "I can't tell you how to feel, only that you should. Stop ignoring everything."

Draco finished his drink.

"I think I'll come over more," Greg announced. "You spend too much time alone."

"Hardly." Draco scoffed. "I'm always being dragged around to places I don't want to go."

Greg's expression became uncomfortably serious. "Why do you think we do it?"

"My presence is a present."

A beat passed before Greg laughed, loud and long. "Sometimes, yes, but mostly, we hate to see you like this."

"Like what? I'm—"

"Lonely."

When Draco examined the results of the historical raw magic readings in the department, he left his office to find Granger.

She wasn't where he expected.

"The Dining Hall," Theo redirected before returning to the interns crowded around him.

Draco delivered the research to her desk before deciding to find her instead. Expecting her to be alone, he was surprised to find her sitting at a table with Angelina Johnson-Weasley, Susan Bones, and Alicia Spinnet.

Every curious eye locked on him the moment he was close enough for his presence to no longer be interpreted as a coincidence.

Draco ignored the looks.

Granger said his name like a question, head tilted to the side.

"Apologies for the intrusion, but I left research findings on your desk. It pertains to our side-project."

Her eyes lit up. "Is it expected?"

"Yes but no."

That made her break into a smile. She was about to excuse herself, to leave with him, but noticed her friends giving her varying looks he couldn't interpret. Granger settled into her seat. "Erm, would you like to join us?"

Draco had never been so bewildered by an invitation. "I'd hate to—"

"No." Spinnett shifted her chair over. "Join us."

He sat in the spare chair and felt like he was sitting for exams.

Or an interrogation.

He wasn't sure which.

But it was awkward.

Draco glanced at Granger. She was having a silent conversation with Angelina. He was about to cut his losses and make as many excuses as needed to get the fuck out of there when Spinnet surprised him.

"Cheers, I'm Alicia."

He frowned. "I know who you are. I see you at Potter's events all the—"

"Actually, I've not spoken to you in years, so you're basically a stranger. So, hello."

Slowly, he raised his hand in a stiff wave. "Hello?"

Angelina cracked a smile before sweeping her braids over her shoulder. "I see you too much to act like a stranger. My husband's still plotting to trick you into being a product experimenter."

Draco frowned. "Not bloody likely."

Bones nodded at him in greeting. "Malfoy."

"Bones."

And just like that, he was reacquainted.

The novelty of his presence wore off quickly.

Angelina talked about her playing schedule and her upcoming photoshoot with Wizard Weekly. Bones was the most animated he'd ever seen her, talking about her upcoming holiday to the Azores with Hannah Abbott, Ernie MacMillian, and Justin Finch-Fletchley. Spinnet brought up Katie Bell's wedding to a Muggle that had taken place the weekend before.

They'd all gone, even Granger.

Conversation suddenly died when they remembered Draco's history with Katie Bell.

Not quite water under the bridge, she'd never replied to his apology letter, but he no longer felt bad because he tried and was genuinely remorseful. She wasn't required to accept his attempts to obtain forgiveness.

Or whatever his therapist said.

"Good for her." Draco was glad she married, that she was happy despite nearly dying because of him. When he noticed Bones just waiting for him to say something rude, he held up both hands. "No need for the murder glare. I'll keep my dark humour to myself."

"Pity," Spinnet bemoaned. "I was waiting for a quip about sending a wedding gift. In a box. Or another necklace." At his wide eyed horror, she shoved him in the arm. "Relax, Malfoy. Katie got your first apology letter ages ago and called the Aurors because she thought it was cursed."

"What?"

"It's true," Granger confirmed.

"I've never seen Harry laugh as hard as he did when he opened the envelope and read the note to the entire team." Susan cracked a rare smile. "We haven't stopped taking the piss about it since. Even Katie laughs, too."

Angelina smiled into her cup. "Did Harry not tell you?"

"No," Draco grumbled. "That wanker didn't say a word."

The entire table dissolved in laughter.

"Oi, Hermione, don't look like that," Angelina said.

Granger held up both hands. "I'm thinking."

"Yeah, we know. Stop it." Alicia clasped her hands together. "Don't spend any energy on her."

"Agreed," Bones said. "She's just trying to get a reaction. Lina, she's your teammate, tell her to chill."

"She won't listen." Angelina shrugged. "I've decided to keep letting her hang herself."

Who were they talking about?

Draco never got his answer.

Angelina glanced at her watch and swore. "I've got to go. Interview."

Everyone started to get up. Alicia extended an invite to join their group activity rotation.

"What's that?"

"One Saturday, when we're all free, we alternate choosing something we've been wanting to do and invite everyone along. Doesn't happen often, Hermione and Susan like to go off on their own most of the time, but you're welcome to join us."

Draco was about to decline when he noticed the oddly hopeful expression on Granger's face.

"I accept."

Granger was waiting outside Croaker's office later that afternoon, looking very inconvenienced.

Draco paused mid-step then continued, stopping on the other side of the door. "I see you've been summoned as well."

"He called you, too?" she asked.

"This note was waiting for me on my desk." He held up the parchment before tucking it into his pocket.

The doors opened and they both filed in. They were barely seated in the cluttered office when their boss asked, "Keeper Malfoy, how would you like to become the first Keeper of the artefact room?"

Draco hated being put on the spot. He blinked repeatedly until his mind restarted. After settling in his chair, he weighed every option as efficiently as he could with what little time he had. He glanced at Granger, who looked awfully smug for someone who hadn't been offered the position.

The offer was appealing; the first of its kind as far as he knew, which was noteworthy and did wonders for his ego. However, to accept meant he'd eliminate himself from the running of Undersecretary. Being the first to head a room meant starting fresh. He'd be able to set the precedent, but that involved an inordinate amount of supervision. Draco liked his current team because they were self-motivated, reliable and hardly needed him. With this offer, he wouldn't know what he was walking into.

Draco hated surprises more than he loved recognition.

"While I appreciate the offer, I regretfully decline. My ambitions lie elsewhere."

"Ah." He leaned back in his chair, looking interested. "The Undersecretary position."

There was no sense in being coy. "Yes."

Croaker nodded. "I have yet to begin the selection process, but I'll confess, I was already considering you and Keeper Granger. I was going to base my decision on who accepted the artefact room position."

Granger's expression evened out when she realised what was happening. "Unfortunately, I'm not interested in either position and must withdraw my name from the candidate pool. I enjoy my work in the time room and we are far from finished."

"That wasn't the answer I expected."

"I do know someone who is interested in the artefact room—Unspeakable MacMillian. He has done exemplary work in the space room under Keeper Evans and has the drive to fully excavate and explore the new room."

Croaker tilted his head slightly. "Keeper Granger, I thought you were more ambitious."

She bristled like a porcupine, immediately on defence. "I am ambitious, but only as it relates to my current work. I respect your position and appreciate your acknowledgement of my skills, but the labour it will take to bring a new department up to speed is not one I wish to undertake. Furthermore, the politics involved in running a department have never interested me."

"Duly noted."

When they left Croaker's office, Draco watched Granger irritably stomp off in the direction of the time room with growing curiosity.

Her bad mood was easy to ignore, inconsequential to the good news of his consideration for his desired position. That didn't stop him from wondering, his curiosity piqued as he shoved aside questions for the rest of the day.

Until he failed. Draco needed to know, so he loitered around the entrance of the department until she emerged.

Granger gave him an odd look. "You're here?"

"I was taking a break," Draco lied terribly and her raised brow made it clear she didn't believe him. "Fine. I was waiting. I wanted to talk to you."

She shouldered her bag with open curiosity. "Then you'll have to come on my walk."

Draco fell into step beside her, simply following, not knowing the destination. They took a Floo that let them out in an alley that happened to be a park across town. As they passed groups of Muggles, he muttered curses for not bringing a jacket or changing out of Unspeakable robes. It wasn't until they set foot on a path that he realised something.

Nobody had looked at them.

"I cast a Disillusionment Charm. They can't see us." She smoothed down her hair that had shifted in the breeze. "What did you want to discuss?"

Bravado lost, Draco was about to make excuses to avoid what he really wanted to know, but the urge to know why Granger declined never fully vanished.

"Why aren't you interested in the position?"

Granger looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "What?"

He shook off the rest of his jitters, their origin as unknown as the reason for their sudden appearance. "I'm not the only one who assumes that you'll leave for a position that would make your climb to Minister for Magic easier, but you haven't."

"I didn't lie to Croaker. I'm not interested in that life. I've spent enough time on the front pages to last a lifetime," she said with enough bitterness to peel upholstery from furniture and varnish from wood. "I see enough of what Kingsley endures when we have tea. He is working as hard as he can and gods forbid he take a moment to himself. Or has a moment when he wants to be left alone. He can hardly breathe without being judged."

"Take it from someone with a lot of experience, you learn to ignore it," Draco replied. "Even now, people have theories about how I've managed to climb so high."

"And there are many who wonder why I haven't climbed higher."

The anger and frustration radiating from her made him watch her for signs of lashing out.

Tense shoulders. Sharp gaze. Set jaw.

Draco wanted to be far away when the bomb went off.

Granger caught him staring and stopped walking to take calming breaths of fresh air, her hand resting on her stomach. "Sorry. I'm so wound up. There's a lot that's been festering for years. It's just…"

His stomach twisted. "I think—I think I understand."

She looked down at her feet. "You and I, we've been speaking for the last few months."

"About work mostly." Draco shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"But also about life. At least, some aspects of it." She watched a jogger pass. "I'll admit it's strange to be considering talking to you about my frustrations."

"You don't have to—"

"You've witnessed my story, even from your own biased lens."

"Likewise." Draco ran a hand through his hair. "I hardly care about the problems I can fix, but—forget it, we can drop it and I'll go."

Before he could walk away, Granger's hand wrapped around his wrist. "But what?"

Draco fidgeted, eyes scanning the trees around them from left to right. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

She never let go, never looked away. She waited in a way nobody had before—to hear him.

His words escaped in a rush. "You're not horrible."

"Thanks?" A slow smile spread and her eyes danced. "Neither are you. At least not now."

Draco only blinked.

"Why are you curious about my decision to not pursue a promotion?"

"I don't know. I—I just am."

"I am more than my accolades." Granger's words unconsciously drew him a step closer. "I have an Order of Merlin—First Class. I'm the leading time researcher in the world. I have a reputation as the brightest witch of my age. I survived a war. I went back to Hogwarts and left with the most NEWTs by a single student in over a century. People envy me."

"I don't."

"You shouldn't." Granger still hadn't let go of his wrist, but her grip relaxed. "I've held positions in not one, not two, but three departments in the Ministry. I wrote the legislation that reformed house-elf treatment and successfully lobbied for Lycanthropy care to be funded by the Ministry. Harry is open about how he would've died without me, but it's my failures that are what people talk the most about. My accomplishments are meaningless."

Draco shifted uncomfortably, ignoring the similarities with his outburst. "I don't think that's true."

"People still wonder why I'm not more successful or why I haven't done more with my life. Why I'm not married or have children, as if doing both will add to my worth. I have no aspirations to be Minister and everyone wants to know why. Perfection is unattainable but it's what people expect from me, and the moment—the moment—I set a toe out of this box that's been created for me, I become the problem."

Witnessing her fury left him both awestruck and speechless.

"More. I hate that word." Granger closed her eyes and touched her temples. "I'm not sure how much more I can be."

He didn't expect the dark turn of the conversation or his deep tug of understanding. The best way to respond was with his normal sarcasm. "You're full of righteous indignation today, Granger."

"I've had a rough few days," she confessed. "I only slept a couple of hours this morning before Ginny invited herself to my flat for breakfast. That's who everyone was talking about at the table. They were there to cheer me up."

Draco's confusion spiked. "I thought you two were best mates."

Often when Ginny Weasley was around, she'd loudly mention Granger.

How they were meeting up for drinks or a meal or going out.

How she bought her trinkets from her travels with the Harpies.

There was no reason to take her word for anything except face value.

Until now.

"We're something, but I wouldn't call it anything close to that…" She chewed on bitten down fingernails. "Ginny likes to tell the story that we're mates to anyone who listens, but it's not real. I forgave her and her mum for how they treated me after I split with Ron, but to her, my forgiveness means everything is fine and we can go back to what we were. She's wrong. I've moved on."

"I expect that from my mates, but from you lot, it seems cold."

"Not everyone is my friend, no matter how long I've known them or whether at one point we considered each other family. That didn't matter to them then, why should it matter to me now? I'm no longer upset. I forgave them for myself, but that doesn't mean I've forgotten. It's because I refused to keep carrying a grudge."

There was a matter-of-factness in her comment, as if she'd long since made her decision.

How did she know to walk away?

How could she keep going without looking back?

Where did she hide her anger?

Was there room inside his body for his?

Suppressed but now visible, Draco knew his anger was too large to be contained to one human heart.

"What about you?"

"Me?" Both startled by the question and the full realisation of how close he'd gotten to telling her about his conversation with Greg, the broken dish, and that his friends thought he was lonely.

Too close.

"Yeah, did you sleep?" Granger asked.

Oh, that. "For four hours."

"Impressive."

Silence stretched beat by clumsy beat. A few Muggles passed.

The first sign of rain appeared in the sky just as Draco found his voice. "For what it's worth, and it's not much coming from me, you don't have to justify anything to anyone."

Granger seemed surprised, but not as shocked as he was at her parting words.

"Neither do you."

Chapter Text

February raced by in a rush.

March was a blur, and now April had arrived.

Once they arranged the sequence of codes and turned it in, everything returned to normal.

Or as close as it could.

Draco began new training exercises on the brains and Croaker started asking his advice on more administrative tasks. He was too busy for Potter's gathering and didn't see or hear much of Granger, except news from Theo that they'd begun building the new Time Turner. MacMillian became the first Keeper of the artefact room and his new team was making new discoveries each day.

The time he and Granger worked on the rune sequence felt like a fever dream.

As did their conversations and interactions.

He delivered coffee on odd days before she arrived, and they passed research between them. Draco had even joined her mates for a salt cave tour. Spinnett's choice, but they'd barely spoken, only catching each other's glances from time to time.

Draco never bothered to analyse it.

Granger's renaissance in his life occurred thirteen days into April.

An owl tapping outside his window interrupted his nightly attempt to sleep.

He knew that tap.

Oscar.

Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore it, but that did nothing. Oscar kept going until Draco relented and got out of bed.

The note he paid for with five owl bites made his brow rise.

Malfoy,

I realise the time, but I wonder if you're awake.

Granger

The casualness of the note was alarming.

Draco placed it on the table and stepped back.

It would be best to return to his warfare on insomnia, but a spark of curiosity wouldn't let him. Oscar was perched on the edge of his open window, looking ready to steal the tin of owl bites through any means necessary.

After summoning it with a silent spell, Draco caught the canister midair. The owl turned to him.

"Listen here, you domesticated flying chicken. Stay right here. Any sudden moves and I won't be responsible for my actions."

Draco barely made it out unscathed as he retreated into his office with the note.

Granger,

Yes, I'm awake.

Malfoy

Oscar took the note, accompanied by another treat, with little fuss.

Fifteen minutes later, the owl returned.

Malfoy,

Why are you awake?

Granger

Draco rolled his eyes upon seeing her quickly scrawled question under his note.

Granger,

The same could be asked of you.

Malfoy

When no response came in the customary time it took Oscar to fly from his home to her flat, Draco laid on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. He'd have to go to breakfast with his mother soon, lest she Floo call to guilt him about abandoning her.

Draco nearly fell off the sofa when a flame sparked in the fireplace.

A very familiar throat cleared.

He crossed the room to the fireplace, harshly half-whispering, "Granger?"

"Sorry, I ran out of owl treats and Oscar won't take my letter because you've spoiled him."

"So you admit you have a demanding owl," he replied dryly. "What is it?"

"I was answering your owl."

"You made a Floo call to answer my note? Might I remind you that you owled me first."

"If I'm being honest, I'm not sure why. I was awake and figured you might be."

"Have you nothing better to do?"

"I have plenty to do, which is why I'm still at my desk. I thought you would be sleeping better now that Croaker is seriously looking at you as a contender for the Undersecretary position."

"We both know that's not how insomnia works." Draco sat in the chair and folded his arms. "Why are you still working? I could see working extra while we were in the artefact room, but not now."

"Says the last Keeper to leave each night."

"You're deflecting."

"I…" Granger's voice sounded uncomfortable, but just for a moment. "I suppose it could wait, but I couldn't sleep. I usually work when I can't because I'd rather not waste the hours lying awake. Plus I disturb Oliver whenever he stays over."

Hmm. Odd. "You don't live together?"

"No."

Strange, given the length of their relationship, but who was he to talk when he and Astoria never had anything resembling a relationship away from the public eye?

"I should get back to work," Granger muttered. "Thanks for the company."

"You missed Greg's cooking last Friday at the group dinner."

"Damn." She smacked her teeth. "I didn't know he was cooking. I just heard that everyone was coming and Oliver was busy. I wasn't in the mood to pretend with some for the sake of keeping the peace, at least not without a buffer."

"Perhaps I—" Unplanned words escaped before he could gather them, but he felt compelled to follow through. "I could be your buffer. Whenever you need it."

Silence stretched like a string, growing thinner until it snapped.

"I'd like that." It was a half-whisper, something soft and unsure. "Thanks for the offer."

Draco couldn't let it grow into awkwardness. "You should sleep."

"You should, too."

Draco filled the kitchen sink with water and dropped the mobile in, watching it sink to the bottom.

"Good riddance you—"

The mobile flew out of the water, forcing Draco to duck to avoid being hit in the face by the flying object.

It landed on the table.

No water damage. No scratches.

"Theo, I hate you so much."

Draco snatched it up and stormed out.

Potter laughed until there were tears in his eyes. "I forgot about your apology letter to Katie."

Draco scowled.

Theo had all but forced him to come to theirs to eat takeaway and listen to the Slytherin/Gryffindor match on the Wireless, but had left him with Potter the moment he'd arrived. They'd met their monthly quota for decency, which left them doing what they do best.

Insulting each other.

This time, over a game of wizard's chess.

Only Potter was rubbish which made his jabs hit lower.

Two moves later, Draco's queen reduced Potter's king to dust.

The laughing stopped.

"Checkmate, you bag of peacock shite."

Potter sulked for a fraction of a moment, then his frown turned devilish. "Dear Katie Bell, I know I am the last person on—"

Draco used his finger to send a bright orange pillow hurling across the room to bean him in the face. The satisfaction he felt when Potter's glasses went flying along with the squawking sound Potter made kept his mood bright for a week.

Draco hadn't seen Greg read in years, but he was studying a book with a series of grimaces and the occasional bewildered smile.

"I didn't know you could read."

It earned him a rude gesture. "What about edible orchids? Milk chocolate for the bark?"

"You're hopeless."

"I know." Greg absently pointed at the two coffees. "Don't forget to take Granger's."

"Not an errand boy."

Draco took both anyway.

At half past two, while Draco was reviewing materials for his next interdepartmental article, Granger started a fire he couldn't put out.

"What do you do for fun?" Her question was sudden, loud in the silence that occupied the space.

Weirdly, he couldn't formulate an answer outside of Quidditch, reading, and spending time with his insufferable mates.

"I read…" Granger offered, as if it was enough to encourage him to give his own response.

But it only inspired sarcasm. "Naturally."

"I do yoga and tai chi."

"Sounds very Muggle."

"Both are known for stress reduction while promoting strength, flexibility, and balance," she rattled off. "I hike and ride my bike."

"I… erm, I enjoy music and my mother forced me into dance classes as a child, as was proper."

"I didn't ask about your mother. I asked what you do for fun." Granger's silence was sentient, still searching for answers. "I'm a living historian. I perform historical reenactments with a group of Muggles—not always, though. I'm an understudy."

Draco nearly choked on air. "What?"

"There are tours for those interested in immersing themselves in historically accurate medieval life, minus the death and disease, but we don't gloss over it." She was rustling parchment. It sounded like she was tearing it into strips. "Are you going to laugh?"

He was still trying to decide. "You dress in—"

"Historically accurate attire. I understudy for the woman who plays the daughter of a Duke. When she is unavailable, I take her place, discussing courtship and the life of a woman during those times."

Draco put down his quill. "Where can I see this for myself?"

"Absolutely not."

"I'll dress up as a lord of the castle—or a knight."

"You'll get killed in a duel," she deadpanned.

Draco was offended. "Oh ye of little faith."

"Is that your attempt at speaking medieval?"

"Yes."

"Do better."

"Gōdne ǣfen?"

"That's Old English."

"Guten Tag?"

"That's German."

"Good 'morrow, milady."

"Close, but the answer is still no."

Draco didn't know what overcame him, but he laughed until his sides hurt.

"You never answered me. Not completely."

"I—" His smile sobered. "Outside of Quidditch, work, listening to music, and forced compliance with making myself available to everyone, sometimes I read, but mostly, I'm not passionate about much outside of work."

"That's… sad."

A quiet part of him agreed.

Potter had a pint waiting. Draco sat down on the barstool next to him and didn't apologise for being late. Apologies weren't something either were good at.

"Where's Wood?" More often than not, he came along as their third to watch. Draco took his first drink and baulked at Potter's cheap taste in lager. "Why must you drink like you're poor?"

Potter rolled his eyes and ignored his second question. "One of his Chasers was hit with a bludger during practice. Took a nasty fall. Wood's at St Mungo's with them. Just us tonight."

"Tragic."

He made a face. "You can admit you don't hate me."

"I don't want to stomp on your face, but let's not take it that far, you bastard."

"We share a mobile plan."

"Against my will!"

"Semantics."

"Who taught you that word?"

Potter's mouth dropped into a scowl, but he said nothing else.

After making a face after his second sip, Draco flagged the barman down to order a pint of their most expensive beer. One glance at the scowling Potter made him ask for a second.

"Call it a gift."

"Expensive doesn't always mean it's better, you twat."

When their pints arrived a few minutes later, Draco took a healthy drink of probably the smoothest beer he'd had in months and waited for Potter to do the same. When he squinted and continued drinking without complaint, Draco knew he'd won. "You were saying?"

"Fuck off, Malfoy."

Draco laughed.

Tonight's pub was in South London. It was one they frequented to watch the football match—they supported rival teams, naturally.

It didn't matter how casually Draco dressed, he always stood out. People stared. Mainly women. They would wave when they caught his eye, smiling and biting their lips to give him signals he didn't give a damn about. A few boldly approached, stayed and flirted until Draco's blank stares became too much for their egos and they left in defeat.

Potter had his fair share of attention, too, but he always made his wedding band more visible and repeated key phrases like "my husband" until everyone left him alone.

It was quiet after the latest pair walked off. The game was on a commercial break.

Potter tried to do something neither had ever been good at. He started a conversation.

"I heard you're in contention for the Undersecretary position in the Department of Mysteries."

"Accurate, but who told you?"

"Hermione, at dinner last week." Potter finished his pint and flagged down the bartender for another and asked to take his unfinished drink away.

It physically pained Draco to not say something obnoxious. "Oh, well, she's right, but why are we talking about this?"

"She also told me that she couldn't stay out late because she was reading a draft of an article for you."

"Okay, and?" He'd asked for her to proofread through an interdepartmental memo last week and she'd agreed. Ulysses had snatched the parcel as if he already knew where it was going and couldn't wait to get there.

The traitor.

"I didn't know you two talked," Potter said more to himself. "No offence, but Hermione keeps to herself, Oliver, and those she's chosen as mates. I'm on the list, but I had to earn my spot back because of how I handled things when she and Ron split."

That information Draco didn't let pass by. "I've heard a little about that."

"From Padma? Yeah, she shouted at me months before Hermione did."

"Actually, no. Granger told me a bit about the situation."

"She actually talked to you about it?"

"Accidentally." He shrugged awkwardly, dying for a subject change.

Potter looked genuinely embarrassed. "Ron was my first friend. Hermione was my second, but I—it's always been different. I'll admit, I chose him over her more. She put up with us for years and was so busy saving my arse she got a chance to look out for herself."

Draco ordered another pint for them both. It was needed for this sort of conversation.

"There's a lot I didn't think about while we were on the run," Potter confessed. "Things that I reflected on later with a Mind Healer and—yeah. I took her for granted, didn't consider what she had going on in her life, and didn't listen to her when I should have. Bathilda Bagshot's house comes to mind. She told me not to go in and I brushed her off. I'd done that with everything, so many times that she never came to me about anything. Especially not any problems she was facing with Ron because she knew I would do just that."

"I know a lot about being a shite friend." Draco shrugged. "Always thought you were better than me. Turns out I was wrong."

He hummed in agreement. "It took a lot of yelling from several people for me to see I couldn't be a spectator in the war that broke out after she and Ron ended things. I got Ron to shut up, talked to everyone, started throwing parties for everyone to stop distancing her."

Draco snorted, imagining how well that went over. "A right hero, you are."

Potter ran a hand through his messy hair and finished his pint just as they received their refills. "You know, Hermione said the same thing when I came to show her how I'd fixed everything. She nearly ended our friendship on the spot, and told me I didn't have the right to turn up in the final hour like I'd been on her side all along, expecting accolades for doing the bare minimum. I mean, she was right. My silence made me complicit, no better than anyone who sent her howlers or those who distanced themselves. It took a few years to mend what I nearly broke, but I care about her."

Draco sipped his pint. There wasn't anything to say.

"Since you've taken a vow of silence on the matter, Hermione has two categories she keeps everyone in: people she gives a damn about and the rest. She doesn't add people to the first often so don't be… yourself."

"Granger doesn't give a damn about me, Potter. We're not mates, we're colleagues."

Potter slapped him on the back and continued watching the game. It felt like sympathy.

Draco's team lost by two goals.

The invitation to dine with the Greengrass family always arrived when Draco least expected.

No matter how many years of experience he had with their antics, or how prepared he was for every possible conversational topic, he was never able to step back from the edge during each interaction.

They would be exactly like his parents if their old money hadn't run out over the years. Bad investments left them in a home far too large with one hardworking house-elf who served basic meals off heirloom dinnerware and cutlery that always needed polishing. Astoria's father was physically present but mentally absent, and her mother had good intentions but was overbearing.

Dignified. Proud. Suspicious.

Specifically of him.

"Your parents told us about the new location for Malfoy Apothecary in the south of France," Mrs Greengrass said while Draco's knife scraped against the plate. "I don't think we've been to France in years."

"I'm certain my parents can arrange a visit."

She gave him a pleasant, motherly smile that wrinkled the skin around her eyes. "I do hope to visit, not as a friend of the Malfoy family, but as your mother-in-law."

Draco froze.

Astoria's father jolted out of whatever thought had him staring into space.

Daphne became the hero for the day. "Mother, I thought we agreed to no wedding talk tonight. At least while Tori isn't here. Let him finish his lamb before you start suggesting dates and venues and remind us all that the table linens must coordinate with the flowers."

Her mother's smile faded. "It's not every day your daughter gets engaged."

"No, it's not, but you've had nearly eight years of days," Daphne flippantly retorted.

The comment earned her a terse look from one parent while the other continued eating.

"Your sarcasm continues to be unappreciated, Daphne."

She smiled sweetly. "Duly noted, Mother. I'll stop when you do."

As an only child, thanks to Daphne, he'd come to understand the benefit of having a sibling when it came to deflection and equalising the odds. Her relationship with her parents was rocky at best for reasons that had to do with the neglect that came with being the healthy sister. She refused to make amends, but never failed to turn up when they invited Draco with the purpose of trying to secure a wedding date.

"Draco." Mrs Greengrass dabbed the corner of her mouth. "Please tell my darling Daphne that you do not mind wedding discussions."

Oh, he minded very much, but the truth was pointless to tell. "I do not, but I'm curious about the painting. Is that a Catsneer?"

Like the clock's toll at the top of a new hour, this question—along with any topic close to history—brought Mr Greengrass to life. "Oh! Yes it is. Authentic, too. Had a magical art valuer verify it. You really know your art. This piece has been in my family for three hundred years and how we acquired it is quite the story…"

And it was.

Mr Greengrass dominated the rest of the conversation about how they acquired a rare painting from the Flint family in a friendly wager before a Quidditch match. Not particularly interesting, but the story was indeed long enough to bore Mrs Greengrass from the room in a huff at the end of hour one.

When Mr Greengrass went to listen to history tales on the Wireless, Daphne found a bottle of Gigglewater and dragged Draco out to the veranda.

"Drinking is the only way to recover from a meal with my parents."

Under the crescent moon, they sat on the stone ground and drank until the effects left them leaning against each other. With aching sides, they were in absolute hysterics at his horrid jokes and her attempts at tap dancing that ended with a lost shoe. In the seconds following their dying laughter, he glanced and found the flushed, glass-eyed Daphne staring with a soft smile.

He snorted. "You're so bloody pissed."

"I am." Daphne giggled until she hiccupped. "But it's nice to hear you laugh."

"I laugh a lot. At people, mainly. I'm good at that."

"You're also good at lying to yourself."

Draco looked up. The stars were out in a sterling clarity that sobered him.

Softened his thoughts.

Honesty bubbled to the surface. "I'm my parent's only son. Lying to keep the peace is the only way I know how to get through this life."

"Are you even looking for an alternative?"

No, he wasn't. That seemed exhausting. "It's supposed to be easy like this. To have everything decided for me. Prospects reviewed. Selected. Bought and paid for. Handed to me. I don't have to do anything except have a child and stay faithful. I was fine, but now…"

"Something's changed."

"I don't know what." Draco rubbed his forehead. "Marriage continues to be the only way to secure connections, your family's financial security—"

"To hell with my family." Daphne's voice was sharp with anger. "They only threw Astoria out there when your parents were looking for prospects because we needed money and I refused to be offered up like a prized cow."

"I know." Draco shrugged. Money was the only reason people associated with them at that time. It wasn't different now. "Just like my parents wanted the connection to a clean family. They'll pay as many Galleons as it takes to be on top again, even if it takes another generation."

"What about the other part in all this? Your future wife. Astoria or someone else. What about their wants and needs?"

He opened his mouth to answer but shut it and thought about what she was asking. His mind was hazy from the Gigglewater. "I thought their wants and needs would align with mine."

"They could be lying like you."

Draco hadn't thought about that option.

"And love?"

"I'm a selfish bastard." He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know the first thing about truly loving anyone outside of myself."

She bristled with increasing frustration. "What happens after Astoria gathers the penalty fee?"

"I move on, marry someone else, and find a—what did Granger say? A tolerable level of permanent unhappiness."

"Sounds miserable."

Draco shrugged. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You're free to marry whomever you want."

"Marriage isn't in my sight now. I'm just trying to figure him out."

"Who?"

"I'm not pissed enough for this heart to heart." Daphne drank from the bottle and giggled while offering it to him. "Also, did I hear you quote Granger? I didn't believe Theo when he said you two were mates now. I see her around, but she barely talks to anyone so I figured she was still a pompous swot."

Draco smirked and finished the last of the Gigglewater. "The swottiest, but not so pompous. She has her reasons."

"It's old news how everyone treated her when she and Weasley split up. Yeah, it was bad, awful even, how they ostracised her, but they all apologised and she's kept that distance for years."

Not even intoxication could keep the grin on his face. "As if you wouldn't? You won't forgive your parents. A betrayal is a betrayal, whether it's with family or mates. I'd say the latter is worse because you don't choose your family, you choose your friends. If they hurt you, that would cut deeper."

"Why?"

"In Granger's case, they chose to be in her life, but they also chose to alienate her without so much as a conversation. Apologies or not, she doesn't owe them shite."

Daphne's face fell. "You're… actually right. I'm going to be shocked by your emotional intelligence in the morning."

"I'm blaming it on the Gigglewater." Then he did the most unfortunate thing and giggled uncontrollably. "I know you don't know her well, but outside the late night Floo calls and her feral owl, she's… not bad."

Entertaining. Aggravating. Brilliant.

More than he expected.

Fascinating like a clock. Complex and precise but so flawed. Scratched and scarred. Like him.

Draco didn't compare the pieces that kept him and Granger incomplete. They weren't the same.

But a quiet part of him wondered if they could slot together? If they fit?

What would that mean?

When he glanced at Daphne again, her head was tilted towards him. She observed him with deep concentration, as if the answers to the mysteries of life were locked somewhere deep in his head.

Then she burst into fits of laughter, kicking her feet until her other shoe fell off. "No, that would be barmy. Yes. No? Maybe. No. That's absolutely nutters!"

Sinking deeper under the influence, Draco cracked a wide grin. "What are you going on about?"

"Nothing." She rubbed her eyes. "I'm so smashed I've lost the plot."

"I'd like to officially offer you the position of Undersecretary."

It was the last thing Draco expected Croaker to say.

And worse, he was hungover enough to need a second potion.

He hadn't applied or interviewed, but he'd be damned if he let something minor stop him.

"I accept."

They shook hands.

"I'd like for you to start officially on the first of June. Now you'll be responsible for choosing the Keeper to replace you."

Draco left Croaker's office in a surreal haze, but when everything cleared, his destination was crystal. He walked past Theo without speaking and approached Granger's office in the time room, knocking and waiting until she opened the door.

"Keeper Malfoy?"

Granger let him inside and shut the door.

"That is how you properly alert someone of your presence," Draco said smugly.

Her expression shifted to a scowl. "What is it? You're petty, but I know you didn't come here to make a point."

"No, I was offered the position of Undersecretary. I accepted."

Weirdly, she was the first person he wanted to tell.

Granger's eyes bugged wide and she beamed with excitement. "Congratulations!"

Draco's mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smile. He hazarded a glimpse, a small noise of surprise escaped when she threw her arms around him in a hug so quick he didn't get a chance to return it.

Or even decide if he would.

Granger went on, burning through questions about his start date, new office, and what he planned to do to celebrate the promotion. Draco limited himself to shrugs and short answers, but the second time she brushed past him, his eyes followed.

A spark was born in the deep pit of indifference.

Its heat was warm yet ominous.

Chapter Text

By June third, two things had happened.

First, Draco appointed his replacement.

Second, much to the benefit of both owls, Granger had become a regular caller to his Floo.

Not every night, but some.

A few times a week.

Three or four. Maybe.

It never failed.

There was a one in five chance Granger would Floo call. The odds rose until the three o'clock hour, then dropped off considerably after that. Sometimes they discussed their work or sent papers for the other to review and critique. Other times, they read in a silence so companionable Draco almost forgot she was on the other side of the connection. He couldn't forget about the nights they debated with a ferocity that one—usually Granger, the hot head—would close their end of the Floo.

The odds of her calling after those nights dropped drastically to one in fifteen, but after a few silent nights, Granger would return to his Floo like she'd been there all along.

Tonight, when his fireplace flared to life, Draco was ready.

In lieu of a greeting, he asked, "Did you read the draft I sent you?"

"Hello to you, Malfoy, and yes, I have. The fifth and seventh paragraphs need clarification. I've sent Oscar over with my copy that has corrections and suggestions. He should be there in a few minutes. In a few places, you use passive voice instead of active. In addition, there are thirteen grammatical errors."

Draco scowled. "Grammar is subjective."

"There are forms of punctuation other than commas and periods. Broaden your horizon and use an em-dash or a semicolon."

"It's a departmental newsletter," he deadpanned.

He could almost see Granger rolling her eyes. "It doesn't have to be, Malfoy. You could submit this article to Mystic Academic for consideration."

Draco spied the latest edition on his table. He'd had a subscription for years. The idea of his own work making the worldwide publication seemed impossible.

There was a tapping on his window.

"My nemesis has arrived." Draco stood, stretching his arms over his head. "Hopefully I'll return with all my fingers."

"Good luck."

Oscar was on the other side of the glass, glaring at him like usual. Draco fished the agreed number of treats out and laid them on the table before letting the owl in. Hundreds of nips and scratches over the months had taught Draco to wait until Oscar was occupied by his treats before picking up the parchment.

Draco almost dropped the parchment when he opened it.

There were dozens of corrections. The notes glowed in Granger's impeccable handwriting, lining the side. There were two sections that had so many corrections Draco could hardly read the original words.

It looked like someone hit his work with a lightning bolt.

"Did you get it?" Granger asked, quieter now that he was in the other room.

He was still reading her suggestions when he sat back down on the sofa. "I'm going to block my Floo now."

"You can try. But I have ways to circumvent rules, Malfoy. And when I do, I'll ring back and I promise I'll be even more annoying."

"Impossible."

He expected more sarcasm but heard a noise that sounded like a chair being scooted on hardwood floors. "On a serious note, your article is good. The corrections will make it better. Have you truly never considered an academic piece in something larger than the departmental newsletter?"

"No, I haven't."

She tsked. "That's not very ambitious of you."

"I go for realistic goals, thank you."

"How isn't that realistic?" Granger sounded like she was preparing for a lecture. When she inhaled, his eyes automatically rolled to the ceiling. "Hear me out. The Ministry isn't the only one who has brains. They are a sentient albeit endangered species. The problem is that everyone is so secretive, it's hard to know how anyone's research has progressed. Knowledge should be shared, not hoarded. This is how change can happen."

"And the social justice warrior Granger has entered the conversation. Still on your V.O.M—"

"It's called S.P.E.W., you prat." She fussed. "Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. I am still chair of the board that is creating a house-elf sanctuary in the—."

"I'm aware." Draco yawned. "My family donates."

"For appearances."

"Naturally."

"Aren't you tired of keeping up appearances?" Granger asked candidly. "Don't you want to live without apology? Without excuses or masks?"

"Sounds like that's what you want. So, what's stopping you?"

"Myself," Granger admitted. "My anxiety and need for comfort. I have a resistance to major changes. You?"

"If I choose a different life, I'll never know peace again."

Granger snorted. "Do you know peace now?"

"Gods no."

She chuckled. For all of Granger's ranting, yawning was contagious and she fell victim to it as well. "It's almost three."

"Still working?"

"No, I put it down when I called you," Granger replied, but he could hear her moving around, settling down. "Did you hear they were developing a new sleep aid potion? It's supposed to be a weaker form of Dreamless Draught."

"Potions can be addictive after long term continuous use. Believe me, I know. I got desperate for a while when my house arrest first started." And Dreamless Draught was something he knew how to make. "Detoxing was hell. I took two months off from NEWT studies and my parents were… discreet."

They paid a few private Healers handsomely for their silence.

Granger made a low noise of understanding. "Galleons do make some things easier."

"Some."

"I know a bit about detoxing, but not to that extent. Dreamless was prescribed to me by a mind healer, but when I finished my vial too quickly, I was told that I needed to stop the sleep aids and figure out the root cause of my insomnia."

"Did you?"

"Did you?"

He made a face at the fireplace. "I despise when you answer a question with a question."

Granger chuckled softly. "I'm insufferable, remember?"

"How can I forget?" Draco murmured, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

She was silent for a moment. "Theo said your birthday is in two days."

He groaned. "If he's planning a surprise party, it's your duty to make him stop."

Granger had the gall to laugh. "My duty? Is that right? And why is that? I thought we were colleagues with mutual friends."

"I read your research and put up with your late night ramblings. I'm owed."

That made her laugh harder.

Draco made a face she couldn't see.

"Which is it—do you hate birthdays or parties?" Granger asked.

"Neither. I love birthdays for all the selfishness I'm allowed. I hate surprises." He sulked at the mere thought of all his friends and family hiding in a room, awaiting his arrival. "I'm spoiled, impatient, nosey, and need to be in control without giving much effort."

"None of those qualities go hand in hand with loving surprises."

"Exactly." Draco turned on his side, facing the fireplace. "I never give the reaction that's expected of me." He either froze up or started swearing violently. There was no in between. "Why have you never come around for my birthdays? I know Theo invites you."

"We hardly spoke before the artefact room project. Didn't think you'd notice or care." Granger replied. "Oh, and September nineteenth."

"What's that date?"

"My birthday. Remember it. Don't be a selfish prat and forget to wish me a happy birthday."

"I make no promises." Draco could feel his eyes finally growing heavier.

"Sure you don't." Granger yawned again. "I think it's time for me to stare at the ceiling until I fall asleep. Goodnight, Malfoy."

"Goodnight, Granger."

"Oh, and Theo is planning a surprise party."

"I fucking knew it!"

He closed his Floo to the sound of her laughter.

On the morning of his birthday, caught in the act, Greg only blinked at a frowning Draco who darkened his doorway.

"Uhh, what are you doing here, Draco?"

"This is a betrayal I will never recover from."

Greg stammered at least three times before squeaking, "Pretend you didn't see this?"

This being the giant birthday cake Greg was icing at five in the morning.

Draco folded his arms. "What kind is it?"

"Your favourite with Italian buttercream."

Satisfactory, but he was an opportunist by nature. "I'll pretend not to see this for a key lime pie."

"Wait. Are you blackmailing me on your birthday?"

"Yes."

Greg heaved a sigh. "Deal."

Draco had long since stopped being startled by Lovegood's appearance with her dreamy smiles, only stopping short for a beat and continuing to the refrigerator.

He could never predict what monstrosity she would be wearing, but today's attire was rather tame. She was dressed like a butterfly—with actual, colourful wings and antenna that moved.

Of course.

Draco never understood what Astoria saw in her.

"The heart wants what it wants, but you wouldn't know about that," she'd said wistfully five years ago when she told him the truth of her preferences and why she needed time to get out of their contract.

She was right. Draco didn't know about that, but if it allowed him as much distraction-free existence as possible before she paid her fines and his parents found a new suitable wife, he didn't care.

His focus remained on his own goals.

Distractions.

Excuses.

Is this all you're meant to be?

Draco closed his eyes to ignore the intrusive words and questions before returning to his task. After making coffee and toast with Greg's avocado spread he would kill over, he took his seat across from Lovegood and read the morning paper while eating.

Lovegood was silent, watching while her wings fluttered. When he finished, Draco pushed the dishes to the side and carefully laced his fingers together on the table and finally met the unblinking, out of focus gaze of Lovegood.

"Happy birthday, Malfoy."

"It'll be a happier birthday if Theo cancelled my surprise party."

"What party?" Lovegood smiled innocently.

"Cut the—"

"Tori and I found something." As if he hadn't said a thing, she reached into her satchel and pulled out a small box. "It's an enchanted seashell that will let you hear the sound of the ocean. It's quite relaxing."

"I'm plenty relaxed."

Lovegood smiled serenely. "Sure you are."

An uncomfortable moment passed before Draco shifted in his seat, clearing his throat, "Where is my betrothed anyway?"

"Postponing your wedding another year. I told her not to put that on you. We'll be in and out of town for the next year due to assignments, including our hunt for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack." When Draco said nothing, Lovegood tilted her head to the side. "Do you want to talk about what you're thinking?"

Same question she asked at the conclusion of each visit.

He had plenty to say, but there were no words, and even if there were, he wouldn't waste them on Lovegood. After the required length of time passed, she nodded, more to herself than him, pulling out her wand with a look of determination.

"I'm going to search your flat for Nargles." Her eyes squinted suspiciously. "I know they're here."

Draco let her go.

It was better than arguing.

Draco's favourite relative was one he didn't meet until adulthood.

His aunt, Andromeda.

They hardly spent time together, but for her birthday he always paid for a holiday to the destination of her choosing while Potter took care of Teddy.

His yearly gift wasn't as large, but Draco quietly looked forward to what she created.

Aunt Andromeda had so many hobbies, he could expect anything from a knitted bowtie to a salve she made to help him sleep.

It didn't work.

He was already in the Atrium, ignoring weird looks from passersby when she emerged from the lift carrying a jar of homemade jam and a piece of banoffee pie.

They made an odd pair, Draco in work robes and Andromeda dressed like a hippy with a long, floral dress and waist-length hair with pieces of it braided. While sitting in a mostly empty dining hall where the Ministry elves were preparing for the lunch rush, Aunt Andromeda relaxed with a cuppa while he ate.

"Are you well, Draco?"

"I am."

"That's good." She was always like this. Calm. Serene. Smiled too much for someone so accustomed to misery; was happy and grateful despite surviving a war that ripped her life apart.

Draco never asked but wondered how.

"How is Astoria?"

"She's doing well. Back from some part of the world for my birthday and will return soon after."

"The distance must be hard."

Draco gave a non-committal hum. It seemed like the right response.

Only it wasn't.

Another thing about his aunt was that, despite all appearances, she was a Black to her core.

And a Slytherin.

Both of which made her extremely perceptive.

"When are you going to tell the truth?"

Draco tensed, cursing his mistake of letting his guard down.

Silence made sharp brown eyes observe him with something akin to enlightened amused. An unspoken 'you'll figure it out one day' hung between them. Aunt Andromeda finished her tea and placed the cup on the table. "I don't remember the name of the man my parents told me I was going to marry. I know he was older, a pureblood widow whose wife died six weeks before he was given my hand by my father who'd just found out I was in love with a Muggle-born."

He winced. "Is that why you ran?"

"Yes." Andromeda tilted her head. "It isn't a crime to do what's best for you."

Draco frowned, no longer certain of what that entailed.

She reached, resting a hand over his. "If you need me, I'm here."

Bones slapped an envelope on Draco's desk and folded her arms.

"It's from all of us." Her expression was gruff, but there was a hint of a smile.

Inside was a generic card with signatures—four he expected, one he did not.

Katie Bell had drawn a smiley face next to her name.

"Oh." Draco blinked, stunned from surprise.

"Happy birthday, you bastard."

At that, he smiled.

Pansy was sitting in the office he'd only just moved into when he returned from a meeting with Croaker.

"How did you get in here?"

"Through the Floo." She casually glanced at her nails before waving her hand at the fireplace he didn't even use himself. "Shagging the second most powerful wizard in the Ministry of Magic is extremely beneficial, in more ways than one—orgasms and access."

Draco deeply considered drowning himself in the brain tank. "For the last time, the last thing on earth I want to know is about your sex life with Percy Weasley."

Pansy pouted and stood up, grabbing her purse before coming to stand in front of his desk. "You're supposed to be happy for me."

"And you were supposed to be the sane one." He scoffed in annoyance. "I'm recalling a rant when Theo and Potter started shagging and here you are."

"Believe me, I didn't put Shagging Percy Weasley on my to-do list last year. Nor did I plan to continue until I considered the real possibility of permanency, but here I am, surrounded by Weasleys, fighting with my parents who don't think he's the right fit, and trying to sort through this belligerently cordial mess with Angelina."

"What?"

"I was a bitch about her braids in school. She never forgot it, and she shouldn't have. Self-reflection, thy name is Pansy Parkinson."

Draco was impressed. "This is awfully mature of you."

"Thanks. I hate it, but I've been talking to her for a few months now about—" Pansy froze and winced. "Things."

"Not a surprise party."

"Of course not," she deadpanned. "Anyway, I'm working on it. Learning on my own why I shouldn't say anything about anyone's culture. Proving I'm not like that anymore. I'd say you'll understand one day about having to improve yourself, but you're still lazy and under your parents' thumb."

"After watching your disaster dating for this long—crying over Flint, who cheated on you. Pucey, who dumped you, and Wood's old teammate who cut all contact after you shagged him—I'm happy to be right where I am."

Pansy's expression softened slightly. "Wait, you're serious, aren't you?"

Not entirely, a little voice whispered.

Draco tuned it out.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Yes, all of that was terrible, but they were at least my mistakes to make."

"And your time to waste."

She opened her mouth to argue, but stopped and shook her head. "I was coming to kidnap you for an afternoon of fine dining and massages."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "This better not be leading to a birthday party."

Pansy gasped. "You don't trust me at all."

"No."

"After all we've been through, how dare you accuse me of conspiring against you." She brought the back of her hand to her forehead. "Truly a betrayal."

Draco folded his arms, already tired of her dramatics. "If I come willingly, will you shut up?"

She instantly stood straight. "Of course!"

"I hate you."

"I love you, too." She blew a kiss, summoned his cloak, and threw it at his face. "Shall we?"

The curtains of the restaurant were closed.

After a relatively decent afternoon, Draco was dreading tonight, but at least he knew what he was about to walk into.

Mentally, he was prepared for a long night.

Physically?

Maybe not.

He pretended to be reluctant until Pansy both threatened to pluck his eyebrow hair and assured him that the windows were always closed at night for privacy.

When she opened the door, there was an explosion of noise and screaming.

"Surprise!"

Preparation be damned, dread coiled around Draco's throat.

Nearly everyone who didn't hate the sight of him—at least most of the time—were crammed in the entrance of the empty restaurant.

This included people he tolerated.

The Weasley Pansy was shagging. The tolerable Weasley, George. Angelina. The newlyweds Hannah Abbott and Neville Longbottom. And then there was Susan Bones, whose murderous glare always gave him pause. Wood and Spinnet were tossing confetti. And lastly Blaise and Padma, who flipped him off as she enthusiastically sang "Happy Birthday" along with everyone else—minus Blaise, who was the only one sitting, looking bored out of his mind.

Draco could relate.

There were Greengrasses and his parents. Potter, Daphne and Greg who all stood around the ringleader—a glaring Theo.

"Who told him?" he asked loudly, looking around accusingly. "Blaise?"

Unbothered as ever, Blaise rolled his eyes. "I would take the blame if I could, but alas."

Daphne made a face. "Surprise parties are childish as fuck."

Theo whirled around. "Oi!"

"Yes, yes, I already know. Foiled your great plan," Draco said sarcastically, folding his arms. "Can we get on with it?"

The party began in earnest. Socialising was the bane of his existence—fake smiles and laughs were all he gave them. Dinner was more than worth hating the surprise. He glared at anyone who dared talk to him while he feasted on enough carbs to feed a small town. But it was only a matter of time until the music started and he was unable to avoid people.

His mother walked towards Astoria, who saw her coming and excused herself to flee.

Mrs Greengrass approached him. "I thought it would be a lovely idea if you had the first dance with your betrothed."

Draco could think of better things to do. "Let me go find her."

Other guests were on the floor. Draco spotted Astoria giving his mother the slip again, and decided to use that as his cue to escape right out the front door of the restaurant.

He exhaled out loud, dragging a hand down his face.

Diagon Alley was dark, save the streetlamps overhead; the air was muggy from the fresh rain. Draco tilted his head to the sky, closed his eyes, and listened to his therapist for once by counting to ten.

By four he gave up.

"Fuck my life."

"That bad?"

Startled, Draco whirled around to find Granger holding a small, wrapped box.

He couldn't conceal his shock. "You're here."

"I am. Although, I expected to see you inside."

Draco rubbed the back of his neck. "Theo's trying to figure out who ruined the surprise. I didn't tell him it was you. Erm. Why are you here?"

She'd never attended his parties before.

Granger shrugged. "I felt like the invitation was warranted this year."

Draco silently agreed. "Thanks for the warning."

"I don't care for things that happen beyond my control either." She extended the box. "I can't stay long, but thought I'd wish you a Happy Birthday."

Draco hadn't opened any gifts yet, but unwrapped this one with an odd, jittery excitement he hadn't felt in so long.

It was an empty inkwell.

He was confused.

"It's spelled so the ink won't spill," she told him sheepishly. "You've spilled ink thirteen times since January."

"Because you don't knock, you just burst in."

"Catching you by surprise is a new pastime, but your work shouldn't suffer due to my amusement."

A beat passed before their faces broke into matching smiles.

She looked past him at the shut door to the restaurant. "Why did you come outside?"

"I'm hiding from Astoria's mother. She wants us to have a photo opportunity that'll likely end up in The Prophet tomorrow. Just waiting for her to forget the idea while Astoria dodges my mother until she gets tired of looking. We have excellent teamwork and the alone time isn't bad."

"So the fuck your life was—"

"Cathartic."

"Ah, well." Granger shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "Oliver's in there, but I'll just go back to my flat and—"

"Or stay," Draco blurted out. For a reason he didn't know, just an odd, nameless feeling, he rubbed the back of his neck. "Only the acceptable Weasleys are in there and your mates and people who don't hate me—"

"Okay." Granger shrugged. "If that's what you want, lead the way."

Draco turned but stopped.

"What is it?" she asked.

Looking back and forth between Granger and the restaurant, for the first time, Draco picked impulse over reason.

"Can you—wait."

What the fuck am I doing?

The outcome meant upset parents and having to explain himself, everything he didn't want, but he didn't want to return more. Draco was lightheaded from his pounding heart when he turned to her fully.

Deeply worried, Granger touched his arm. Her grip on his bicep shocked him from frozen indecision.

"If I—" Draco steeled himself. "If I ask you to come with me, will you ask questions?"

"Millions."

Draco grinned and asked her anyway.

The Thames smelled like a sewer, but the way everything was lit up at night made the stench worth it. They were standing on a bridge, overlooking the water. Granger leaned on a railing whose bacteria content was questionable while Draco sat on the bench.

People walked past, talking, not paying them any attention. Movement from the dark water and reflecting lights made for a confusing play of shadows. It was peaceful here, a strange place where he didn't have to be anyone except himself.

"You hide here?" Granger asked, still looking out at the water.

The breeze tried to tease her frizzy curls out of place, but they were stubborn and hardly moved. Still, she somehow looked wind-blown.

Always.

"A few times, but not often."

She turned, leaning back on the railing, arms folded. "How is this a hiding spot if you don't hide?"

"Everyone knows the best hiding spot is right in the open."

Granger's dark eyes met his, steely and sharp, searching his face for something. He stared back, preparing for whatever was coming, but stopped. The streetlight gave her a bronze halo, made her hard features soft, and Draco truly noticed her for the first time.

For all of her Granger-ness—stern, stubborn no-nonsense temper, and fiery intelligence—she had delicate features. Smooth skin. Pursed lips. A light dusting of freckles across her cheeks and nose. She was petite, but only in height. Not thin or waifish, but solid, strong. Her clothes accentuated her curves.

"Have you ever been in the Space Chamber?" Granger asked. "I used to go in there after hours for a bit of peace. I think you could use it."

An hour later, they were floating from Earth, passing Mars, skipping through the asteroid belt, hovering above Jupiter in a dream-like moment of suspended belief. He'd never felt so unburdened, so free. He was light-years away from the very life that weighed him down.

"How do you feel?" Granger floated over, leaving behind Europa. Her hair was now free, fanning in all directions as if she were underwater instead of in space.

"Brilliant."

Her face lit with a warm smile.

"This has been a different birthday." Draco's confession felt like it stretched the expanse of the universe. "Unexpected, but not in a bad way."

"I'll accept that as a win. A unique one, but a win nonetheless."

They circled Uranus and Neptune, looked to Pluto and the exoplanets beyond. Specks of dust and gas with names he didn't know; other universes unexplored.

This wasn't real. Still, he felt so far from home.

Too far from the sun.

Grounded despite the nothingness beneath his feet.

"Ready to return?" Granger asked as Charon spun just above her head.

"Not yet."

She reached for a star that would be invisible from Earth. "It's your birthday. You're free to do what you want."

"I'm—"

"I know you're okay with drifting, but show me one thing you want to see."

Draco stared at her until the urge to move sparked to life. It carried him to 55 Cancri System; a universe that was the size of his open hands. He looked at Granger and found himself speechless.

Space was dark. Granger spelled a beam of light to follow them. It was above her head, casting an odd light that made her ethereal. Mesmerising. Eyes fixed on him, inquiring and soft.

"Are you okay?"

I don't know. "Yes."

Granger smirked. "Running to another universe?"

Draco tore his eyes away and shoved the weird feelings down when he felt her at his side.

"Now why would I run when I have so much here?" Sarcasm was his default at any given point, but now it felt necessary. Like he had to arm himself. "Let's see, generational sins and wealth. Murderous dead relatives or the living ones who see me as a way back to the top. I could run from my unfortunate prior taste in tattoos and houseguests or my history of learned bigotry, but why wouldn't I? I'm supposed to want this life, this future."

For the second time, Granger touched him. He felt weird counting something so insignificant. "Are you always this sarcastic about your trauma?"

"My therapist called it a coping mechanism."

"Or a defence mechanism." She observed him with the same interest as a Time Turner. She looked like she wanted to see what made him work. "Show me one more thing."

Without argument, he led them to a supermassive black hole.

One of millions.

The edge of nothingness.

Draco started to touch, but stopped.

"Only people who want to hide are drawn to the darkness," Granger muttered. "Are you hiding?"

He didn't answer.

To his surprise, she didn't push. "I hide in better places than this."

"Where?"

Their arms brushed. Three. "In books, mainly."

Minutes passed and Draco caught himself looking back at the speck that was Earth. In barely a whisper, he asked, "What are you hiding from?"

"Nothing really. Sometimes I just prefer the fantasy in books to the harshness of reality."

"Oh?"

"Life is easier in written form. I think that's why I like writing notes. I know everyone who'll read them, but you're the only one who writes back." Bashful from the confession, she looked at the black hole, but Draco couldn't stop staring. "And what about you? What are you hiding from?"

He almost deflected, but the silence of space compelled him to be honest to her and her alone.

"Everything."

Chapter Text

Three days before the end of June, Draco found himself with a dilemma.

Granger was late.

This placed him at an odd crossroads.

He could either call her Floo or stare at the walls until he fell asleep.

For a time, he did neither.

Draco drafted a letter to the Greengrasses agreeing with Astoria's verbal proposition to officially delay the wedding on account of both Astoria's travels and his mother's desire for an autumn affair. This was enough to get them through the next year.

As a reward for a job well done, Draco ate the piece of toffee cake Greg sent and cleaned his office desk. The following thirty minutes were spent staring at the submission parchment to Mystic Academic Granger had sent the week before.

Draco was still internally debating submitting one of his older articles when he noted it was just after three and Granger still hadn't called.

After an impatient huff, he picked up the Floo powder and made the call.

There was no response.

Draco was about to end it when Granger answered, voice rough with sleep, "Malfoy?"

"You were sleeping?"

"I… think so." She made a small sound. "Awkwardly on the floor. My neck hurts."

"Go back to sleep."

At least one of them could have the opportunity.

"I'm fine. I'm awake." He could hear her shuffling. "What did you do with the submission parchment?"

"I haven't filled it out."

"I assumed as much."

"It's terrible to assume, Granger."

She scoffed. "It is when you're wrong. I'm not. Obviously."

"I shouldn't have called."

A hoarse chuckle filled his ears. "Maybe not, but I'm glad you did. My poor back wouldn't have survived a night on the floor. What were you doing?"

"Working and eating dessert. I drafted a letter to my future in-laws agreeing to delay the wedding. They'll release it to the public."

"Again?" Granger asked quickly, thoughtlessly. He heard her suck in a gasp. "Oh, I mean—I didn't—"

"It's fine. I imagine there's a lot of talk about my wedding."

The repeated delays were public knowledge, as the media relentlessly followed the story of his impending nuptials, all while frothing for any rumours of a breakup. There were no amount of statements that would silence the whispers that placed the blame of each delay squarely on him.

As they should.

He was used to the scrutiny. Astoria wasn't.

Granger fell silent for so long he wondered if the Floo call had disconnected.

"Pansy started a betting pool three years ago."

Draco knew, and wondered if she was bringing it up to lighten the mood. "She's a menace."

She hummed in agreement. "Everyone has put in, even Harry."

"So I've heard."

As a practical and competitive man, through Lovegood, he'd placed his own bet for years into the future. And though everyone's dates were secret due to a spell, he knew he would win the lot.

Not that he'd need the money.

"Did you bet?"

Granger chuckled. "I did."

"And what was your date?"

"It hasn't come yet."

"Oh?" Draco couldn't disguise his curiosity. "Do tell, Granger. When do you think I'll get married?"

"You won't." That wasn't what left him in a speechless silence long after she'd disconnected the call. It was her final addition that did him in: "At least, you won't marry Astoria."

The following Saturday, Angelina came through his Floo uninvited.

"Get dressed, you wanker. It's group activity rotation day and we're all waiting for you."

Face-deep in the savoury double chocolate pudding Greg wanted him to taste, Draco jumped, dropping the spoon like he'd been caught committing a crime.

They both froze.

She looked at the spoon. Then the pudding. Then him. "Erm."

"It's not what you think."

Angelina's shock transformed into amusement. "You have a sweet tooth!"

"Lies."

"It's nine in the morning."

"I didn't know chocolate was relegated to a certain time of day."

She looked to her left. "There's a floating pie by your desk."

"Magic?"

One dark brow lifted. "And men think they're the superior sex."

Draco shrugged.

"No sarcasm? Good choice." Angelina tapped her lip. "You have something right—"

"Piss off." Draco rubbed his mouth with his thumb and debated if he would put it in his mouth with a witness or not. Sulking, he picked up a napkin and cleaned his thumb because he was a posh bastard. "Why are you—whose turn is it?"

"Susan's. Portkey for Ireland leaves in fifteen minutes. I suggest something—" She looked him up and down. "Less like you or you'll fit in a little too well."

Which was how Draco ended up in fucking Dublin wearing an olive green shirt and casual trousers, looking properly posh because he had no idea Bones' interest in death ran deeper than her position as next in line to become Keeper of the Death Chamber.

They walked through crypts, had lunch at a lively pub with excellent beer, and toured a morbid museum.

Had he been dressed normally, he'd have looked like someone in mourning.

Or death personified.

But as it was, he only got shouted at for being the only "fella" and hogging all the "bures". Draco started to argue, but quickly learned not to stand in their way. Minutes later, everything was situated, the tab paid, and he was standing beside Granger in a courtyard where a bench was slowly being consumed by a tree.

Draco jammed his hands into his pockets.

This was her only requested stop, but she looked both fascinated and disappointed.

"I thought it would be more eerie in person," Granger said.

"Putting in a bench without knowing how wide the tree will grow is an architectural mistake. Nothing eerie about that."

She nodded slowly then looked over her shoulder where Bones was checking off her list of oddities she wanted to explore. Alicia and Angelina were on either side, pointing at different items on her list with interest. "Susan's surprised you turned up."

Out of everyone, she'd been the slowest to warm to Draco. "I wasn't given a choice, but I'll admit I didn't know about Bones' obsession with death."

"She lost her entire family before eighteen. That she's only fascinated by death is better than the alternative, I think. I bet there's comfort in understanding a process she'll only experience once. Maybe it's knowing one day she'll be reunited with them, but only after she's lived a very long life."

"How would she know—"

"The Veil whispered to her once when we both started. It's why she's studying it, why Croaker signed off on it."

"Which is how you knew about the growing whispers before the artefact room opening."

Granger nodded. "Any more theories?"

"Not yet, but Croaker approved me forming a dedicated team to study the connectivity of the rooms."

Her eyes widened. "Oh?"

"I plan to be hands off, but if you want copies of their reports—"

"I do."

They shook on it and joined the others for one last stop: Whitefriar Street Church.

The line was long but moved reasonably fast and soon they were inside the bright church looking around. The smell of candles was in the air as they visited the statue of Our Lady of Dublin and St Valentine. A few Muggles were praying in pews, and when Draco looked to Granger to say something, he found her in the line to view the shrine.

And joined her.

In silence, they waited until Granger brought her hands behind her. "What are you praying for?"

"What?"

"Do you know the story?"

"Yes. St Valentine officiated illegal Christian marriages and was beheaded for it. The shrine has his remains, but not his head. Not sure how they misplaced that."

She chuckled at his dark humour. "You're missing a part of the story. People write their wishes and prayers into a book. That's why the queue is long."

Much like intentionally reading a diary, it felt strange to know that he'd catch a glimpse of someone's hopes and dreams. "I didn't know you were religious."

"My parents went to church, not out of desire or moralistic obligation, but out of habit." Granger shrugged. "Sometimes I go for sentiment or to clear my mind. I pray."

"For what?"

"I feel this heaviness sometimes. I don't know where it comes from or why it chooses when to hit me. I used to talk out loud to ease my mind and act like I'm praying to make myself feel less mad, but now I talk so much I don't have anything left to say to my ceiling."

Draco opened his mouth to speak, to admit that his walls heard less of his thoughts these days, but the words were jumbled. He rubbed the back of his neck. "So do people ask where you've been when you go to church?"

The question was insipid, but he felt restless, like the walls were too close despite them being high and wide.

Granger shrugged. "They don't ask. They're just happy to see me. They don't know anything except that I'm Hermione, daughter of Wendell and Monica Granger. I went to boarding school for the gifted, and I attend services with my parents when they're in town and want to see their old mates. I'm not religious in the slightest, but there are things even magic can't explain."

"Such as?"

"The subjects we study go far beyond what Muggles know, yet we fail to find the answers to fundamental questions." Granger looked at him. "What makes us want what we want, love what we love, hate what we hate? Why do things happen when they do, but not a moment before or after? Things like that."

"I thought people called that fate, though I don't believe in it."

"Neither do I. And yet…" She tore her eyes away as they moved several steps in the queue. "What are you praying for?"

"I'll figure it out when I get there. You?"

"I'm praying things don't change, even though I know they already are."

"Sounds ominous."

Granger chuckled ruefully. "You have no idea."

The next day, everything went to hell.

Despite layers of charms and wards, Draco's parents found a way into his home. Unannounced and uninvited, they were waiting comfortably at his table with dinner prepared by the manor elves.

Draco promptly lost several years of his life, but practised ease kept his expression neutral, his words dry. "I've already eaten."

It didn't matter.

This was a trap.

His father's casual gesture to the last empty chair was the equivalent of a confession. "Have a seat, son."

Lucius Malfoy was a lot of things, but casual was not one.

Sitting was the most tactical option. Draco had no idea where this was going. He didn't touch the food, but they did, quiet chinks of China from them cutting their meat filled the air along with their needless chatter.

"Why are you both here?"

Mother dabbed her mouth with a dinner napkin. "Your father wishes to discuss your marriage contract."

The absolute last thing he wanted to discuss. "Very well."

"I want to understand your reason behind dawdling," Father said. "If you wanted to marry the Greengrass girl, you already would have. You are nothing if not determined when it comes to things you want."

This was true. "If you read the note, Astoria—"

"Come now, Draco, this is just as much you as it is her. There are certain elements of your contract that I thought surely would appeal to you, at least as it pertains to marrying the Greengrass girl. Are you disinterested?"

Draco's stomach clenched.

"Your lack of response does not help the situation. Does she not tempt you in any way?"

He picked a spot on the wall and did not waver.

"Are you not tired of being a virgin?"

Draco's eyes cut to his father. "I would rather bludgeon myself repeatedly than to have this conversation."

The very last thing he wanted to talk to his father about over filet mignon was sex. Or his lack of participation in the act until marriage. They'd had that talk once after Third Year.

His parents were traditionalists in every sense of the word, and had raised him to be as such. Additionally, he hadn't had time, space, or any reason to stray from this particular belief. Draco had done his fair share of playing before the world crashed around his ears, but fornication was a deal breaker that now would nullify his contract. Not a terrible idea, but the absolute penalties, punishment, and legal fallout involved left him no desire to break it in such a way.

The monetary value of his consequences wasn't worth a few minutes of fun. His penalties were much higher than Astoria's.

"Is there someone else?" his mother asked. It was so matronly, it made Draco irrationally angry.

"Stop asking that question."

Men weren't known for fidelity.

The irony of him being the only "faithful" party in the contract was not lost on Draco.

"The question is warranted," Father snapped. "You will answer."

"No." He sighed. "There is no one else."

Father's eyes turned probing, as if he could extract all of Draco's secrets by sight alone. "No other woman?"

"No."

Mother placed a gentle hand on his arm. "If it is a man, we can—"

"What?" Draco snatched his arm back. "No, there is no man."

"There is nothing wrong with having such predilections. We would just need to—"

"Stop." His head was pounding. "Please. Stop."

Unfortunately, his parents didn't know the meaning of the word.

"If there is no woman or man, please explain. I remember when I was a teenager, Draco. I had needs and—"

"Respectfully, Father, if you finish that sentence, I will Obliviate you both from my memory."

But it was too late.

Draco's mind was already running at double the speed.

Fight, flight, or worse: a fucking mental breakdown.

Is there something wrong with me?

How could he want something he'd never had?

Was Draco curious? Naturally, but his libido only woke up when he was stressed out and exhausted enough to climbing the walls.

His brain never linked the act to another person. Much less to Astoria, who wasn't interested in men.

Just blank faces and silence.

Perhaps this was a problem, after all.

Or not.

He knew attraction, had experienced it enough to know he was capable of feeling it. He'd kissed Pansy in Fifth Year and understood instantly that she wasn't it. Each time he'd been forced to kiss Astoria the same wrongness was there. Daphne was conventionally beautiful, but he'd categorised her as family rather than a potential partner. He'd harmlessly looked at Spinnet a time or two, but there was nothing more than surface attraction. Random women caught his eye, he wasn't blind, yet no one held his focus in the same way Granger kept his attention for hours on end each night.

Draco was struck with the sudden sensation of being on the precipice of something terrifying.

He backed away from the edge.

A coward, like always.

What if he were braver?

What if Astoria's secret got out?

Even with a replacement bride, Draco wondered if he'd be able to convince himself that a pre-selected wife could ever want him for any reason other than a means to an end. A contract. A vow.

Doubtful, but that wasn't important. He didn't care about being wanted, right?

The growing sickness in his stomach served as his answer.

Wrong.

"We want to help you."

Anger sparked and frustration burned bright.

"There's nothing to help." Draco was trying to remain calm despite the tingling in his fingers, the flush of heat under his skin, and the edges of his vision blurring.

Fuck. He was about to have a panic attack. All over a conversation about his virginity.

The earth needed to swallow him whole. Immediately.

Pretentious music wafted from the Wireless in the painful silence.

The walls were closing in, the floor rising, the ceiling falling.

Everything was crushing him.

He wanted to scream.

Father exhaled. "I know you despise when I measure my experiences against yours, but—"

"And that's where you should have stopped." He balled his fists so tight his knuckles were red as if he'd already hit someone. Draco tried to remember, tried to grasp at every suggestion given to control this rage that turned up at the wrong time. "One. Two. Three."

"Stop counting and talk to us."

The strain grew impossibly tight.

Then snapped.

Draco's world blurred.

"You and I are not the same." His comment should have been a shout, but it was calm and cold. Everything he wasn't. "Your world wasn't anything like mine."

"Draco."

"No, you weren't tasked with killing your headmaster to save your mother. You didn't nearly die in the bathroom, nor did you ever have blood on your hands. People didn't die because of you and you never saw death until you chose to follow Voldemort. You weren't nearly burnt to a crisp or saved by someone who should have let you fall. You didn't watch your father turn into a cowering fool or have Greyback outside your door for three full moons, waiting for the second the wards failed. I've experienced more than you, so don't tell me about your teenage years when I'm stuck wishing mine were as simple as me being a bully and a bigot."

"Draco," his mother pleaded.

He couldn't stop if he tried. "You gave me this life that you inherited from your parents, your choices and beliefs became mine, and my choices born from this insane desire to please you made me into who I am now. Someone you neither like or understand. Someone you ambush to question as if I've committed a crime in postponing being shackled to someone else for the rest of my damn life! Someone you're ashamed of because I haven't abided by your schedule. I've fucked this life up marvellously, and now—right now, I'm supposed to believe you're here to help because you're such good parents."

Lucius Malfoy's expression was like weathered stone. "Of course I am here to help. I am your father."

Out of everything, that was the crumb he picked up?

Unbelievable.

"You parent those genetic failures better than you ever parented me."

"I am trying, Draco." Father sounded exhausted. "You are being stubborn."

Draco stopped, stared, and laughed hysterically.

Nothing was funny.

His mother tried to touch him again, but the way he stopped suddenly gave her pause.

"We are here tonight to help you."

"No, you're here tonight because Mother wants grandchildren and you've exited the fucking world you've been living in with your peacocks long enough to realise I haven't given them to her yet."

The silence that fell was deafening, fringed with everything that they had become.

Three broken pieces that were supposed to make a whole.

His parents wanted to repair the family in their own way. Mother thought lineage would mend things. Father believed pressure would make them diamonds once more. Neither asked Draco for his opinion, which left him where he'd always been:

Ignored but maliciously complying.

"Let us finish dinner." Mother's voice was stern yet gentle. "Leave it, Lucius."

Food tasted like ash and he couldn't eat.

Water tasted like sand and he couldn't drink.

Father had heard his mother, but he wasn't finished. "It is your duty to carry on the Malfoy name."

And just like that, Draco was done.

He stood quickly, excusing himself before he said something he couldn't take back.

The truth.

Draco wanted the questions to stop.

He wanted everything to stop falling on him.

He wanted to be heard instead of ignored.

He wanted something different.

Not this.

Chapter Text

Draco stumbled out of Greg's Floo in the middle of his reveal to Daphne, Pansy, and Theo.

The chocolate Quidditch pitch looked real, but he was too busy trying to keep his composure.

Naturally, Theo was the first to speak: "What the hell is wrong with you?"

It was the wrong question.

Every bit of Draco's control snapped.

He scrambled out of his jacket and viciously stomped on it until rage bled from his bones, leaving him breathless and fully aware he was being watched with varying degrees of open-mouthed shock.

This sent him into another tailspin, desperately searching for Floo powder to make his escape.

To where? He didn't know.

Anywhere but here.

Draco didn't notice Daphne until she ripped the container from his hand. "Stop."

"What does he need?" Theo sounded both far away and close.

"Water."

Draco jolted when he felt a second hand on his back and recoiled.

"Pansy, give him some space."

"Okay." Her voice was smothered with worry.

Daphne didn't take her own advice and stood beside him. She didn't talk while Draco drank water, or when Greg gave him a cool compress for his head after she realised he was burning up. Pansy hovered at a distance like a worried hen. Greg paced. Theo plied him with enough water to sink a ship.

It was weirdly soothing, tracking each person calmed Draco down enough for him to turn to Daphne. "You should have taken your own suggestion."

"Probably." Daphne shrugged but slipped a hand into his, ignoring the clamminess. "As a reminder, I'm still not your therapist, but I'll ask if you're okay. Feel free to lie to me."

"I'm fine."

She stared at him in a way that weirdly reminded him of Granger. "I wish that were the truth."

"Me too."

The smile she offered was wry, sad. "Your parents?"

"Ambushed me for dinner."

Across the room, Theo hissed his wince while Pansy muttered, "Shite."

Daphne's attention never wavered. "Bad?"

"Absolutely riveting evening. The highlight was talking to my father about how I should be ready to free myself from certain clauses in the contract."

Daphne had the decency to cringe. "You need to talk about it, come clean."

"Astoria—"

"Will have to find another way," Pansy said. "Leaving you to clean up the mess isn't fair."

Daphne frowned. "Stay out of this."

Asking Pansy to mind her business was futile. "I've watched this same bullshit for the last seven years, just like you, just like everyone."

"It's been my choice to wait," Draco said.

Pansy sat on Greg's sofa and frowned. "Since when did you stop being a selfish bastard?"

"I haven't changed, but you all know Tori."

Daphne's expression grew serious. She looked ready to slap him. "She was sick all her life until she got cured of her blood malediction. She's living a life she didn't know she could have, but that doesn't give you the right to pity her."

"It's not pity," Draco argued.

"Then what is—"

"At least one of us will be happy!" His eyes widened at his own words, the truth.

Pansy, Greg, and Theo were once again shocked silent.

But not Daphne. "You're allowed to be happy. I hate that I have to tell you this, but what I hate more is that I can say it a hundred times and I still don't think you'll believe me."

Draco said nothing.

She touched his jaw and searched his eyes while taking the compress from his head and tossing it to Greg who caught it. "I thought you'd drift forever. I'm glad I was wrong."

"Cryptic as always." Draco backed away to leave, but caught Daphne grabbing a pinch of Floo powder. "Where are you going?"

"To your flat where I'm sure your parents still are. I'll make excuses and get them out." She stepped into the Floo, face set in determination because she knew she was walking into a fight. "You can thank me later."

In a flash of green flames, Daphne was gone.

Draco turned to his remaining friends. Pansy rose from the sofa. Theo sat on the island, legs crossed. Greg had flour in his hair.

All watched him as if he were a live grenade.

"All right?" Greg asked carefully.

Draco strolled over to the chocolate snitch hovering over the island, plucked it out of the air, and popped the entire thing in his mouth.

It was delicious

He ate the goal post, bludger, every beater bat, part of the stands, and munched on the seeker on principle, but it did little to help his mood.

Plum pie with whipped cream worked. Temporarily.

He ate three pieces while Pansy looked on in both fear and awe. Theo played sous chef while Greg made cheesecake. He gave Draco ice cream, truffles, and cherry taffy. None of these went together and he knew he'd be in hell later, but he couldn't stop.

"Any reason you're emotional eating?" Pansy asked.

"I am doing no such thing."

She and Greg exchanged knowing looks. Theo poorly cracked an egg.

"Should I make shepherd's pie?" Greg asked.

Draco sniffed. "A third dinner won't hurt."

Theo's gaze cut to the left as if making eyes with an invisible audience.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Pansy tried.

I'm restless.

I'm angry.

I'm about to crawl out of my skin.

I don't know what's wrong with me.

Draco refused to say any of that.

"I'd rather just eat."

Draco paced for the better part of two hours after Theo and Pansy left and Greg fell asleep.

He went home despite the invitation to stay.

Not only had Daphne cleared out his parents, she'd also picked up the dishes and teacups at his desk, leaving behind a note telling him that she knew he'd come back and to get some rest.

He tried, but not even a full stomach could lull him into dreamland. It was after three and Draco was brittle as ever when the Floo lit up.

Granger's voice emerged. "Evening Malfoy, I—"

"I'm not in the mood for corrections or anything else tonight."

There was a pause.

"Everything okay?" Another pause. "That was a stupid question."

"Even you are capable of such."

Granger fell silent. "I should leave you to stew in your horrid mood, but I'll ask. What happened?"

"There's an aggravating person who keeps calling me."

"Ha. Says the one who answers, and even calls himself. Did you read my new format for filing research in the Time Room?"

"I did, and it's needlessly complicated."

She chuckled wryly. "Yes, apparently I have a habit of making things so."

He noticed the odd quality of Granger's voice. "What's wrong with you?"

"I never really got back to sleep last night, but I don't have anything to do. I'm mending Oliver's shirt that he tore, about to give up."

"You mend his clothes?"

"Not always. He gets oddly attached to a few items he considers lucky and with tomorrow's game, he nearly had a fit about the hole in his lucky shirt. Are you still coming?"

"Yes. Got my Portkey this morning."

She fell silent until she made a small gasp. "There. Got it."

"All done?"

"Yes." She sighed. "It's once again three in the morning and we're awake. What does that say about us?"

"Nothing about me that I don't already know."

She hummed humourlessly. "Your voice is usually farther away at first, but this time when I called it was close. Your Floo must be across the room from your desk, which means when I called you weren't at your desk work. I'd guess you're standing in front of the Floo. Pacing?"

Draco scowled until he remembered that he was alone. "None of your business, Granger."

"No, perhaps not." She paused. "I know you have a mobile that you keep for emergencies. Theo mentioned he forced you to get one."

"Actually he added me to his plan and spelled the mobile to reappear everytime I binned it. I've decided to give up and keep it."

"That… that sounds about like Theo, and you, for that matter." Amusement lightened her tone. "Let me guess, you threw it out the window, or worse, tried to drown it or blast it to bits and it re-formed."

Draco bit back a smirk, feeling some of the heaviness of the evening taper away. "You know nothing, Granger."

"That's pathologically incorrect." It was a dry quip, but he could hear her amusement. "I'm going into my reading nook away from the Floo so ring me if you want some company."

The call ended with Draco staring at the number he'd scribbled down.

His mobile was still in the desk drawer he'd stuffed it in when Theo had given it to him. To his surprise it was charged enough. He wandered into his own bedroom to sit outside on the balcony.

Then he rang her.

In lieu of hello, Granger said, "That was quick."

"So was the amount of time it took you to answer. Almost like you were waiting."

"I wasn't." It sounded like a lie. "Why do you work?"

The question startled Draco out of his bad mood. "I—my parents never wanted me to have a career beyond being a perceived philanthropist. I don't need to work, I should be indulging in a responsibly hedonistic life, but working is what I enjoy. One could say I fixed myself with my career."

"I'd guess it fulfils you. At least, that's why I work. I thought about politics, but that's not me. I worked in two departments before I came to the Department of Mysteries for a similar reason. Fixing a mistake. Being part of the destruction of the Hall of Prophecy—yes, the circumstances were beyond my control and I can't fix it without destroying everything, but I can create a new and improved Time Turner."

"Do we need to manipulate time?"

"Deep down, I want to change the past, but I know I can't do that without destroying the present and future. Everything that happens is meant to happen."

He closed his eyes, thinking about what he said to his father. "Let me guess, you believe in character growth and how our mistakes make us better people."

"I do," she said softly. "I started out wanting to bring the Time Turner back from extinction, but now I'm interested in the concept of time as it pertains to the universe as a whole. I wonder if there's another version of me out there with a different life, a different story—"

"Sounds like fiction."

"It does, but that doesn't mean it's not real or true. The theory is, like the rooms in the Department of Mysteries, there is a group of universes that comprise everything that exists: the entirety of space, time, matter, energy, information, and the physical laws and constants. Muggle scientists have hypothesised about this for years. I wonder if magic can bring us closer to the answer."

Draco cringed. "The idea of different versions of myself is terrifying."

"Why? Because they could be better than you in this universe?"

"No, worse." He looked down. "The possibility exists. Different choices lead to different paths."

"That's true, but you shouldn't worry about another Malfoy, only this Malfoy. What you do now and going forward is more important than the hypothetical actions of another version of yourself."

"And what about what I've done?"

"Is that what keeps you up at night?"

"Sometimes."

"Same."

Draco didn't know what to say so he changed the subject. "What were you doing before I rang?"

"Aside from mending?" There was something rustling in her background. "Thinking. You aren't the only one with problems."

He remembered every word she'd said in her rant, but felt compelled to keep the conversation from turning as maudlin as he felt. "What problems do you have, Granger?"

A real relationship. Successful career. Parents. Friends. A good life.

Something of her own that she'd built after cutting away the rot.

"Plenty." There was a pause. "Have you ever wondered?" She chuckled. "I'm being vague, but have you ever been told that something is good for you but you aren't sure?"

Draco knew all about that.

Had she read his mind?

"I'm told this a lot," he admitted after closing his eyes. "Get married. Have children. Quit your job. Be the Malfoy man you're meant to be. Be like your father, but don't become your father. Take your time. Be your own person. Who are you? Listen to your parents, but don't listen to anyone except yourself. Talk about what's going on in your head. Stop detaching yourself from problems. Stop making excuses. Stop being afraid. Don't be anxious waiting for the other shoe to drop. Live. Be honest. Be happy. Sleep."

He was drowning while being pulled in every direction as he went down.

Every single day was a fight.

Draco took a deep breath. "I'm tired." But then fear struck. "Forget I said that."

"I won't."

"Granger," he muttered with irritation.

"Malfoy," she mocked. "You're deflecting."

"I am." But his breakdown tonight was the result of cracks he could no longer ignore. "I'm… I can't do this."

"Do what?"

"Live like this. I've spent years compartmentalising my life, but somehow I've forgotten what's in each box."

"Sounds exhausting," Granger said. "What happened tonight?"

"I shouted everything I've wanted to tell my parents for years. Unloaded on them, really. Then I stormed out and ate Greg's Quidditch display." Draco was surprised by his own confession, but found it easy to talk without acknowledging the human on the other side.

"Was it good?"

The question made him laugh when he wanted to do the opposite. "It was."

"Good." Granger made a low noise. "I've been there. So upset I hardly remember what I said. What do you remember?"

With his eyes shut tight and the phone pressed to his ear, another secret became hers. "I remember shouting, but I'm not sure if they heard me."

"I hear you. I'm listening."

It was another strange comfort.

"How do you feel now?" she asked.

Restless. Angry. Exhausted. "Empty."

"Then it's time to refill. You can't pour water from an empty cup."

Draco chuckled with an unsettling hollowness. He had been empty for so long he no longer knew what it felt like to be full.

Draco's Portkey malfunctioned, but he made it to the game before the start.

Falmouth Falcons versus Wimbourne Wasps.

The game was a half hour from starting when the Portkey dropped him off on the lush hill next to the pitch. After making the walk with other fans and finding his way to the box, the only person in the seats Wood had provided was Granger.

Her attire surprised him.

Dark grey Falmouth Falcons jersey with O. Wood on the back and jeans; two white lines of face paint under her eyes. Her hair was braided in the front but pulled back into a ponytail. Ear plugs in. Draco felt overdressed in comparison, even though he'd put on a jersey of his own—seven, for the Seeker, obviously. But he was wearing black casual trousers and trainers he deemed appropriately fashionable.

Granger was already cheering along with the thousands of people packed into the pitch and they'd only just gotten to each player's introduction after the aerial entrance. He'd never believe the sight if Wood hadn't said anything about her love for Quidditch.

"Oi! Move along already!" the man behind him shouted.

Draco turned, ready to be the unapologetic arse he is, but once again, Granger caught his eye.

And she was watching, waving him over like the simple action was enough for him to squeeze past everyone faster.

There were empty seats on the other side of hers. He took out her earplug. "Where's everyone else?"

"Angelina went to the loo while Harry, Susan, and Alicia went to get snacks for everyone. How are you today?"

Still numb, but this wasn't the place to speak about his feelings. "All right."

Granger didn't believe him, something made obvious by the side-eye he received, but she went back to cheering as the introductions continued. Draco stood with her, looking around at the sea of excited fans of both teams. The cheering was a mantra he could feel in his chest, hear in his—

Silence shredded his senses.

Draco's legs buckled from the painful, disorienting shock of the muted world.

This wasn't the first time. He knew he had to be level-headed, this was temporary and he was fine, but fear blinded logic. Panic exploded, flooding each cell, sweat forming on his brow. Heart pounding, Draco brought his hands to his ears and tried to think of everything until it passed.

Not now. Not here.

Nausea seized him by the throat and he was blind to anything more than escape.

Freedom.

Draco barely noticed Angelina as he bolted down the steps, past a sea of unfamiliar faces and security.

Everything was hot, his feet heavy, body aching from bumping into people and objects.

Unable to stop until he was outside the pitch, Draco dropped to his knees and threw up on the grass; eyes watering and head throbbing from the strain. He couldn't catch his breath, no matter how he expanded his chest, the sensation of choking on air made it impossible to get a grip.

Then he noticed the shadow.

Saw the puddle of sick vanish.

He turned.

Granger eclipsed the sun.

Her mouth was moving. Draco shook his head and covered his ears.

Understanding swept over her, erasing every bit of emotion on her face. She looked away, said something, and not long later, she accepted a towel from Alicia. He saw the back of her as she walked away, taking Potter with her, and leaving them alone.

Granger joined him on her knees, wand in hand. She offered the towel for Draco to clean his mouth. He did so with vigour, accepting the water he hadn't noticed until she offered the glass bottle. After rinsing his mouth, realisation of what just transpired dawned on him. Even though he couldn't hear Granger's pity, he could see it.

And he didn't fucking want it.

Draco was on his feet, stumbling through the silence until Granger grabbed his arm.

He shrugged it off.

She didn't let up, breaking out into a run past him, cutting him off with arms spread wide, ready to block his way no matter which path he took. .

He froze.

Draco had long since stopped swallowing his pride, but did it once more when he didn't argue about Granger stuffing spare earplugs into his ears. Then again as she led him away from the pitch to the same hill Draco's Portkey had delivered him what felt like hours ago. Granger sat close enough for their legs to touch, but far enough to give him space as he laid back and watched the clouds roll and the occasional seeker fly past.

How much time passed, he didn't know, but Draco's mind calmed enough to think rationally about what had happened.

These episodes rarely happened when he was around anyone, but when they did, he never let anyone stay and watch him at his lowest, most vulnerable.

Having a fucking panic attack in front of Granger should have been rock bottom.

But it wasn't.

Draco's hearing slowly returned. The muffled sound of the match began to filter into Granger's earplugs.

He heard the score.

The excitement of the crowd.

The announcer's sarcasm.

The Falcons and Wasps were tied, the snitch hadn't been caught, and the sun had broken free from its prison behind the clouds.

When he sat up and took the earplugs out, Granger didn't fret or bombard him with questions and concerns. The only thing she said was, "All right?"

"Yeah."

They went back to the game.

The Falcons won.

Theo was waiting for Draco after the Wizarding World Orphan gala; a dull and uneventful event.

Odd because he'd had enough time to return home and change before darkening his sofa.

"Where's Potter?" The saviour himself hadn't been at the event. "Not like him to miss an appearance with a roomful of people kissing his arse."

Which wasn't true, unfortunately. Draco would've loved it if Potter had been some self-important prat like him. It'd make hating him easier. Potter was a lot of things he still couldn't stand, but had seen enough to know how much he valued privacy. Theo was the same about things that truly mattered.

"At home with Teddy. Movie night." Theo's eyes softened, the corners of his lips quirking in fond amusement. "When I left, there was a pillow fort being built."

Draco wasn't nearly as cool to the ten-year-old as his godfather, but he wasn't bitter.

Mostly.

"Why are you here?"

"Are you coming to Harry's birthday or are you going to sneak out of it like you did yours?"

Draco blinked. "I'll be there."

Theo's grin turned magnanimous.

"Just one more thing now that I'm here on a friendly visit."

Draco didn't believe him for a second. The surly and quiet Theo was the first of them to go to therapy and take steps towards becoming the well-adjusted person he was today, but old habits died hard. For all his easy-going appearance, Theo never did anything without a purpose, a plan, and flawless execution.

"What do you want?" Draco asked.

"We hardly ever spend time together."

"Mainly because you're too busy tinkering to find ways to keep tabs on me and orchestrating my many kidnappings with Blaise."

The latest he'd just returned from yesterday.

"Denying this is futile. How was your weekend in Sicily?"

"SPF one thousand wouldn't have prevented the sunburn that's currently on my back."

He reached into his pocket and placed a balm on the table. "For you. Made by me. It'll clear up by morning."

"You still haven't told me what you wanted, Theo."

"Have you spoken to your parents?"

"No."

"Are you going to?"

"No."

"Your mother came to ours for tea."

Draco recoiled. "What for?"

"Harry fell down the stairs trying to turn around and run back upstairs to stay out of her sight."

He sighed wistfully. "I'd give up a percentage of my fortune to witness that."

Theo glared. "Focus. Your mother is on a mission. She's gone around to all your friends. She had pie with Greg. Blaise stared at her over dinner last week. Daphne and Pansy tolerated her when she invited herself along on their shopping trip. Harry and I were her last stop and final hope after no one gave her much to go on when it came to your schedule or how to override your blocked Floo."

That was a surprising amount of effort on her part. "I'll talk to her in a few days. Is that all?"

Theo looked around. "One more thing."

Draco folded his arms despite the pain. "Ten, nine—"

"Fine, Hermione mentioned that you were interested in data from all the studies in each room."

"Yes, and?"

"She's interested in studying the interconnection between the rooms."

Draco blinked. "Okay? Is she slipping on her work as Keeper?"

"No," he said quickly. "Not at all, but you're working with her?"

"I'm gathering data, there's a team working on it already. Granger checks in for summaries. The only thing we're working on is her being less annoying about her insistence that I should submit my articles to international publications."

"So you're talking to her?"

He couldn't figure out why, but the question struck him as odd. "Yes."

Draco didn't know if this was the right or wrong answer.

Theo crossed his legs. "You know she's with Wood, right?"

"And?" Draco folded his arms. "I'm engaged."

This earned him a long look. "Contractually, yes. Emotionally, no. Don't pretend for a second that your engagement is real enough to use as proof of loyalty."

Loyalty? "Actually it is, given I could lose my wealth, wand, and family the second I violate any of the terms."

He said nothing. "And those things mean so much to you."

"Naturally." Draco frowned. "Granger and I talk, she proofreads my articles and will likely aggravate me into submitting them to local and international publications."

Which was a lie.

He'd already submitted one under duress. It stopped her lecture for one day.

"What do you bring to this admittedly odd friendship?"

He hadn't the foggiest idea. "I listen, I suppose. I don't hate her."

"You hate everyone."

"Hate is such a strong word." Draco sniffed. "Vehemently dislike is better."

"But not Granger, right?"

No, not her. "Her mates are low on my 'I'd shove them off a bridge' list. Wood, too, to my utter shock. At the top right now, however, is you. Potter, like the winner he is, is right behind you."

"What did Harry do to you this time?"

"Exist," Draco replied with a straight face. "What are you really asking, Theo?"

Theo studied him. "Hermione asked me how you were doing. She said you've been quieter than usual."

His brow rose. Every mobile conversation featured Granger's rambling followed by stretches of silence he didn't need to fill. Draco had no idea she was concerned. "Okay, and?"

Theo sighed like he was the stupidest person on the planet. "You're being ridiculously daft for an intelligent person."

"I accept this compliment with extreme scepticism."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why must I suffer like this?"

"What?"

"You blew up at your parents, Draco, and now everything is back to normal. That's not—"

"I don't know what to do." The truth felt like another shot of pain.

Theo's eyes widened. "You actually told the truth."

Draco supposed that happened when one grew sick of lying.

Draco unblocked the connection from the Manor on the last day of July.

On the first day of August, he invited his mother for tea the following Sunday.

When the day came, neither had anything to speak about, so they sipped tea that had been steeped for too long. Draco did not ask about his father, and his mother did not mention him.

Instead, she placed a box on the table.

"You made it loud and clear that we have failed you as parents. Your father's pride is what it is, but I am not here on his behalf. Only yours."

Draco froze.

"I need to say something to you."

He settled in his chair and waited.

For a moment, his mother struggled with words. "My duty as your mother has always been clear: raise you, educate you, see that you marry and start a family. That is how I was raised. For so long, I wondered if there was something wrong with my approach, but you said nothing. It was not until your birthday that I realised your continued silence was the biggest indication that something was amiss. The moment I realised you had left without saying goodbye to anyone, I decided to bring your father along with me to speak to you, which I now know was a mistake."

An understatement, but he kept quiet.

"My failures and imperfections as your mother do not mean I love you less." There was a quiet fierceness to her voice, but beneath it there was something deeper. "Do you understand?"

Draco stirred his tea, all desire to drink gone. "I do."

Every sacrifice she made had been for his safety.

He knew this, even though he struggled with the ever-widening disconnect.

"I have always wanted the best for you in this life, but I no longer know what that is."

"Neither do I."

"Do you want to figure it out?"

He closed his eyes, hating how much this desire had grown over the weeks since their argument. "Yes."

"I am willing to listen whenever you are willing to speak. I hope the contents of this box help you find what you want in life."

Draco frowned. "What is it?"

"Your friends were most unhelpful, but I heard their silence loud and clear." She rose to her feet, plum robes nearly touching the floor. "This is me trying."

When his mother left, Draco's gaze fell on the box.

Inexplicably, his hands shook as he untied the bow.

What was inside was the last thing he expected and something he'd never seen.

His marriage contract.

Every clause and pre-signed amendment, every exclusion and exception. Written and unaltered with their parents' signatures shimmering in gold magic.

Draco didn't understand how this was supposed to help, but when he touched the contract, clarity struck him like a bolt.

If he wanted happiness, Draco would have to find his way out of the maze he'd been blindly navigating for years.

Only now, his mother had given him a map.

Chapter Text

Helena Armandill. 

Draco’s seventh Ministry-appointed Mind Healer. 

The first to last more than three sessions. He’d spent the next thirty trying to run the old bat off, but she was so unbothered by his antics that he gave up.

What was another loss?

Older than Mesopotamia, she smelled like bergamot and pepper, would be taller than him had she cared about posture during her long life, aggressively knitted nonstop during their sessions, and was never surprised by anything. 

Not even the sight of him darkening the doorstep well past working hours. 

At seven in the evening.

Without an appointment.

When he hadn’t been a patient for the last five years.

“Mr Malfoy?” She peered over her thick frames. “Ah, it really is you.”

“Pity I’m not a figment of your imagination.” 

Her leathery smile was just as creepy as he remembered. “I’ve missed your defence mechanism, all these years.” 

“Well, I’m back.” He waved as obnoxiously as possible.

She didn’t budge or blink. “Your insomnia?”

“Ever-present.”

“Anger management?”

“You haven’t seen me in The Prophet for murder."

Helena looked him up and down with a keen eye. “This will do.”

Draco visibly relaxed for reasons he couldn’t determine.

“At the conclusion of our last session, you said you’d sooner shove a hive of live bees up your own arse than to sit on my mothball infested sofa for one more second.”

It wasn’t an over-exaggeration. He’d been a massive wanker then. Not too much different now. 

An exasperated sigh escaped. “I want you to know you were my last option.” 

“Crisis appointment?”

Draco snorted, battling down emotions that tried to rise to the surface. “I don’t think I’ve stopped being in a crisis.”

She stepped back in a gesture of invitation. “I’ve gotten a new ball of yarn to knit my great-granddaughter a scarf. Are you willing to do the work?”

In for a Knut, in for a Galleon.

He hadn’t swallowed his pride for nothing. “Yes, I am.”

The Magical Ocean Conservation charity event was held in Devon.

The normally cool breeze felt like steam as the heatwave punished the British Isles. Cooling charms were the only hope of making this event tolerable. As part of the terms of their quiet peace agreement, Draco attended with his mother, who hadn't said a word about his lack of mingling. 

A great effort for her, he knew. 

Astoria’s mother was at her side while Mr Greengrass fell asleep at one of the tables, stuffed full of elf-wine and food. An underhanded comment about the location being a good one for a wedding was made by a woman Draco hardly knew, but his mother graciously changed the subject. 

Draco dared to hope that his mother meant what she said.

He put real effort into making rounds, shaking hands with the organisers and suffering through small talk as he delivered their fifty thousand Galleon donation.

But this time, Draco didn't make his escape. 

Instead, he considered finding familiar faces to mingle with.

Draco spotted Ginny Weasley talking to Potter, her hands moving as she explained something he nodded along with, eyes half-glazed with disinterest. Theo was nearby having a quiet conversation with Blaise. Daphne was frowning at whatever her mother said. 

Avoiding every other familiar face ended with him standing on the edge of the grass hill overlooking the Muggles enjoying Woolacombe Beach as sunset began.

Not long later, Blaise joined him.

“Theo told me you needed a solicitor.”

Draco wasn't expecting this conversation now, having just expressed this to Theo the previous day, but he was ready. “Yes.”

“For?”

“I have a copy of my marriage contract, but the one thing I do know is—”

“Neither party can be directly involved with contract dissolution.”

“Exactly.” Draco smothered his ego. “I need help.”

“Hm.” Effortlessly calm, Blaise was rarely shocked by anything. Except this. “You’re ready to fight?”

“Yes.”

A pause ensued with nothing left to say. Draco listened to the waves, inhaled the salt air and exhaled for what felt like the first time.

“Say less.” Blaise took a step back.

Draco threw his hand out. “I didn’t tell you how much to spend on the retainer.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“We didn't discuss eventual repayment.”

“And we won't.”

Then he left.

Draco hardly ever looked at the sky, but found himself doing just that, lost in thought. When he heard footsteps again, he expected it to be one of the long list of people he didn’t feel like speaking to, only to find that it was a person he didn’t mind.

Granger.

She wore a long floral dress, her curls tousled, her skin glowing like she’d just gotten out of the water. The gusting wind didn’t lift the bottom of her dress as it should, only revealing a bit of her ankle where an old scar remained. 

“Hi.”

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Draco said in lieu of hello. 

“Angelina dragged me along because George was busy. I’d only just gotten home from living historian practice. I hardly had time to take down my hair.” At his expression change, she pointed. “The answer is still no.”

“Tragic.” 

Granger rolled her eyes. “I used you to escape Ginny’s clutches. Now I’m wondering who’s worse.”

“You already know.” Draco gave her a look.

“I do. I was unable to avoid photos with her. Cue the next year of the press thinking I'm her best friend.” She took her spot next to him. “Why are you alone?”

“Blaise just left.” Draco glanced at Granger only to find her attention fixed on him. “What?”

“Your hair is a mess.”

“Likewise.” But that wasn’t entirely true. 

“I’d cut it if I didn’t think I’d regret it.”

“Or if you didn’t hate change.” It was an odd thing to remember, and he’d said it jokingly, but Draco knew he wasn’t wrong. 

Granger’s smile was slow. “True.”   

She reached over, hesitant at first, then with one last questioning look whispered, “May I?” 

Draco answered with a small nod. 

He didn’t jolt upon her fingers brushing against his forehead as she fixed his hair, but it was close. 

Warm from the sun, an odd twisting sensation grew in the pit of his stomach. Maybe that was why he said nothing about logistics. 

That his hair would be askance at the next breeze. 

So would hers.

But strangely, Draco felt a strong desire to tuck her curls behind her ears so they wouldn’t blow in her face at the next gust. 

He didn’t, of course. He wasn't mad. 

Draco ignored the jitters, the strong desire to run in any direction, and studied Granger as she pulled her hair into a ponytail. It was as if he were memorising it for a future exam. 

“Sleekeazy's helps with curls, not with the hold.”

“It’s…” 

“If I tell you something, promise not to laugh.”

“I absolutely will.” Draco smirked. “But go on.”

“I lined my dress with two books in case I got bored. Brought my glasses, too.”

Draco burst out laughing. “What?” 

Granger pulled her glasses out of a pocket and put them on, then looked around before bending her knees and reaching under her dress. She returned with a copy of Little Women and scowled when he snatched it out her hand. “Oi!”

“Why this book?”

“Jo March is my comfort character. Career-oriented, happy to spend most of her time wrapped up and writing away. Fiery, wanting to stretch her wings, tired of only being viewed as fit to become someone’s wife and mother.”

Draco opened the book and skimmed the first page, cutting his eyes to Granger whose irritation had faded to something unreadable. “You look poised to rant.”

“I’m… not.”

He turned a few more pages. “And who might I be in this novel?”

She thought about it. “Professor Bhaer. Her… biggest critic.”

“Sounds right.” Draco closed the book and handed it back. “I wonder if Jo ever proofread any of Bhaer’s papers as harshly as you do mine.”

Granger rolled her eyes. “I could be harsher.”

He laughed.

“Did you hear anything from Mystic Academic?” 

“Are you going to let it go?”

“No.”

He sighed, knowing how far a determined Granger would go to prove a point. “They want to publish my article.”

“I told you!” Granger did an excited shimmy. “Congratulations!”

“You’re ridiculous and so is your dance.” Draco’s smile softened as he rolled his eyes. “I just got the owl this morning. I was waiting to tell you tonight.”

A throat cleared behind them.

Their heads turned in unison. Draco’s smile died a spectacular death when his eyes landed on his mother. He barely caught her expression—the questions and flashes of confusion—before it was masked by politeness. 

A thin smile formed. “Miss Granger.”

“Mrs Malfoy.”

“It is a pleasure to see you at a charity event. Where is your Mr Wood?”

“It’s just me today. Oliver is preparing for a game.”

“And you are here instead?”

“Oliver likes to prepare undisturbed. The extent of my support when he’s like this is dropping off meals, cleaning charms to take care of the dishes, rattling off scores from other games, and pretending to be a goal post while he shows me the new formations he invented.”

Draco suppressed his amusement. 

His mother’s blank expression didn’t change. “How odd that he let you attend without an escort. I expect that sort of thing from the Weasleys, they run amok, but the Woods are respectable. I assumed they raised their son better.”

Opening his mouth to speak proved to be futile because Granger was all over it.

“‘Let me’ is certainly an odd word choice, as we’re neither married nor subscribers to antiquated societal rules.” The chill in her voice contrasted with her polite smile and relaxed demeanour. “People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, but I suppose your assumption about the Woods is correct. His parents did raise him better. They raised a caring, loyal, hard-working, and brilliant man.”

His mother was momentarily speechless. “I meant no offence.”

“There is none, but perhaps we should leave our differing opinions where they are. You’ll refrain from increasing my understanding of gender roles in pureblood society and I’ll abstain from giving my opinion about literally anything.”

Granger held his mother’s gaze with the same pleasant look. 

Neither backed down. 

The corner of Mother’s mouth twitched. “You are as spirited as always, Miss Granger. I am glad you and my son managed to become civil as of late.”

It was Granger’s turn to look visibly surprised. His mother’s tone instantly put Draco on edge. 

Years of knowing the best defence was silence went off the nearby cliff. “We worked on a project at the beginning of the year—”

“And have maintained a friendship since?” His mother’s eyes sparkled. “Fascinating.”

Dread crawled up his spine, but he shook it off.

There was nothing to worry about.

Granger’s brows furrowed, the fight in her dying.

Draco pulled himself together and stepped towards his mother. “Are you ready to leave? I was thinking we could have dinner at your favourite restaurant.”

The manipulation tactic was an immediate success. 

“Yes, of course.”

Arm-in-arm, he led his mother back across the grass towards the Apparition point.

He looked back at Granger and rolled his eyes in apology.

She only smiled and waved.

Draco caught his mother’s eye again. 

The squint held too many questions for his liking.

Padma sat across the table, distrust in her eyes.

She dropped the Exploding Snap deck on the table. “I’ve been practising. I figured out how you cheated, so now I’m challenging you to a rematch, you duffer.”

Interesting insult. “You’re older than me.” 

Padma looked more serious than ever. “I will smack you.”

Draco side-eyed Blaise for help but found someone barely holding their composure. He sat down. “You really need to work out your issues.”

“I’ll be happier when I kick your arse.”

And an hour later, when she won fair and square, Draco smiled. “Will your grudges allow us to be mates now?”

Padma folded her arms. “Absolutely not.”

The following Saturday left Draco without work to skip or places he needed to be, but everyone was back to their regularly scheduled pestering, whether by mobile or Floo. 

When he turned both off, he started getting owls. 

After running out of treats returning letters to senders, avoidance took on a new level. He put earplugs in and blocked everything out. 

But that left Draco alone with his intrusive thoughts.

Fear twisted reality, attacking and chewing on him.

The subject wasn’t his usual: failures or shortcomings.

It was Granger.

He’d written her a note mentioning his intrusive thoughts and she hadn’t responded.

Strange thing to fixate on, but his brain wouldn’t stop.

She pities you.

You’re weak. A failure. A joke.

There’s no end to this. This is who you are.

You don’t belong here.

Nothing could alleviate the weight on his shoulders.

Draco had a shower so hot it left his pale skin red, but after, he felt refreshed. Dressing took all his strength to complete. Food was out of the question. Water was a struggle. Still, he drank until his stomach hurt and threw up in the sink until he felt exhausted despite just waking up.

He needed to get out. 

He needed—

Oscar flew into the window and dropped a letter on his table.

Whatever was owed had been paid because he immediately flew away.

Malfoy,

If you’re anything like me, leave the intrusive thoughts behind and accept the invite.

Sincerely,

Granger

P.S. Oscar has been given a treat. Don’t give him another.

Draco read the note four times and sat in silence until he took out the earplugs one by one.

Until he could inhale without his chest tightening.

Until Granger’s affirmation made his head stop pounding.

It was okay. It was okay. He hadn’t fucked up.

There was a knock on his door.

Draco was surprised by who was on the other side.

Oliver Wood, dressed in Quidditch gear, gave a crooked grin and an awkward wave, like he wasn’t sure why he was there. 

“Are you—” He deflated. “You didn’t know I was coming.”

“Erm?”

“Did you get her owl?”

“It just arrived.”

“Oh.” Wood’s smile brightened. “Hermione said you didn’t want to see a friend that’ll worry and asked me to take you along.”

Draco squinted. “Where?”

“Practice.”

Accept the invite.

“Okay.”

Draco spent hours running flying drills with the Falmouth Falcons, dodging bludgers and scoring four goals on a professional Keeper. It was the longest he’d been on a broom in months. At first, the other players barely acknowledged him. They knew him for all the reasons that made him infamous—many people did. Catching the snitch while hanging upside down from his broom changed everything. 

By the end of practice, Draco was exhilarated, covered in sweat and dirt, smack talking with the players and smiling. The team invited him out for a meal more boisterous than Potter’s gatherings. The lager was expensive. The food wasn’t the best, but he was starving after the day.

Nobody cared about his life story. 

Nobody asked him a damn thing about anything. 

For one night, he got to be Draco.

Wood had a flying Audi and flew around Big Ben twice before dropping him home. 

“All right?”

For once, he felt like he was. Not that he’d ever admit that to Wood. “I owe you.”

“No, arranging an extra low-stakes practice was better than classical music ‘n Hyde Park with Hermione or walking through museums when I care bugger all about art.”

That didn’t sound like a waste of a day. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind it, but she crams too much on days when I want to do nothin’. I want a pint at a loud pub but she likes bike rides ‘n book shopping, gettin’ lost on the tube' or goin’ to any festival she can. She wants to debate books, but I don’t have time to read them as fast. I’m glad you talk to her at night so I can sleep when I’m over. Nothin’ I do wears her out, but I haven’t heard her pacin’ in months.”

Oh. 

He knew.

For some reason this was surprising.

Draco made a face, half-shrugging. “I know about the Living Historian bit, but not all of that.”

“She rarely gives herself a proper lie in. She says it's too quiet during the day.”

And even at night.  

When she was forced indoors. 

Alone with herself and all her thoughts.

Granger must have waited hours, until her breaking point, before she rang. Just like he waited for her to break his own monotony. Even for a few hours. Just until he was tired enough to sleep.

Draco frowned, uncomfortable with his new understanding of Granger’s insomnia. And her link with his. 

With him.

“It's not that bad.”

“Of course you'd say that.” Wood shook his head with fond amusement. “You’re posh as hell.”

“Proudly.” Draco moved his broom from one hand to the other. “A reformed bigot, but my parents allowed me to experience Muggle activities, if only to prove the wizarding way is superior. They were only partially right because coffee and the telly are superior, but don’t tell Granger I said that.”

Just like he would keep his thoughts to himself.

Wood laughed, slapping his back so hard he stumbled forward. “Your secret is safe, but she doesn’t have a telly. Likes to see the world for herself. Dunno how she does everythin’ and keeps it sorted. Runs circles ‘round me all day.”

Draco didn’t think about the comment until he was in the shower.

He knew how Granger kept everything together.

She didn’t sleep.

After towel-drying his hair, Draco noticed the note on his desk. 

Better?

-HG

Draco held the note longer than he realised.

A silent answer turned into words that he sent.

Yes.

-DM

Susan Bones blinked like a bloody Hippogriff. 

Her expression spoke of deep suspicion, like she couldn’t figure out what crime he’d committed, but was determined to accuse him of something. If only for the satisfaction of watching him get thrown into Azkaban. 

Draco didn’t know if he should stare back, leave, or bow. 

Outside of the occasional interaction at work or in group settings, their paths hardly crossed. Bones couldn’t be described as quiet or meek, especially after the infamous row she and Harry had years before. Draco hadn't witnessed the altercation, no one knew the topic that had her screaming at him behind a strong Muffliato, but Potter was still nervous in her presence—as if she’d start up again at the slightest provocation. 

Draco kept his distance, but this changed when she strolled into his office without so much as a greeting—making him wonder if it was something all Granger’s friends did.

Bones sat down and wasted no time. “For what it’s worth, I don’t hate you.”

“Erm.”

“I’ve forgiven your family for their part in exterminating mine.”

Draco blinked. “Didn’t expect that, not sure we deserve it.”

“You don’t, but you know how forgiveness works.”

It was for her, not them.

“Right.”

“Now that we’re past that. I’m here to figure out what you want.”

Draco sat back in his chair. “What?”

She gritted her teeth in the face of his confusion. “What do you really want from Hermione?”

“Nothing?”

“Is that a question?”

“Is this an interrogation?”

“Maybe.”

Confusion never stopped him from being an arse. “Then maybe that was a question.”

Bones squinted as if he were a stain that didn’t go away after the first cleaning. “Alicia and Angelina like you, but I know you have ulterior motives.”

“Which are? If Granger thought I was disingenuous, she wouldn’t speak to me.”

For the first time since her entrance, the corners of Bones’ mouth quirked. “So you’re—”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“Harry and I don’t get on. I’ll never get on with anyone who treats a friend poorly, who’ll make anyone feel expendable. I know he’s trying, that she’s forgiven him, so I tolerate him in large group settings. When you started coming around, I treated you the same with the belief that you’ll fade out. But you’re closer now than then. Different, too. She trusts you.”

“What?”

“Oliver mentioned that she talks to you through her insomnia, which is significant. Hermione’s famously private. I was only able to confirm how bad things were after Ron because Howlers were flooding her office. She put on a brave face, but I saw how hurt she was. I marched up to the Auror’s Office, and dragged Harry out of a meeting.”

A sight Draco would have loved to witness. 

“I found out later that Theo beat me to it, but…” Bones shrugged. She swept her ponytail off her shoulder and observed him. “We’ve been mates for years, but I wonder why it’s you she talks to.”

“I don’t know either.”

Bones stood, her expression morphed from blank to a bit sheepish. “Thanks for not being a fucking bastard to her, or any of us.”

When she turned to leave, Draco started to let the conversation go, but words forced their way out. “Thanks for giving me a chance.”

Bones stopped suddenly, then left without another word.

Granger loitered outside Draco’s open office door later that day.

It was just past five when she finally knocked, looking uncharacteristically unsure of herself.

“I’m leaving for the day.” 

“Erm. Okay?” She never announced her exit, only tossed a wave as she walked by. Draco had taken to leaving his door open so she wouldn’t burst in to tell him goodnight. When she stood there, looking everywhere except at him, Draco put down his quill. “Are you going for a walk?”

“Yes.”

Draco blinked.

Granger blinked back. 

“Are you inviting me?” he asked slowly.

“Only if you want to come.”

He was good at puzzles, figuring out the connection between seemingly different things, but he had no clue what was happening now. Granger seemed nervous, albeit trying to keep her cool. Instead of ignoring her weirdness, he gathered his belongings and muttered a few horrid excuses, like needing to leave for dinner with Daphne, which wasn’t until tomorrow. 

“Oh, I’ll just—”

“But I’m not busy now.”

Granger visibly relaxed.

They started on the path, passing Muggles who couldn’t see them under Disillusionment. When they approached their first clearing, she veered off path and he followed, more than curious when she found a spot and stopped, turning fully to him.

Draco almost ran into her. “What the—”

“I know this is going to be a strange request, but Oliver can’t dance, Harry’s going to break my ankle, and everyone else is busy. I figured you’d know how to dance.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I can. Ballroom, mostly.”

“What about mediaeval?”

“You’ll have to show me but I’m a quick learner.”

“I have videos. I’ll have Oscar drop them off later. And—”

“What is this for exactly?”

“The girl I’m understudying for is going on holiday next week, and then again in November and the start of February. I need to brush up on my dances.”

Instantly intrigued, he leaned slightly closer. “Can I—”

“No, you can’t come. You’ll only make it worse.”

Draco sulked. “I happen to be excellent company.”

“Not like this.”

“I’m willing to negotiate.” He folded his arms. “I’ll practise with you if you let me come to your last performance.”

Granger squinted. 

“Or you can risk your ankles with Pott—”

“Fine, I agree.”

They shook on it.

“While we’re here, I can show you the steps to The Carole. It starts with everyone in a circle.”

The steps were simple. Granger did each flawlessly. He didn’t know why she needed a partner until she started breaking down the differences between court and country dances and how the visitors got to choose.

“How many options are there?”

“Thirty.”

Chapter Text

Draco tapped his foot and watched Helena knit.

The scabbed-over wounds were waiting, as always, but today wasn't the day he felt like picking at them in therapy to see if they had fully healed.

Most likely, they hadn't.

"What do you think of my windowsill?" she asked without looking up from knitting.

The only thing present on it was a small plant whose vines were hanging off the table, yet curved up, desperately seeking sunlight. The pot was a boring white and it looked a bit wilted.

"Looks pathetic."

At long last, she lifted her eyes to him. "Do you know what I see?"

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"That I am. I see a plant I've had for a little over a year, a gift from my granddaughter to add oxygen to the air. My thumb is as black as my hair was half a century ago, and it nearly died on me several times. Do you know what I did?"

"No."

"I asked for advice and gave it what it needed. With attention and learning, we've gotten here. Is it perfect? No. But my plant is living when it once was brown and withered. You see something pathetic, but I see something that's survived my mistreatment. It's about perspective. How is yours?"

"I think you need to water it," Draco deadpanned.

Helena blinked slowly. "I challenge you to allow yourself to see the good in life instead of the bad. It'll be hard. Everything is when you're in pain, but your pain won't last forever. You'll know you're on the mend when you're ready to see the beauty in a wilted plant."

"Mystic Academic's edits are harsher than yours."

Draco could hear Granger preening. "That is the highest compliment you've ever given me."

"Bugger off."

She sniffed. "I refuse."

This was just another on a growing list of nights that they'd gone from silent Floo calls to mobile conversations. It had already happened twice this week and it was only Wednesday.

Another thing that happened twice a week?

Them practising in a clearing for an hour before going their separate ways.

He called those days Granger Doubles.

And always, this happened right before his therapy appointment. While Granger hadn't become a topic—there were far too many issues that needed to be worked through—it was only a matter of time before he'd run out of trauma and need to look at a bond that grew stronger with each interaction.

The rest of August and into the first days of September went like this: Fussing. Arguing. Talking honestly in the dead of night.

Sometimes they started at the Floo, working on their middle of the night tasks before moving to their mobiles where they talked about topics Draco could hardly remember come morning. It was better than being alone with shifting thoughts; the whispers that grew louder.

Other times Granger called his mobile after midnight and talked endlessly like she needed someone to listen to her rant and anyone would do, even Draco Malfoy.

But just as often, she listened as he vented for the same reasons; a similar faceless ease.

Tonight Granger was swimming in a pool that was filled with every aspect of her life and most days she was an expert floater, but sometimes she got tired and began to sink.

Draco could relate.

"I do love my job but I wish some of my interns would do theirs without me having to ask." Granger sighed in frustration as she worked to fix another problem at three in the morning.

"Maybe you shouldn't be so good at your job," Draco quipped.

"You make competence sound like punishment."

"Isn't it?"

She let out a dry laugh.

"Or maybe you shouldn't make yourself so available," he suggested. "Stop holding their hands."

Granger pondered his suggestion for several minutes. "You know, I've been thinking. I'll take a day off. No, two! A week. For my birthday. Oliver has been begging me to go on holiday."

"The Time Room would implode if you weren't there for a week."

But Draco never minded watching the chaos.

The longer Draco looked between the two options, the faster Greg's dopey grin died.

"It's not Ancient Runes, Draco."

No, it was much worse. He'd come here with the promise of free, highly-caffeinated coffee, and while that wasn't a lie, it was far too early for this sort of life choice. Greg had made two edible flowers for Daphne and wanted Draco to choose which one to give her.

Ficoides or fleur-de-lis.

'Your looks freeze me' or 'My compliments'.

Neither were particularly moving, but again, Daphne knew fuck all about flowers.

"What flavours?"

Greg blinked in apparent confusion. "Err, ficoides taste like strawberry and lemon and the stem tastes like lime. The fleur-de-lis tastes like candy floss."

"Ficoides it is." Draco reached for the loser, but Greg snatched it away. "Daphne will appreciate the effort of the ficoides and I love candy floss. No good deed should go to waste. I'll even deliver it."

This earned him one of Greg's specialty squinty frowns. "You love candy floss."

"Are you implying I'd sabotage you for my own benefit?"

"Yeah."

"Your lack of faith in me is frankly appalling." Draco brought a dramatic hand to his chest, but then thought about it the more Greg glared. "Fine, you're not wrong, but in this case, I was being sincere. I am capable. That I love candy floss is a bonus."

Greg huffed and went to get a second thermal.

"Who is that for?"

"Granger." He answered like he'd made her thousands of coffees. "Whenever you come, you take one for her."

He remembered a few incidents, but not enough to warrant the act being labelled as a habit.

"Oh, she's on holiday in Costa Rica."

Greg's face scrunched. "Didn't know she took those."

Draco laughed. "Neither did anyone else. I'm going in early to witness the chaos first hand."

Blaise turned to Padma, who contacted Cho Chang, who was close with Mandy Brocklehurst, who specialised in breaking magical contracts.

All Draco knew was that her team was working on interpreting it piece by piece.

That was all he could know.

His first meeting with Brocklehurst was quick. They sat at a table in the empty dining hall. No tea or food, no painful small talk. Business only.

"I want it to be clear that I represent Blaise on your behalf. Not you directly, and not Astoria."

Draco nodded.

"When I complete my review, I'll make suggestions and give you options, ones that might make you uncomfortable, ones that may hurt those you're trying to protect."

Astoria.

It was unspoken.

"If you can't handle this, then I suggest you allow Blaise to retain someone else."

Draco sat up straighter, firm in his decision. "Make your options, Brocklehurst. For once in my life, I'll choose what I can live with."

Draco was waiting for Andromeda to arrive for lunch when his pocket started vibrating.

He hadn't realised that his mobile was with him.

Granger's name popped on the screen and he didn't remember programming her number.

Nevertheless, he answered. "Aren't you supposed to be enjoying your holiday?"

"I've seen everything from howler monkeys to toucans to jaguars." He could hear birds in her background. "It's six in the morning here and I figured before we left to swim with sea turtles, I'd check on the state of the Time Room in my absence."

Draco smirked and leaned back in his chair, looking at the door for Andromeda. It was raining and she was probably running late. He had time. "It's been four days and they're counting down the days until your return. Theo is ignoring everyone because they've forgotten he's not in charge, Pewter is. Six of your interns have come to me to complain and your assistant has cried in my office twice after Pewter expressed his irritation that she doesn't know where you keep things."

"Sally doesn't understand my organisation system, despite me explaining it numerous times. She was too busy fawning over Johnston to pay attention."

"Theo found the expense reports you completed before leaving and talked everyone off the metaphorical ledge."

"Fantastic, I've been wanting him to take on a leadership role. I only assigned Pewter as Keeper in my absence because Theo didn't want it."

"And still doesn't. He said he caught a case of vertigo and won't return until you do."

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes." Draco grinned. "Your room is chaos with you both gone. It's been marvellous to witness." He stayed the hour leading to lunch with his aunt watching the various meltdowns that occurred in her absence. "Pure entertainment. Pewter was trying to reign in everyone when I left. There might be a mutiny when I return."

"Fascinating. Pewter thinks he can do my job better than me, which is why, when Theo turned it down, I offered it to him." Granger sounded maniacally amused, which was a contradiction. "See if he'll want to be a replacement Keeper again."

"You're positively mad." Draco didn't mind it when her particular brand of insanity wasn't focused on him.

"I'm aware." There was a pause. "How have you been sleeping?"

The question was hushed, like she'd been waiting until the perfect moment to ask. They were friends, he could admit as much, but it felt nothing like his others. Daphne was like family. Greg fed him. Blaise and Theo irritated him. Spinnet, Angelina, and Bones were new. What category could he put Granger in when she didn't belong in any of them?

"Like usual. You?"

"A few hours here and there." He could almost see Granger tugging on the ends of her hair. "I lay still because my restlessness and odd hours disturbs Oliver. The villa has thin walls."

Draco shifted in his chair. "How do you do that without going mad?"

"I make lists until he's deep enough asleep to not wake up when I move. Then I sit outside and listen to the night. I ring Alicia, Angelina, Susan, and sometimes Padma. Then I read by lamp until I'm tired enough to sleep. I've finished half the books I brought with me."

"Granger, if you want to deviate from… wait no."

"What?"

How many days had she been gone?

How many weeks had they talked nightly?

How many months had passed since their first note?

Floo call?

Mobile conversation?

Granger knew more about him than most. Not everything, not even the most important aspects and recent developments, but she knew about the pressure he felt and all the ways he'd tried to destroy his mobile.

Draco, in turn, knew of her woes.

Her parents in Australia, who were enjoying retirement and spoiling her very old half-Kneazle. Her friendships—both current and failed. Draco knew Granger's favourite colour wasn't red or green, but burnt orange. That she liked bike riding and the smell of baked bread. And she knew just as much about him, if not more.

The definition of friend was stupidly broad.

She would never fit in with the others who bore the title, but the construction of her own space began on a random early-September day.

"Greg made you coffee and—how many have I brought you?"

"I don't know, at least fifty."

"That many?"

"Yeah."

Draco frowned thoughtfully. "I didn't realise."

"Oh." Granger fell silent. "Don't say you miss me, Malfoy, I'll delude myself into thinking you've finally accepted we're friends."

"I think I have."

She fell silent. "Good."

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The quiet extended past the many miles that separated them.

"Holidays are odd," Granger murmured with a soft sigh. "Breaking routines to find one just long enough before returning home. Not talking to you in the middle of the night is just as bizarre as talking to you in the middle of the day. I was up this morning at two and almost rang you out of habit, but then I realised what time it was there."

It would have been nine in the morning.

He was drinking coffee, working, and handling emergencies as they occurred.

Draco moved the phone from one ear to the other. He almost allowed the awkward moment to pass, but before he could stop himself, he muttered, "You could still ring."

The silence was all-consuming, but the fire shifted with Granger's response. "Okay."

Mother always knew what to do to draw Draco into a false sense of security.

Today, his presence was required at the Manor to listen as she went over the design for her next renovation project.

The grand foyer.

Father was tending to his genetic disaster—or hiding from Draco after the row they never spoke of—while Mother walked around detailing changes, asking opinions on crystal versus diamond, and lamenting over workers scratching the old hardwood floor. Draco was bored, half-listening with a book in hand he'd swiped from the drawing room to entertain him. It wasn't working.

"What do you think, Draco?" Mother broke what little concentration he'd gathered.

The pause was too long. She knew he wasn't listening.

It earned him a huff. "I doubt that book is more important than decorating your ancestral home."

Draco put both very low on his list. "Mother, you have a better eye for these things than I do."

That made her smile. "You are right, I do."

It sounded like a threat.

"If we're done here, I'll—"

"Stay for tea?"

Draco maintained control of his waning smile. "Of course."

Tea was a surprisingly smooth affair. Mother squinted once when he added more sugar than she deemed appropriate. He was confident he was going to make it out unscathed.

He was wrong.

"You know you can talk to me, Draco."

Draco froze but placed his teacup on the saucer. "What is this about?"

"Nothing in particular. I am merely stating that you can come to me for anything."

"Thanks?"

Mother settled in her chair, sharp eyes on him. "So Miss Granger…"

"What about her?" Draco asked, ignoring the flash of nausea.

"You have made a wise decision."

His heart plummeted to his knees. "What decision?"

"She is a good person to have in your pocket. Very wise of you to befriend her." She looked truly proud of him at that moment, but he couldn't wipe the frown off his face. "It is okay to enjoy her friendship, but keep her around, use her influence when you need to. Her and Oliver Wood are an influential pair, despite Miss Granger's lack of social appearances. Outside of the unfortunate circumstance with Ronald Weasley, people generally love her."

Using Granger to boost their family in public opinion left him with a bitter taste in his mouth and a strong desire to change the subject. "I don't care to discuss her."

"Oh?" Mother's eyes brightened. "Perhaps we can discuss my gift."

"Nothing to discuss there either."

"Have you—"

"Retained a solicitor to find holes in the contract? Indirectly."

This visibly surprised his mother. "I did not expect you to look so soon. Are you certain there is no one else?"

Draco frowned. "No."

For the first time, the truth held one speck of a lie.

He didn't know how to make it disappear.

As all spots of dirt, cleaning it would make it grow and spread. He'd have to acknowledge it, burn down every pretence.

And for what?

What was the lie?

"Good." She relaxed slightly. "The last time we spoke on this topic you became upset and left."

Finding another exit rose to the top of his list of things to do. "This isn't a topic I wish to discuss ad nauseam. Has it ever occurred to you that I'm not the problem?" Draco blurted out without thinking.

The regret was instant.

Mother sat up straighter. "Is it Astoria?"

"No."

"I would understand if it were. A woman must give up her life and career, everything she has worked for to become a Malfoy wife. That is not easy."

"But it's easy for me?" Barely restrained anger made him look around the room to focus on one spot, one object on the table to keep him focused.

Calm.

"This is your birthright. Your duty to your lineage. You have known your path since you were young. It is the same as your father and your father's father and so on. However, I am not blind. Your father holds hope that you will perform your duty, but I wonder if you would be more inclined if you were allowed to choose for yourself."

"Choose?"

"Of course, she has to be to our standards—"

"What about mine?"

His mother gave him an odd look. "You are a Malfoy. Your standards are ours."

Draco didn't think that was true. "I'm not surprised that you're more understanding of Astoria's plight. It makes sense, but…"

"But what?"

He looked around, struggling to say what was at the forefront of his mind. "Nothing."

"Draco, talk to me," Mother implored. "I know there is something on your mind."

He stood slowly, dusting invisible lint off his black trousers. "Nothing I say will make you happy."

"I know you are unhappy. I know you are tired and angry. You have grown increasingly irritable since the start of the year and while I have theories, I will not force your hand. I see the pressure on you. I will admit, I have put my fair share of it on your shoulders, but you can talk to me."

"Why would I talk to someone who admits to being part of the problem?" Draco picked up his wand. "Father's only solution is for me to do as I'm told, to become who he wants me to be. What will he do if I don't comply? If I find the loophole? And what will you do if he refuses to let me go?"

"Family is important. We make sacrifices. Your father is—"

"Not here. Despite everything I said."

Quiet anger grew louder, hotter.

Impossible to silence.

"Your father is a lot of things, but he—"

"Aren't you tired of defending him? Justifying his poor choices?"

"No, because I understand that he's doing what he knows, keeping you on a long string because he can't bear to pull you close or set you free."

"And if he disinherited me for breaking the contract, what will you do?"

To that, his mother had no answer.

Draco couldn't stop the single, recoiling chuckle that escaped. "I—I'm leaving."

"Why?"

"Because I'm feeling destructive and will irrevocably damage any progress we've made in our relationship."

He walked out to the sound of Mother calling his name.

He started running when she came after him.

He never stopped.

Granger used Draco's invitation a few days later, but before she could get a word in edgewise, he checked the calendar and remembered not to be a selfish bastard.

"Happy birthday."

Her response wasn't what he expected.

"I think Oliver wants to get married."

She sounded panicked in a way he hadn't heard from her in… ever.

Draco put down his quill and sent the note to the Keepers to move their meeting back an hour. Then he locked his office door and moved to another chair before considering his next words. "Usually that's something women are happy about."

But Granger wasn't most women and she was not happy. "He just asked if I ever thought about it. I said no."

"Was that the truth?"

Draco was in uncharted territory. Was this what it meant to be her friend?

Could he give that title back?

"Yes, until recently."

Not used to being a soundboard for anyone except Goyle, initially Draco had no idea what the right question was to ask or if there was some sort of manual for this sort of situation.

Luckily for him, Granger wasn't done rambling.

"Oliver's family is… they're lovely, but they remind me of your parents. They would expect me to give up my career and devote myself to being his supportive wife and starting a family. I know he wouldn't ask this of me. He respects my ambition, but all I can see are the years of subtle jabs and hints about grandchildren, my work minimised in their eyes—even if it's not in his. They're asking him to coach England's national Quidditch team and I wouldn't be able to stand the disrespect, the comparisons. Oh, and while I love Teddy, I'm not even sure if I want children. I haven't considered the possibility. Maybe? Oh—"

"Erm."

"I just don't know." Granger sounded unhinged. He could hear her pacing back and forth. "Oliver has never given me the inkling he's thought about it. And why do people get married anyway?"

"I've expertly avoided my own nuptials for years so I might not have an answer you want to hear." Draco awkwardly looked at his hands, the signet ring a steady reminder of every conversation on the topic. His frustration. His dismay. His silence. "I hear it's not so bad. There are benefits."

"Along with expectations." She fell quiet for a long time before chuckling dryly. "There's companionship, I suppose, and convenience. In some places on Earth, Oliver and I are considered married, but that's not enough. It will never be enough. There will always be questions and unsolicited advice."

She wasn't wrong, but there was nothing stopping this train of word vomit.

"When are you having children? When are you buying a house? Why didn't you give up your name? That one I can answer. Because I refuse to become Mrs Wood."

Draco only barely managed to suppress his amusement.

"Gods, the idea of making it legally binding, the idea of packing up my place, my identity regardless of if I keep my name, waking up to Oliver every day for the rest of my life is—well, it's frankly horrifying."

"Erm."

"Don't get me wrong, Oliver is ideal. He's steady and stable and great. He's as career-oriented as I am and doesn't complain about my long hours. He doesn't push or argue. He knows how I feel about everything and has been by my side since I was having Howlers delivered to my home and friends who wouldn't talk to me, but what if—oh gods, I'm unloading on you. Sorry! Shite. Sorry. I should go."

Granger ended the call.

Draco waited for hours, but a return call never came.

Chapter Text

Astoria and Draco were dressed to perfection.

Her travels had concluded early, just in time for his parents' wedding anniversary celebration extravaganza.

How fortuitous.

Attending the event meant too many eyes and too much media. Draco wore black robes, slicked his hair back at his mother's request, and didn't say one word about his father's albino chickens loitering with their diamond collars like dignified guests. It was, however, a fascinating subject to everyone else. Astoria looked stunning in another of his mother's borrowed gowns, royal purple and form-fitting with a sheer cape.

He didn't envy her one bit.

She'd hardly eaten and they'd had six dances to avoid looks from either set of parents. The room felt too small, packed with guests that ranged from family friends to high-ranking Ministry officials to Draco's relevant schoolmates to every goddamn Weasley on the British Isles.

All for publicity, of course. A stunt.

For the last hour, Draco's hand had been wrapped around an increasingly irritable Astoria's waist, guiding her as they went around the room, speaking to everyone, thanking them for their attendance, and ensuring their comfort in the newest wing of Malfoy Manor. Every guest commented on his doting on his fiancé, told them that the love between them was shining bright; they hinted and joked about their time of celebration coming.

But Draco knew the truth.

If Astoria so much as looked down, her dress would split. Her heels weren't comfortable, Luna had to stay behind in Brazil to finish the paperwork, and worst of all, she was starving to the point of fury.

"Only a little longer, right?" She forced a smile.

"Yes." But Draco was only half-listening, his focus on one sight he'd seen a thousand times before.

Potter was chatting with Mr and Mrs Weasley, who were all smiles. They were always like that with him, supportive and kind, in attendance for every major life event, proud like parents. Theo wasn't used to kindness like that, it once made him deeply uncomfortable. But they took him in, too, and cared for him until their acceptance became second nature.

Draco never gave it a second thought until now.

What was the difference between Potter, who broke their daughter's heart, and Granger who broke their son's?

They had never turned their backs on the golden boy, but ostracised Granger long enough that by the time they tried to right their wrongs, the damage was done.

What warranted the different reactions?

"You're thinking awfully hard." Astoria shifted her weight. "Photographer incoming, look alive."

Draco flipped on like a switch, then off once pictures were taken for tomorrow's Daily Prophet.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Teddy glaring at Victoire Weasley.

Andromeda whispered something in his ear that made his hair change from irritated orange to pleased purple. The two children stopped arguing and Victoire dragged Teddy off in the direction of her parents who were mid-conversation with Angelina and George.

Not for the first time, he locked eyes with his aunt, but couldn't read her expression. She hadn't said a word to him beyond their initial greeting in the welcoming line when she patted his cheek and was the only one to hug Astoria.

"You're distracted tonight." Astoria searched his face in a single glance. "What's on your mind?"

"Do you even care?"

At that, she looked hurt. "I think you forget that I do give a damn about you. I'm your friend and I notice things."

"I'm exactly the same."

"No you aren't," Astoria said softly. "Something or someone has woken you up. I want to shake their hand and buy them a pint. It's nice to see you're no longer sleepwalking. You've been visibly irritated with the Weasleys, looking at the door like you expect someone to walk in but they haven't, and—"

"What are you talking about?" Draco tilted his head, expression blank. "There is no one. You've got me confused with Greg who's arse over tits for your sister."

Astoria gasped, bringing both hands to her mouth. "Wait. What?"

"You didn't know?"

"Of course I didn't." Her voice lowered. "I would have told Daphne."

"Why would you—"

"You really are oblivious." She looked around and gave a smile. "Get me out of here. The spelled seams of this gown are about to abandon hope. I can feel it."

"To be fair," Draco pointed out as he guided her to the exit, glancing around, hoping to slip out with only the eyes on them that would make incorrect assumptions. "You weren't supposed to be here."

"Blame the Qilin that decided to be found early," Astoria said once they were safe in another sitting room.

The first thing she did was make him unzip her while fumbling in her purse for shrunken clothes that she reversed the spell on. Without blinking twice, she changed into the shirt and jeans, not caring that he was in full view. Draco turned his back anyway. He wasn't interested.

A house-elf appeared with a plate of food. "Mrs Tonks told me to bring this to you, Miss Greengrass."

"Bless your aunt. Favourite member of the family."

Draco blinked. "Am I a joke to you?"

"You're number two." She didn't bother to sit while inhaling the contents of the plate. When she spotted Draco with his brow cocked, still waiting for an explanation, she smiled. "Funny story about Daph. She's stunning and sharp when it comes to everything else, yet she's completely blind when discerning between platonic and romantic actions."

"What does that have to do with—"

"She's somewhat gluten-intolerant and doesn't have a sweet tooth."

The news hit Draco like a physical blow. "Wait. She's been eating Greg's baking for at least three years."

"And suffering from bloat, but she won't stop. Do you understand now?"

"You're frowning at your mobile again."

Greg's voice made Draco realise he wasn't alone. It was so jarring he jolted hard and swept his mobile off the table as if it were an illegal substance and the Ministry was conducting a search. The mobile slid across the wood floor and under the sofa.

Greg automatically went to retrieve it, shaking his head.

Blaise's brow lifted. "Everything all right?"

Draco scoffed. "Of course. Nothing to see here. Everything is perfect."

"I remember when you were a better liar." Blaise sighed.

"I lie plenty well!"

Greg patted his head like an errant child. "Of course you do. Here's your mobile."

Draco looked at the mobile. Then at Blaise who was daring him to check it again. He refused to be baited.

Disinterest was easy to feign until he spotted Pansy across the table. She snatched his phone with a disapproving cluck of her tongue and checked it. "Password protected? What are you hiding?"

"My plans for world domination," Draco deadpanned.

Actually, he'd been hoping for a ring back from Granger who was still in Costa Rica. He knew she was supposed to return in a week, but rang her twice since her meltdown. Just to—

"World domination? Well, that's better than what you're doing now, I suppose," Pansy said.

"I'm not doing anything right now. I came for cake, not an intervention."

"You ate half a cake already," Greg reminded him, then shrugged. "I can make more?"

"His teeth are going to rot out because of your coddling." Pansy rolled her eyes. "You're an enabler."

"And you're absent. You come and go as you please, depending on who you're shagging at the time. At least I'm consistent."

Greg's out of character retort brought the attention to him, which made him flush and sweat. Pansy's shock was visible.

"Better question: are you all right?" Blaise asked.

Before he could answer, Daphne stepped out of the Floo with a box and a smile that quickly faded. "It's tense. Everything okay?"

"It's fine." They all answered as one.

Greg rushed over to take the box from her. Draco watched the circular exchange of Daphne swearing she didn't need help and Greg shyly offering anyway.

"Please?" Greg finally asked earnestly.

"Sure." There was the barest hint of colour staining her cheeks when she smiled at him and relented. "Thank you."

Draco checked his mobile. No missed calls.

"You're welcome." Greg looked around. "Erm… would you like tea?"

"I'd love some," Daphne said.

Greg dropped the box on the coffee table and all but ran into the kitchen to fetch Daphne's tea.

Her blush was wild enough to earn a look from Pansy and Blaise. Draco yawned.

Bloody simps.

Both of them.

Granger never rang back.

Ten days of silent nights.

Draco only counted because, while the first few made sense, as she was still on holiday, the fact that she didn't ring three days ago when she returned home was curious.

That he knew when she was coming home was also alarming.

He'd paid attention. Remembered. Was oddly concerned by the silence on her end.

Draco almost rang her again but stopped himself, feeling ridiculous. That was just as out of their pattern as it was odd.

So he wrote notes.

Not about their conversation, but about the random thoughts that popped into his head each day.

I wonder if aggressive knitting is good for stress relief.

-DM

You can't tell a soul, but Daphne's been suffering with a gluten intolerance because she fancies Greg. Who knew?

-DM

You better be practising your routines because I'll never take credit for being your training partner if you're bumbling around.

-DM

I rang you again last night and you didn't answer. Don't make me finally ask what I've wanted to ask for the last few days. My reputation hinges on people believing I only talk about myself.

-DM

I'm tired of writing to myself.

-DM

Fine. You win. Are you okay?

-DM

Tonight, on night eleven, he sat, mobile at his side, sick feeling in his stomach, trying to convince himself that he hadn't fucked up. He was reading the same page in a novel he couldn't remember starting. Draco was moments from throwing his book into the fireplace when it sparked to life.

"Are you awake, Draco?"

It wasn't the first time she used his given name. He wondered why he only noticed now.

Or why the sick feeling evaporated the moment she spoke.

Why had he noticed the quality of Granger's voice? How in the hell had he managed to learn over the months how to gauge her emotions by her tone?

"I'm up," he said after a sufficient silence.

"Why?"

"Sleep is for the weak."

He heard her huff. "I've been meaning to ring you, but Oliver and I got a horrible case of food poisoning that kept us in Costa Rica for longer than anticipated."

The tension in him loosened further. "Are you better?"

"Yes, we are. We just got home yesterday. I saw all your notes. Ulysses and Oscar were waiting for me."

"Ah, payment."

"Yeah." Granger cleared her throat. "Now, to answer your notes. Aggressive knitting sounds like a good way to relieve stress."

He smirked. "I thought so."

"Daphne and Greg? I know nothing."

"Excellent."

"I haven't been practising, but you'll have to forgive me because I'll need a few days longer before we resume."

"Granted."

"Hate to break it to you but you're not self-centred. Maybe you were, maybe you still are a bit, but your presence and notes and missed calls tell me you're capable of giving a damn about a friend."

Draco fell silent, not knowing what to say.

"Sorry again for unloading on you and then vanishing. I was—"

"Don't apologise." Draco paused for a measured moment. "Did the matter resolve itself?"

"Sort of. I think." Granger's sigh sounded tired, but that was all she offered.

Draco wasn't sure why he was hung up on each word. Each moment. Second.

"Let's do something other than talk about this," she finally said.

"Such as?"

"Meet me in the Death Chamber. I want to show you something I've figured out."

The noises from the Veil echoed in the eerie silence.

Draco always thought it was weirdly cold in the chamber despite the temperature charms working normally. He felt vindicated when he saw his breath in the air as he approached Granger, who stared at the Veil as if the answers to its mystery could be found at the tip of her fingers. He stood beside her, staring at the same swirly mist.

She moved a bit slow, washed out after being ill and seemed smaller than usual. Granger didn't sway on her feet, but he considered steadying her anyway.

In the end, he didn't.

Draco stepped close enough for their arms to touch.

"I avoided this chamber for years." Granger's voice sounded distant as they peered up at the Veil. "I used to dream of this place, of Sirius Black calling from the other side, telling me I could save them all. Mad, right?"

"Not mad." Draco knew how his cousin died, who killed him, and that Granger had witnessed the entire unfortunate event. "The magic doesn't call to me, it chills me."

"Why is that?"

"The voices, it feels like they know everything I've done, and they're judging me for it." As if drawn like a magnet, he drifted closer, but Granger grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight. He looked at her startled expression. "What?"

"You're too close."

Draco turned back to the Veil.

She was right.

He was standing on the precipice, close enough to reach through the mist.

Granger pulled him back.

"What did you want to show me?"

She went to the stack of parchment on the ground and picked it up. "I've been looking at the historical readings you gave me, trying to make sense of them. There are small surges of raw magic. Where does the excess go?"

"I don't know, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me."

"Just a hypothesis." Granger unrolled the parchment and moved to stand next to him. "These are the readings of all the rooms. My only question is where does the magic go during the lulls? Look at the readings. When we first opened the artefact room, there was hardly any raw magic, but over the months, its readings have slowly risen. Like raw magic is the blood and each room is a body part. Anthony said that they're able to access more chambers than they could at first. As if the raw magic is a life force, unlocking more chambers as it grows stronger."

"Next you'll say the Brain Room is like the brain—"

"No, nothing like that. The department, I believe, is the sum of its parts. Each room represents the secrets of death, time, space, thought, and… love. What the rest of the locked rooms represent, I don't know."

"Perhaps fear, pain, and hate. Or truth and wisdom. Maybe one room has the answer to where the raw magic comes from."

"I believe I know the answer."

"Oh?"

"Raw magic is the purest form of magic. It's untameable, lawless, and immeasurable. It goes where it wants and there's nothing we can do to stop it." Granger tilted her head. "Isn't it obvious where the raw magic comes from?"

Draco stared at the parchment, suddenly struck by the answer he hadn't considered. "The one room neither of us have entered."

"The Locked Room," she confirmed. "Love Chamber."

He frowned at the readings. "How can it possibly escape from an ever-locked room?"

"Much like love can find its way into the most unexpected places." Granger's voice was soft yet heavy, her eyes fixed on the Veil. "It can find a way to exist in the most inhospitable places."

Odd that they were talking about love in a room meant to study death. But perhaps not. Draco knew that love and death weren't contrasts. They were two halves of a whole, overlapping like a beautiful lie and an ugly truth.

"Come on." She broke the silence. "Let's get out of here. The chill is finally starting to get to me."

The easiest way out of the Ministry was back how they'd arrived.

Through the Floo.

But it was after hours. The Atrium fireplaces were open, but the Floo powder jars were empty and neither brought any. They took the visitor's exit and stepped out of the phone booth onto the London streets. It was chilly but not cold yet; autumn was in the air.

Granger pointed to their left. "I live that way, the walk isn't long."

Draco's flat was to the right.

Also not a long walk.

Awkward logic about violence statistics and how her friends would throttle him if Granger got hurt was what he offered as excuses to walk her home and Floo to his place. She could take care of herself, but—

"Okay."

He hadn't expected that. "Lead the way."

At first, the walk was quiet—until it wasn't.

"Tell me your unpopular opinion."

Draco cut his eyes at the strange request, but was ready with an answer. "Muggle books are dull, but films aren't bad."

The squawking noise she made was worth the lie he was telling.

"You cretin, take that back right now!"

Draco didn't, but he laughed while she listed every reason he was wrong with spirited detail and memorable quotes from her favourite novels.

Either way, for argument's sake, he had counterpoints for each of her opinions.

All thirteen of them.

The debate brought them to her home. The building was inconspicuous and clean, a London relic that was well taken care of. Granger's flat was on the top floor and she chose to walk up the stairs versus wait for the lift.

While she laid down her bag and went to let out Oscar to hunt, Draco looked around, ignoring the owl's hoot of disappointment at his presence.

The flat was obviously something she'd invested both time and money into. From the door, he had a sightline through the living room and into the kitchen. Everything was clean and cosy. The walls were high, windows large, and spacious enough without being too large.

He spotted the desk, the messiest spot in the flat, and noticed the floor in front of the Floo had a small welcome mat. There was a bike hanging on the wall, bookshelves spilling over with books, and a shut door that led to her bedroom. There were pictures on her hearth—some of her parents, friends, and one of her with Oliver wearing matching smiles.

All in all, her flat felt very Granger.

The thought made him shake his head.

As if a single person could also be a feeling.

But maybe that was true.

One part familiar, one part mystery, and wholly, indefinably fascinating.

Granger.

When she joined him in front of the fireplace with a bowl of Floo powder, he asked, "Coffee from Greg in the morning?"

"Given the order I'll need to reestablish, I'd like that. Make it extra strong?"

"Naturally." Draco cracked a smile that made hers stumble. His faded slightly, replaced with a weird concern he wasn't used to feeling. "Something wrong?"

"No."

But in her answer, he saw it.

The ember of her lie.

"I was thinking."

Draco rolled his eyes. "This feels like a threat."

"You're not funny." Granger laughed anyway.

His smile was automatic, a conditioned response to the stimulus of her amusement.

But it faded just as quick at the realisation that this felt more normal than bizarre.

Granger wanted to talk either in person where they went from room to room, theorising on the interconnectivity of everything within the Department of Mysteries, or on the mobile in their flats under the cover of night.

Like now.

If their conversations had a beginning or ending, he wasn't aware of either. The continuous stream of consciousness they'd created while in a state of perpetual motion as the rest of the world slept just carried on.

Draco should have grown tired of her presence ages ago, but he hadn't.

Not even close.

"Read The Life of Pi and you'll get lost in it," Granger babbled animatedly in the middle of October. "The imagery. The—"

"I don't read books for imagery," Draco said before she could really get started. "I read for the story."

"So what you're saying is you're the dull one, not me." She laughed. "Well, if I'm being honest, I wasn't aware that you read for pleasure at all."

"Granger, I'll have you know, I'm reading War And Peace right now."

"Ah, you're a book snob."

"I am not."

"You're the biggest snob I know, Draco."

He considered the accusation. "That's not entirely untrue."

"Double negatives? You must be tired."

It was half past three. "I am, in fact, very much awake."

"Good, because I need to make certain you hear my criticism. Only a snob would read War and Peace and mention it casually in conversation. You're probably only reading it to say you've read a classic novel that could double as a murder weapon."

Draco laughed. "You're wrong. I've enjoyed War and Peace. It has a bit of everything, but mostly Tolstoy's arguments make sense. Leaders aren't the driving force of a nation, and the higher a person's position in society is, the less control they have over their own situation."

It hit close to home, but Draco refused to admit that out loud.

"Oh," Granger seemed to be momentarily flummoxed. "If you want my opinion—"

"No, but you're going to give it anyway."

"I am," she said haughtily. "If you want something better on a similar subject read…"

Greg watched Draco happily cut a slice of sponge cake, head tilted like a confused puppy.

"That's your third piece."

His grip on the knife changed. "Didn't know we were counting."

"You've already eaten two slices of chocolate cake and one of the carrot cake I'm thinking about making for Potter's Halloween party in two weeks."

"I'm sampling. May the best cake win." Draco held the plate closer, eyes narrowed, fork in a threatening position. "Are you going to let me eat in peace or…"

"No peace, only problems." Greg plopped down next to him, which was a tragic position if this were an interrogation. "I didn't want to say it around Pansy and Blaise, but you've been in a brighter mood over the last month or so."

"I've attended enough therapy sessions to figure out which problems to combat and which I need to ignore."

Greg folded his arms. "Ah, that explains it. You've been avoiding your parents."

"Lies."

"They've been calling me and I've been making excuses."

"Ah, well, thanks." A real friend. He considered it payback for his many lies to Daphne about why he always looked like a sunburn victim.

That they were both secretly pining for each other was hilarious.

Astoria threatening Draco's life to not intrude was not.

"They're probably upset because Astoria's parents invited me for dinner and I declined."

Greg gasped. "You never decline."

It was usually the best way to keep peace.

"Daphne said the same thing, but I was helping Granger practise for her Historian thing and I need to do more reviewing."

"For what?"

His next argument with Granger, but that was no one's business. Draco was eagerly awaiting her shock when he dropped more knowledge about Dante's Inferno than she could handle. He cheerfully ate another piece of sponge cake.

"Are you… are you smiling?" Greg looked genuinely horrified. "For no reason?"

"I have a reason."

"What is it then?"

"Don't worry about it. I'm the same I've always been." He forked a piece of cake and savoured it, then glanced at his watch and saw the time. Granger would be ringing him in an hour. "I've got to go."

"Your book suggestions are shite."

"Hello to you, too, Draco." He could almost see the smirk on Granger's face. "I'll have you know Pride and Prejudice is a classic worth reading, male or female."

"Please." He scoffed. "Darcy only fell in love with Elizabeth because she handed his arse to him and—"

"You take that back!" Granger argued, but her voice was lowered.

Wood was probably there, as he had been for an increasing number of nights. She never minded the volume when she was alone.

Hmm.

Samhain was tomorrow, but last week she'd mentioned going to Inverness to celebrate with Wood's parents. Why hadn't she left already?

It wasn't his business.

And Granger wasn't talking about it. "Darcy fell for Elizabeth only once he got to know her—because she was the most interesting woman he had ever met."

"I doubt anyone was interesting in this book, but Elizabeth—"

"Is smart and witty and independent and brave," she argued. "She has a mind of her own and is unapologetically firm in her beliefs. If you insult one of my favourite protagonists in English literature, I'll—"

"I'm not surprised you like her, you probably relate to her, and in certain ways you are her." Draco held up four fingers she couldn't see, dropping one with each quality he listed. "Opinionated, cynical, critical and insufferably proud. Ironic considering her dislike for Darcy was based on him being proud."

Granger gasped. "This is the argument you've chosen?"

"Yes," Draco said smugly.

"Might I add counterpoints one through seven…"

He settled back in his chair, eyes on the dark sky.

His smile turned into laughter by point number four.

Blaise famously hated anything that had to do with snow, so when he forced Draco to join him on a weekend ski trip to the French Alps the second weekend in November, he didn't know what to expect.

As always, Padma's glare was ready to squish him like a bug.

They were in the oversized cabin, sitting in front of the fireplace after a pleasant dinner and a plan to sightsee the next day. Padma went from mocking Blaise's colourfully foul language he'd traumatised any and everyone within earshot with, then she was back to staring him down.

Draco downed hot chocolates and half the options in the dessert bar, all while ignoring Padma's increasingly questioning stares.

They'd taken a photo in ski gear at the bottom of the slopes and Draco was fumbling with his camera feature, trying to snap a picture from any angle until he found one that worked. The picture was horrid in quality, magic photographs were better, but he shrugged and sent it to Granger under his apology for missing dance practice.

Her response came within minutes.

Blaise hates the snow!

Draco burst out laughing.

"Who is that?" Blaise asked. He was under blankets despite the warming charm, drinking hot chocolate. Padma was stretched across his back, watching Draco like one would someone wielding a knife they didn't know how to carry.

"Just Granger."

Their brows lifted in sync.

"Hermione?" Padma's voice had a shrill to it that made him wince. "Doesn't it cost a lot to text internationally?"

"Theo's bill isn't my concern."

Padma closed her eyes and took a patient breath. "Moving past the fact that you're a massive twat, Susan said you were coming to their meetups and you've been friends with her all year. I'd accuse you of brainwashing her, but she's the more powerful one."

Draco half-shrugged. It was true. "We're friends, nothing newsworthy."

"But it is," Blaise remarked. "You're communicating with her willingly. Meanwhile, I had to manipulate you into coming here so you can't avoid me."

"You can talk to me." Draco frowned. "Also, you just turned up in my flat and said 'pack a bag you anti-social bastard, we're going to France' and glared during the entire process until I closed the bag. Ever thought about asking nicely?"

"No."

Draco rolled his eyes.

The two exchanged dubious looks.

"Can we actually talk to you?" Blaise gave him a long look.

"Yeah, but I doubt Padma wants to."

She pursed her lips. "That's fair, but I'm feeling benevolent. Talk, blondie."

"Erm."

Blaise laughed at his half-terrified, half confused expression. "What my lovely wife means to say is that I was designated to get you out the house this weekend. You've been MIA. Greg says you're reading, not sleeping, and emotionally eating."

"I like sweets!" Draco argued. "There's nothing to worry about. I'm reading because I like to and better yet, taking the piss out of Granger is hilarious and the best way to do that is to have an unpopular opinion about a novel she loves."

Blaise eyes narrowed. "For entertainment purposes."

"What other purpose is there?"

The silence was deafening until Padma blessedly broke it. "Honestly, I'm trying to wrap my mind around you and Granger being mates. What do you two even have in common?"

More than he'd anticipated.

More than he could explain.

Draco didn't answer.

Silence was easier than explaining that the long nights didn't feel as long when they talked, debated, or argued. That they both slept five hours each night, and it was a better average than he'd had before her.

Another thing he couldn't vocalise?

Commonality didn't matter. Draco liked talking to her, liked that she wanted to discuss ideas and random thoughts, but didn't expect the same. Yet Draco felt compelled to do what he struggled to do with most people in his life: give what he received.

To be honest. To listen. To accept her criticisms and think with zero factors in mind.

Draco wasn't sure how they got to this point, where her presence—even in silence—was relaxing versus aggravating. But Granger was grounded and real, tucked away in the box he'd built for her.

And he hated sharing the smallest details of their friendship with anyone.

"What does she like?" Padma challenged.

Many things, but Draco maintained his selfish silence.

"Here's a more simple question: what does she want for Christmas?"

Granger didn't care for gifts unless they were sentimental. Draco remained silent.

Padma looked frustrated. "I don't understand."

"Honestly, neither do I." Draco shrugged despite the constantly growing weight in the pit of his stomach.

Its identity, he needed to determine, but Draco refused.

Fear of a name was the biggest one of all.

Chapter Text

"I have a confession," Granger murmured on St Andrew's Day.

She was with Wood and his parents; the only one still awake in the minutes before midnight.

Two glasses of wine left her honest.

Draco drank two fingers of whisky in solidarity.

"Go on, Granger. Tell me your darkest secret."

"This is hard for me to admit." She sighed dramatically. "I've read every Hemingway novel but… I think they're too dry."

"Who's the snob now?"

"Not me! My dad loves Hemingway. He finds his work deeply profound, and I will agree that he's a great writer, but sitting down and reading one of his novels cover to cover is cumbersome. I've tried, I just can't."

"I liked The Old Man and the Sea."

"I feel like you're only saying that to be contrary. We both know it was boring."

"Simplistic, yes, but there's depth in everything he doesn't say. Also fishing."

"That was the dullest part!"

He laughed until his sides hurt, then sobered. "How was your time as the living historian lead?"

"Excellent. I nailed all the moves. Even the odd requests. Thank you."

Draco hummed. "How's your visit with Wood's parents?"

"Awkward. I've been bombarded with blatant marriage questions."

"Dodging them?"

"Expertly." Granger chuckled softly. "That aside, it's been a nice visit. I like Scotland."

Draco kept his opinions to himself.

"I don't know how you've survived this obsession with marriage for years, I'm about to crack after a few months. Oliver keeps apologising, but hasn't stopped them or even mentioned that he agreed with me in September. We're not like that."

"What do you mean?"

"Oliver and I—we got together when we were fresh off of bad breakups. It wasn't serious, but we got comfortable, and I realised that I was okay like this. Am I madly in love with him? No, but I care about him. Deeply."

"Why have a relationship with someone you aren't in love with?"

"I could ask you the same."

"Love and duty don't always go hand in hand."

"Then why haven't you broken free and found what you want?"

"It's easier, the stakes are low, I don't have to do anything and—"

"You and I are similar in that." Her voice was low, hazy. "I'm content with the autonomy I have over my heart and mind. I'm not a romantic. Not anymore, at least. Oliver is responsible, caring, sincere, loyal, perceptive, and respectful. I would marry him, I would, but we both came into this with the same stance on love. While I've held to my convictions, I don't think he has."

Draco swallowed thickly. "I thought women—"

"Not everyone wants love. I've had it, or at least some version of it. I've never let myself fall again to figure out which iteration it was." He could hear Granger pour herself another glass of wine. "Think about it. You don't really get a say in who you fall for. I love with every piece of my heart and it's brutal. Every emotion is intense, almost irrational. Who has time for that?"

"Sounds fucking awful."

"It was." Granger sighed. "Whether it ends or never starts, when you love someone, they're part of your story forever. I've been with Oliver just as long, maybe even longer, but people never stop mentioning Ron. I'm going to be thirty next year and I've had no peace from a relationship that ended when I was twenty-two."

"Pity."

"Exactly. They say love makes you better, more resilient. All the pain and fear, the suffering and heartache, the tears and time that will be wasted—when it ends, and it will, you're tricked into believing it's worth it for those brilliant moments when you were in love and everything was right."

Questions swirled around Draco's mind and not even finishing his whisky could shove them off course. "But what if it didn't end?"

She was silent for so long he thought the call dropped. "It's too big of a risk for the uncertainty of a reward. Would you break tradition and choose for yourself? Learn? Do the work? Give up the control you cling to and earn it?"

"If I can, I—"

"What?"

"It's not real, you know," he blurted out. "My engagement was never real. We're just biding time—fuck, never mind."

Draco hung up and drowned himself in enough whiskey to put him into a drunken sleep.

"I think I'm finally ready to discuss the elephant in the room."

Helena looked intrigued, one eyebrow cocked as her hands moved at the speed of light on her latest knitting project—a doll for a newborn. "And that is?"

"My father."

She hummed. "I've never considered your father to be one of your unresolved issues."

Draco scoffed. "Of course he is. I fought hard all my life to get him to notice me, to care, to put me and my mother above his ambitions. I did whatever it took to make him see that I was the son he wanted. That I wasn't a disappointment. That I could make him proud."

"What did you learn from that?"

"The only thing I've learned is that he wasn't this great man I'd created in my head, he wasn't even good. He was a product of the same lifestyle he forced on me, easily broken, easily cowed. He had absolutely no idea how to raise me, which is why I'm here, spending so much time trying to figure out how to cope with the fact that he wasn't there for me the way he should have been."

The echoes of his rant faded into silence.

"Like I said, he's not an unresolved issue. You've resolved it, you know what you must do, but you don't like the resolution."

"Which is?"

"Something that'll require emotional labour." The sound of knitting needles filled the silence of the pause. "Taking control of what you can, and accepting what you can't."

"That sounds like a terrible misuse of my time."

"Or something you need to do before you can tackle your true unresolved issue."

"Which is?"

"Your heart."

Draco was late.

Potter was waiting.

It was freezing due to the early arrival of cold weather. After shedding his coat and sitting down, he frowned at Potter's choice of drink.

"Cocoa?"

"It's cold out."

Draco scowled. "Is it at least spiked?"

"I think you know me better than that."

He did. One sniff and he could smell the rum. "Better not be the cheap stuff."

"It's not."

Potter wasn't lying. By his high standards, the rum was good; so smooth it made the cocoa excellent. Tonight they were watching the Autumn Internationals in a pub. Wales and Australia. And it wasn't looking good for Wales.

"England?" Draco asked.

"Won."

Good. "Why do you want to watch Wales?"

"I didn't, but…" Potter trailed off awkwardly. "We usually meet at this time, so I thought that we should keep the streak going."

Draco glared. "We're not friends."

"Of course not." He scoffed and sipped his hot cocoa. "Just two blokes who meet a few times a month to watch sports and share a few mates. Like you and Hermione, except you two just talk all hours of the night."

This felt like a trap.

He'd have to navigate the minefield carefully, expecting it to detonate at any moment. "The difference is she's not as insufferable as you."

"Interesting."

Draco rested his elbow on the bar. "What are you really asking?"

"Theo has thoughts."

"Don't care. Worry about your own friendship with Granger and not mine."

"Mine is solid."

"Now it is." He observed Potter curiously. "What about Weasley? How is it that you've remained friends with both?"

Potter winced and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Hermione never told me everything. I figured out the truth talking to Ron. We rowed for weeks. I had to fight him point for point for him to see that Hermione wasn't the villain. We argued about a lot of things, even about our friendship, and didn't speak for nearly a year until he came to me wanting to fix things."

The only way Weasley would have enough self-awareness was— "Therapy?"

"You know it." Potter smirked. "I've been, too. You?"

"A term for my probation."

"Kingsley wouldn't let me in the field until I worked through my nightmares and childhood trauma."

Draco glanced at the game. "How do you sleep?"

"I remember that no matter what I see in my dreams, I'm alive, I'm happy, I'm free."

As much as he hated to admit, he thought about Potter's words for hours.

Days.

Draco could only count himself as one-and-a-half of the three.

Forced socialisation.

The bane of Draco's existence.

Yet each year he had the same plan for George Weasley's Christmas party: not touching or consuming a bloody thing, staying clear of every doorway, and staying the shortest amount of time before making excuses that were obvious to no one except those who knew him best.

At present, Draco was making good timing. He stood with Alicia, Greg, and Wood an hour after they lit the decorated tree. Astoria was making her way to the door, Luna at her side, and Draco was preparing excuses when Granger arrived, flushed and out of breath.

"Sorry I'm late."

Everyone greeted her differently, but it came out in a blur of words spoken in unison. Those closest to her cheered at her arrival, those she kept at a distance were polite and tried to talk, and Weasley had the nerve to start walking towards her but Potter's heavy hand on the taller bloke's shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

Wood gave her a quick kiss when she made it to his side. "How late am I?"

"Only an hour." He smiled. "I made you a plate. It's in the kitchen, wrapped and untampered."

"Thank you. I've had the day from hell and I'm starved."

Draco knew. This was the start of the Unspeakable shuffle. Applications for room swaps were due; each Keeper was flooded and had to have their selections made before Christmas.

"Have a drink and relax." Alicia was currently on her third and chipper. "Malfoy's too paranoid, even though I've been testing them."

It was as if his name made her notice him. "Oh, hello Malfoy."

"Granger."

A moment passed before she excused herself with Alicia, who threw her arm around her shoulder and led her away, immediately lost to the crowded room. Despite his clear exit strategy, Draco felt the urge to stay and let Astoria feign her headache to leave with Lovegood. He found an empty room to tell her as such.

"Are you sure?" she asked in a half whisper, then squinted. "Why are you staying?"

"Better than going home." He shrugged awkwardly. "But go, I'll be at your flat at four to go to dinner with our parents."

Her suspicious glare narrowed further, but Astoria didn't argue. "Fine. I'll figure it out at some point."

Draco waited a few minutes after Astoria left the room before doing the same, but the moment he hit the corner, he nearly stumbled into a conversation he wasn't supposed to overhear.

Granger and Weasley.

"How are your parents?" Weasley's question sounded awkward and rushed. "I haven't rang them in a while, but my mum asks about them all the time."

"They're coming to Scotland for Christmas with Oliver's parents, then two weeks back in London before they return home." Granger's voice was tense, tired. "Ron, what do you want?"

"Just to talk. We haven't had a proper conversation in over five years."

"Usually what happens when people break up."

"We were friends first."

"And we always will be." Granger's voice lowered but remained firm. "Only friends who don't speak."

"Hermione, I said I was sorry for everything. Years ago."

"I know and I've forgiven you. However, you don't decide the terms of our interactions going forward."

"You're right, but we never got a chance to talk."

"And you want to right now?"

"Yes."

"Fine," Granger huffed. "Forgiveness doesn't mean that I've forgotten and I'll give you a free pass back to normal. You and Ginny have the same belief—like all is well after sorrys and smiles. It doesn't work like that."

"You weren't innocent either."

"I know, of course I know, no one lets me forget. I admitted my wrongs. I'm overbearing and bossy. I'm particular. I tried to correct the behaviours you didn't like, I bent over backwards, and you had no problem with the concessions I made until I started asking you to do the same for me."

"Wait—"

"No, you wanted this, and I'm not giving you a chance to spin this around on me," Granger snapped. "I didn't leave you suddenly. I excused so much, blamed it on your grief, on the war, on everything. I gave you many chances, but all you did was continuously throw everything in my face."

"I know."

"I kept trying to make things work, but only got the bare minimum effort from you, if that. I left because you constantly threatened to break things off after each minor disagreement. You never stopped with the subtle jabs, reminding me that you had options now that you were out of everyone's shadow—options that wouldn't nag you like I do. They wouldn't always go on about things we needed to work on. They wouldn't talk about needing couple's therapy or anything like that. They would tell you how great everything was while you ignored the fact that they were miserable."

"Hermione..."

"Remember what you said? You had plenty of witches throwing themselves at you, wanting to shag you, telling you to leave me, and you had the gall to tell me that I should be happy you didn't stray—as if your loyalty was a muzzle to shut me up. You had one foot out the door and every row we had ended with—"

"I'm done with this."

"Right." Granger's chuckle was hollow. "I see that hasn't changed."

"That's low." Weasley sounded hurt. "I only said that because I don't like being reminded of how things were."

"Yet I'm reminded of you everywhere I go. Howlers, the news, your fans, our friends who chose your side because you wouldn't stop telling yours to see mine. Even now, people still talk about our breakup and yes talking to you tonight hurts like hell, but I've been over you for years."

"Hermione."

"There were only so many times you threatened to leave for good before I stopped begging you to stay." Her voice was eerily calm. "So much blame I would take before it got into my thick skull that tolerable unhappiness was not better than being alone. Yes, we loved each other, but it was the kind of love that was going to build you up while breaking me. I chose myself because you wouldn't choose me."

Weasley was silent, then uttered a quiet, "Wow. Okay."

"I was okay taking the blame one last time after leaving you, but you took it too far, too public. You should have let me go without crucifying me. Out of everything I've done for you, out of respect for our friendship, you should have given me that one thing."

"I was hurt. I was a bastard. I made a lot of mistakes when we were together, you were right. I was good with you doing all the work and upset when you asked me to do the same. How I reacted to our breakup—I was an arse and I—"

"Had the means to make me feel your pain," Granger said coolly. "You did an excellent job."

"Yeah." Weasley didn't sound proud, only embarrassed. "I went to therapy like you wanted me to do since the war. At first, it was to prove it to you, but then I kept going for myself. You were right. I was a mess. I needed it. It's helped a lot with my—with my insecurities. My grief. How I talk and handle things. My anger. You were right about a lot. I'm better now."

"I'm happy for you. I am."

"So why are you still punishing me? Ginny? My mum?"

"If I were still punishing you all, each of you would feel my wrath. I forgave everyone, including myself. I learned from my mistakes. I realigned my friendships not by the amount of trauma we went through together, but by who I can trust, who will be there for me, who won't betray me. I have boundaries. I'm happy. I've moved on. You should, too."

Weasley said nothing for a long moment and Draco found himself straining to hear over the sound of a new Christmas song blaring from the Wireless. "You told me I was going to miss you, and you were right. I do. A lot."

"I know," Granger replied solemnly.

"Are you—are you happy with him? With Oliver? Do you love him?"

"Why are you asking me this?"

"It's been years, I—"

"I'm not going back and forth with you. Not like this."

Granger never answered the questions.

Draco knew the truth, but was just waiting for her to say it out loud.

"I never thought there would be a time when you weren't in my life," Weasley admitted.

Draco rolled his eyes and silently gagged.

"You didn't think about that when you were publicly tearing me to pieces."

"So you're going to hate me forever."

"I don't hate you, Ron. I never did." Granger sighed. "I just know we both deserved better than what we gave each other."

After counting to twenty, Draco peeked around the corner and discovered both had gone back to the party that continued with stupid holiday songs and terrible singing, but everything fizzled into conversation.

Draco shook what he'd overheard from his mind by noticing how at arm's length Granger kept Ginny Weasley, how she avoided anything beyond polite conversation with several others.

He lost track of her when he fell into an argument with Potter, Angelina, Thomas, and Wood about the upcoming Quidditch season, but things got awkward when Weasley joined the conversation.

"Once again, the Cannons are going to win the league," Weasley boasted proudly. "We've got a leg up on recruiting and the Falcons."

Normally, Wood was a pleasant bloke who was willing to chat with anyone.

Except Ron Weasley.

He said nothing, only walked away.

In response, Weasley thumbed in the direction of his back. "What's wrong with him? You'd think I was the one who punched him in the face and not the other way around. You know, he never apologised."

"Oi!" Thomas shook his head. "Not tonight, Ron."

He rolled his eyes. "Not you too, mate."

Draco shifted uncomfortably. He'd heard enough about the demise of their miserable relationship, but this wasn't his argument.

"Add me to the list, too." Angelina rested her hands on her hips, expression cool and challenging. "You and Hermione haven't been in the same room in years. She knew you were coming tonight and didn't wait until you left before coming. So act your bloody age."

"We talked it out, but she's not willing to start over."

Draco didn't roll his eyes, but he was close.

Potter looked put out. "Let it go."

"I'm on my best behaviour! Hermione's the one who—"

"You aren't entitled to have a single fucking spot in her life."

Every eye—even people not in the conversation but well within earshot—turned to Draco with varying degrees of shock and confusion. Bones' expression was priceless: wide eyes, mouth opened.

Oh.

He'd actually lost his goddamn mind and said that.

Fuck.

Fuck.

"You know fuck all about what's going on, Malfoy, so stay out of it."

"I could, but I won't." Since Draco started the argument, it was only polite that he finished it. "That you expect her to say it's all water under the bridge shows how little you know about her ability to hold a grudge. Her obligations to you have been over for years and Granger doesn't owe you a bloody thing, much less a conversation or a glance in your fucking direction. You should leave her alone, keep her name out of your mouth, and hope she never stoops low enough to tell the papers her side of things."

Draco walked out before anything could be said in rebuttal.

Right outside the doorway, he bumped into a gobsmacked Granger, but instead of stopping, he kept walking, trying to burn away all the jitters and energy that flooded his veins.

He couldn't believe what he'd just done. What the fuck was wrong with him?

It wasn't his place.

He hardly ever stepped out of line until now when he'd all but ripped the line up and binned it.

"No no no no…"

Vaguely, Draco heard Granger calling his name but ignored her, hoping she would keep away.

Barely looking at anything, much less street names, Draco put distance between the party and himself. He'd walk out of the town if he knew his way back. If he hadn't left his wand in his coat pocket.

"Bloody fucking shite."

He couldn't win. He couldn't—

He wasn't alone.

Footsteps were all he heard. Draco knew who they belonged to.

Despite his strides being longer, Granger fell into step beside him, panting like she'd run.

Why was he walking?

Where was he going?

What the fuck was he doing?

Draco had no answers.

So he walked.

Briskly.

The better part of the Weasley family tree lived in a quiet neighbourhood in Bromley. It was dark out, the streetlights lined the pavement to a destination he hadn't chosen.

Brittle frustration eclipsed Draco's good sense. He did everything possible to shake it off, but the jitters lingered like a hangover, shrouding his thoughts.

After rounding the third corner, Granger finally said, "One more and we'll end up where we started."

Draco made a right instead of a left, rendering him officially lost. There were no streetlamps.

She followed him into the darkness.

He stopped, turned to her, and frowned when he noticed her wand in hand and a glowing orb over her head. "Why are you here?"

"Why are you out here?"

Granger was both the voice over the phone and the person he saw daily; someone he spoke to more than anyone, especially when he was struggling and needed a distraction or an ear. There was this disconnect and connection that warred with each other tonight.

He wondered if she was having a similar battle.

Or if she understood.

So he kept walking and took another right.

The streetlamps were on.

"I didn't want to stay after that," Draco said, at long last stopping and facing the music.

"After what you said?" When his eyes widened, hers softened. "I didn't have you defending me on my yearly predictions, but it's never too late to be surprised."

Amusement stopped the rise of this strangeness in his chest.

Draco smiled. Laughed until his cheeks hurt. Shook his head and froze when his eyes fell on Granger whose expression had turned warm, curious under the soft glow of the streetlamp.

Only then did he feel the chill from his lack of a coat.

Only then did he notice Granger was only wearing a terrible jumper with a record-spinning reindeer knitted on the front.

"You look ridiculous."

"You and I both know that's a lie." Granger angled her chin up, but something caught her eye.

Mistletoe.

They were in front of someone's gate that had it tied to the iron arch.

"It's bad luck to ignore it." Before it got awkward, she grabbed his cold hand and kissed the back of it. There and gone. Quick enough for it to be considered a figment of his imagination.

Only it wasn't.

Granger slowly let his hand go. "I don't think either of us need misfortunes."

She wasn't wrong, but when he brought his hand back to his side, it took everything in him not to look at it or her in disbelief when she moved on immediately.

"I talked to Ron tonight. I thought it would be easy, but it wasn't. It hurt more than I thought."

"Are you okay?"

Granger took a deep breath of cold air. "I am. Are you? You seemed bored tonight."

After a few stops and starts, Draco kicked into gear and left the moment behind. "I'm always bored with this lot. They believe in organised fun. I don't."

Granger started to say something, but stopped. "I know you said you'd be a buffer, but I didn't believe you. Before I forget. Thanks for tonight."

Draco froze.

Yes, he'd panicked and ran, but cold realisation was the wind that cut through him.

He would do it again, every word and more.

But there was no reason to admit that to her.

Not now.

Instead, he buried it deep.

Only it wasn't deep enough.

At ten minutes to midnight on Christmas Eve, Draco's Floo sparked to life.

"Are you home?"

"Yes."

"Did Oliver leave his coat?"

He'd come by earlier with Potter to watch a cricket game. Not unusual, but Draco was surprised that he came.

The pub they'd met at had been overrun and they were closer to Draco's flat than Potter's house. The choice was clear. They watched the game, shared whiskey and left less than an hour after the match concluded. Wood had been pissed—not bad enough that he couldn't call his own address but clearly enough to leave his coat.

Draco spotted it hanging on the chair. "It's here."

"Can I come through and pick it up? His Portkey to his parents' is in the pocket and he's sleeping it off."

He considered the request.

It was the first time one had sought to break the routine they'd silently formed.

"You can come through."

Granger emerged from his fireplace in pyjamas.

Her hair was piled on top of her head in a bun and she wore glasses. He was in a similar state and for a beat they both looked at each other.

The plan was simple: hand over the coat and send her on her way, but when he turned, she was standing at his bookshelf that had been crammed with all his books (and was now overstuffed due to the additions from their debates). Granger was also looking around, taking in the sight of his office.

"I imagined your office differently."

"Let me guess: dark wood, ornate decor, and other shite my father has in his office."

"Well… I hate to be a cliché but yes."

"Doesn't live up to your expectations, does it Granger?"

"No, but it's very Draco." She left the bookshelf and approached the sofa, taking a seat. "I like it."

Draco brought her Wood's coat. He gestured to her glasses. "Reading?"

"Yeah, Hercule Poirot's Christmas." Granger looked at him.

Kept watching.

"What?" he asked.

"Before, when I was struggling to sleep, I felt like the only person in the world awake at the hour, but now I don't."

A silent understanding passed between them. Draco was close to admitting the same, that sometimes it felt like they were the only people who understood what it was like to be unable to sleep.

But he didn't.

Granger looked around his office one more time and uttered four words that made him sit next to her.

"I don't hate it."

"Thanks?"

Granger smiled, wrapping her arms around the oversized coat. "Oscar is going to drop your gift off on Christmas morning, but you look like you've got a lot on your mind, so I'll give you a Sickle for your thoughts as an early second present."

Draco scoffed. "Not a Galleon? You're cheap."

"Fine, two Galleons for your thoughts?"

"I accept, but I actually have a present for you."

"Oh?"

A gift she would enjoy.

He shifted, offering her a verbal gift, proof of his change in mindset, in the soft glow of night. "Happy Christmas… Hermione."

A small gasp came first. It was followed by a soft and earnest, "Happy Christmas to you, too, Draco."

The parcel Oscar delivered was light.

Draco placed the gift on the table along with the four treats for payment. Oscar only pecked him once before eating his payment, grabbing the wrapped gift and flying out the window.

The gift wasn't planned. He'd walked past an antique shoppe and decided to have a look. He'd found the brass cast brooch in the wrong area. It had gold plating, an interesting enough style and fake pearls. Nice enough for Granger's living historian costume she was fretting over, as she would be taking on the lead role again.

She was nervous and it seemed like something she'd like.

If she didn't, it was already too late. Out of his control.

Now his gift.

Draco almost wanted to save it until later, a reward for spending the day with both his and Astoria's families.

But curiosity won out.

He opened the parcel, looked inside and—

He laughed. He couldn't help it.

Granger gave him knitting needles and yarn.

Also there was a note.

Draco,

All you need now is aggression and lessons.

Happy Christmas.

-HG

Draco figured that the location of his life forever changing would be somewhere in the Ministry.

Over a discovery.

A letter from Mystic Academic saying that they would publish his articles.

Not in the shower.

At half past three on New Year's Eve.

With his hand wrapped around his cock.

Long, deliberate strokes made his breathing rough. Eyes shut tight, warm water rolled over him, mind empty, desperate to settle himself long enough to get some semblance of sleep. He would need to get through the last day of the year surrounded by family and not enough friends.

No faces. No images of bodies. Everything was normal.

He was already starting to feel a tightness in his balls, an unmistakable sign of the impending end.

One here, then in the bed. That was his plan.

What Draco hadn't planned was for Granger's face to enter his mind.

Her smile. The way she glared. Frowned. Rolled her eyes. Bit her lip.

Kissed his hand.

"What the—" He started coughing, choking on the water droplet that hit his throat at the right angle, but none of this broke his rhythm or concentration. It only heightened everything he was feeling. "Fuck!"

No. No. No.

Granger never left his mind.

Lips that smirked. Neck that craned to meet his eyes. Hands that brushed his.

"Can I do what I want?" Granger murmured over the rush of water. "I want this."

Draco's eyes flew open. "No!"

Too bad his body wasn't listening.

If anything his hand stroked his cock faster.

He tried to think of anyone else, but his mind went back to Granger's hair fanned around her head in the depths of space.

Eyes on him, heavy with the unspoken invitation to come closer.

The sensation punched him in the stomach.

His legs went weak, the grip on absolutely nothing sent him to his knees.

And still, he couldn't stop.

Head bowed, suddenly, with water running down his head, Draco was with Granger.

Not in space, but in bed.

Desperately, he kept trying to substitute her face for another, but couldn't. No one else worked. Nothing else was suitable. So he imagined himself running his hands up and down her thighs, moving further up her body. Outlining her hips, waist, touching her breasts, cupping them, kissing them, visualising her straining into his hand, needing more.

Draco's hand was tense, cramping, fucking his cock while he drowned in her.

Granger.

Kissing him. Touching him. Whispering his name.

Wet skin. Damp hair.

"You taste good."

Everywhere.

Her mouth on his skin. On his fingers. Wrapped around his cock.

The vision changed and she was lowering herself on him, fucking herself on his cock.

The heat, the tightness—he had no reference, no idea how it felt but his imagination was active. Draco was far beyond reason, leagues past caring about plausibility. He heard himself moaning as he vigorously stroked his painfully hard cock. It was— "Fuck! Hermione!"

His body shook with the force of his orgasm, the roar of static filling his ears, so intense he felt like he would go blind. Draco's lungs were on fire, his heart thrummed wildly against his ribs. He thought he might be dying, shivering and shaking, cock pulsing around his tight grip. It was euphoric, a rush he'd never felt before that was quickly followed by pain from his bloody nose.

And the blunt realisation of what just happened.

And who's name he'd said while—

"Oh fuck."

What an awful way to end his year.

Chapter Text

Most people went into each new year with a self-proclaimed clean slate.

That was how resolutions worked: new beginnings and all that rot.

But not Draco.

Only two hours into his new year, he faced an existential crisis.

After returning from ringing in the new year at a charity gala, complete with a perfunctory midnight kiss with Astoria, Draco decided to relax.

He figured he was a damn adult and could safely have a shower without the fantasising and the orgasm and the nosebleed.

Yes, that'd happened. Once. And it would never happen again if he made it quick.

In and out in five minutes.

Just a rinse off.

Before Draco could admit to himself that it was a really fucking stupid idea, a flashback to the first shower fiasco hit him like the Knight Bus.

And then he repeated the previous night with his eyes shut and head thrown back. This time there were different visions. Some memories. Mostly imagination.

But, as expected, the subject remained the same.

Fucking his wet fist with enough enthusiasm made it impossible for him to lie about who was on his mind when he came.

And yes, it was just as mind-altering as before.

Swaying on his feet, hand on the wall, he was unable to breathe, yet gasping for each desperate breath. While Draco hadn't lost any blood or pulled a muscle, he wobbled out of the shower, swearing never to do that again.

Especially not with her on his brain.

Maybe something else? Someone else?

Fuck.

This was a bloody disaster.

Why Granger? Why not anyone else?

He could fantasise about Spinnet. Bones. Parvati fucking Patil.

Literally. Anyone. Else.

But no. It had to be Granger.

Before he had a nervous breakdown, and after searching for his missing dignity, he crashed and burned for seven hours of deep sleep.

Yes, seven.

Greg came pounding on his bedroom door after pulling the short straw when he didn't turn up for New Years Day brunch. When Draco arrived in less than pristine condition, Greg confirmed he'd overslept. Everyone was shocked, and he spent the rest of the day making up every excuse in the book about why he looked fucking ill.

Because admitting to tossing off twice to Granger would only end in humiliation.

And potentially institutionalisation.

Or Wood dropping him from the high Quidditch Pitch.

Or Granger cutting him out her life for being a bloody pervert.

Greg made a fresh cheesecake when Draco started openly grimacing. Blaise stopped contemplating kidnapping him. Alarmed by his spiralling mood, even Padma didn't threaten his life with cutlery. Pansy kept staring, Astoria was worried, Lovegood smiled, and Daphne was curious.

Under the weight of it all, Draco abruptly decided to leave.

Padma threw French bread at his head.

She missed.

He went to the Manor for a distraction, but it was worse. His mother called for private Healers to tend to him because he was so pale, but they found nothing wrong. Once they were gone, Father made him hold one of the newest members of his albino peacock family because "holding murder chickens would help raise his endorphins."

His father didn't say that—not directly, at least, but Draco knew what he meant.

So he held the hopeless creature, scowling, and said, "Not helping."

It pecked his finger.

Miraculously, he neither dropped nor chucked it across the room.

"I hope you end up seasoned and on someone's dinner plate," Draco snarled.

The peachick chirped.

Draco wasn't mentally prepared to see Granger that night.

He figured she would be too busy to ring him.

He was right. Kind of.

She didn't ring him.

Instead, at midnight, Granger asked to come through the Floo.

Draco fell off the sofa, scrambling around the room for no reason. He was dressed and hate-reading Dickens, his flat was clean, and no dirty thoughts had lived in his mind for hours.

He stopped being an absolute idiot and granted her access to come through. Granger stepped out of his fireplace wearing an oversized Cambridge jumper and black leggings.

The real Granger, not the imaginary one that had melted his brain twice.

That needed to be clarified for his own sanity.

"Happy New Year."

He beat every heinous thought into submission and pulled himself together like a fucking adult. Not a randy, hormonal teenager.

Be normal, he implored. Say something.

"Erm, same to you."

Granger scrunched her nose. "Are you okay?"

Alarming words came to mind to describe how she looked.

Silly, sappy shite. Embarrassing as hell. Cute.

He was going to throw himself off the London Eye without cushioning charms.

"Yeah. I'm good," Draco muttered, looking anywhere except her.

The last thing he needed to do was wake his cock up for any reason.

Granger's suspicion didn't ease. "So… Oliver and I wanted to invite you and Astoria over for champagne."

This did wonders to settle the tension in his spine.

"She's not here. Spending the night with Daphne." Draco shoved his hands into his pockets. "Does that change the invite?"

"No. More for us. Oliver said you'd like the champagne. It's posh."

As it turned out, Wood was right. He loved it. The first bottle of Dom Pérignon was divided evenly and helped loosen the nervous energy that had him wound so tight.

Granger was no Legilimens, neither was Wood. He was safe.

This is fine. Normal.

I can handle this.

No you can't.

Draco finished his drink.

While the second bottle was airing out, Wood left for home due to try-outs for the two back-up walk-on positions they had. Granger walked him to the Floo and returned to find Draco glancing out at her veranda.

One invitation brought him into a new space in Granger's home.

Her tiny veranda.

At night.

It was beginning to snow. There were two chairs, a glowing rune that kept the space warm despite the cold, and several sad-looking plants. One actually looked dead.

Draco looked closer.

Yeah, it was definitely dead.

"I'm not pissed," Granger blurted out randomly then smiled too bright.

Draco snickered. "Wouldn't dream of even thinking that you were."

"Tipsy at best, but still able to tell you looked like you were thinking it. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Better now." He changed the subject when Granger didn't push by pointing at what looked like rosemary. "I'd guess you don't spend a lot of time out here."

"No."

"The state of your plants makes sense."

"Impulse purchases when I'm fixated, or promising myself that I'll do better this time—that's what they are." Granger nodded at nothing, her face breaking out into a lazy grin. "I'm terrible at keeping things alive. I don't take the time to."

"My mother has elves for that—they're free before you have a bloody fit." Draco rolled his eyes, but then admitted, "She tells everyone she does the work herself to make her seem progressive, but I wouldn't trust her with a pair of sheers. Even if she spends thousands of Galleons, my mother keeps redecorating and planting to try to bring life to a place that saw a lot of death. Don't tell her I said any of that."

"As if your mum will talk to me without reason." She gave him a long look. "Also some things you can't cover in decor."

"No."

"But I can't blame her for trying. That's her home. It must be hard living in a place where people were imprisoned, tortured, and murdered."

Draco nodded, but said nothing. It was one of the many reasons he'd left.

Granger went inside, returning with two large cups of water just as he stood to follow her. He was used to her stepping the wrong way on occasion and easily dropped both hands on her shoulders to avoid crashing into her.

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's fine." Draco looked at his feet, then at hers. They were nearly touching. How were they so close without her spilling a drop of water? "Charm on the cups?"

"Yes." She offered him one, but he never took a sip.

Neither did she.

When Granger nodded off after another hour of meaningless chatter, he took both cups and was about to dump the water over the side, but figured her thirsty plants would look a lot better if he gave them a chance.

It wasn't much, but he swore they looked happier.

"Hmm."

Draco shook his head, turning to Granger.

He could leave.

He should, but didn't.

Picking Granger up was an easy, unconscious choice. He carried her inside, deposited her on the sofa, and left through the Floo, ignoring everything his traitorous brain observed in those moments.

The warmth of her body.

The way her curls felt soft under his hand.

The scent of Granger—not perfume or lavender, just minty soap she'd washed her hands with.

It didn't matter that none of these things were overtly sexual in intent, his next shower was still cold.

"A crisis appointment?" Helena eyed him from over her frames and sighed. "This is the second day of the year."

"I think I need to be committed." Draco had come to this conclusion after a third wank into near unconsciousness. He was packed and ready for a stay in the Janus Thickey Ward.

She looked at his trunk, then at him. "Dramatic as always, Draco."

But she let him in anyway.

Draco left the trunk at the door to all but throw himself on her sofa. It still smelled like mothballs, despite the discreet cleaning charms he'd used. Helena took her seat in the comfortable chair across the room and picked up her knitting as if it were an ordinary day when it very much wasn't.

Still, he watched her hands for several minutes. Now wasn't the time to ask for lessons.

"Tell me why you think you need to be committed?" Helena asked.

He cleared his throat and tried but failed to remain calm. "I'm fantasising about someone who is both a friend and very much unavailable."

"Do you have feelings for this person?"

"I feel things…"

"Such as?" Helena gave him a pointed look before returning to knitting. "You're going to have to talk about—"

"It's different. I can't—I want to yell but I want to never speak again. I feel too much, everything is mixed up but untangling and I'm not ready because ignorance is bliss. Feeling like this is—I want to do nothing except stay close to her, and if this word vomit isn't a sign of a psychotic break, then I don't know what is."

Helena put the knitting needles down and a notebook he'd never seen popped into existence.

Draco blinked. "What is—"

"I need to take notes."

"Why? Because you're going to hospitalise me?"

The Quick Quote Quill started. "No, because I'll need to be able to retrieve all relevant notes pertaining to this session."

"I don't… I don't understand."

"For the record, attraction isn't a sign of psychosis."

"I beg your pardon, but fantasising about—"

"Your libido is awake after a long dormancy, Draco. Embrace it."

" What?"

She offered a comforting smile. "It's a good thing."

" Like hell it is!"

Greg stopped what he was doing when Draco stepped out of the Floo. "I got your note and I have questions."

"False alarm." He sat at the table. "I'm not being committed. Do you have cake?"

Without answering, Greg fetched a sponge cake for him. "It was supposed to be your hospital cake."

"I'm not psychotic." Draco mournfully forked a piece.

Now at the level of confusion reserved for the concussed, Greg tilted his head. "Was that even an option?"

"I was hoping so. The alternative is horrifying."

"Erm."

"Apparently, I have feelings that are normal and I'm randy." Draco scrubbed a hand over his face then ate three bites of delicious cake. "Terribly awful. Is there more?"

Greg sputtered, sucking in a breath.

Draco glared hotly. "Not a word and no context."

A silent agreement was struck.

Greg left and returned with whisky.

Mother clanked her teacup on the saucer for the third time in a show of poor table manners.

According to proper etiquette, of course.

Her behaviour was no accident.

She wanted him to talk, even a sarcastic quip, but knew better than to force conversation. A painfully hungover Draco only stared at the ceiling as yesterday's horrible truth of not being clinically ill sank into his bones. He wondered if skipping the hangover potion coupled with an extended amount of time with his mother would do the job in pushing him over the edge.

Oddly, it hadn't. Yet.

He'd been here for four hours. The first he'd spent watching her review accounts while he ate breakfast—a shockingly common fry up she'd asked the elves to make after taking one look at him.

Mother had assets she'd inherited, a dowry she'd never touched, and everything Potter hadn't gotten from Sirius Black's will. The second hour, after realising she'd slipped hangover potion into his coffee when he wasn't looking, they went over the Malfoy account spendings with her frowning over the fact that he'd been spending less.

They'd gone to lunch and shopping in Wiltshire and followed it with a cold walk on the manor grounds that left them both with flushed cheeks. His mother remained consistent during all this, no jump scares about marriage, no questions about women, only about him.

"How are you?" His mother asked.

"Better." It wasn't quite a lie, but not entirely true either.

"How is your work?"

"The same as always." Draco looked away awkwardly.

"Will you allow me to obtain a copy of Mystic Academic to read your next article when it is published?"

"Err, okay?"

"Thank you."

It was a strange conversation.

There were thousands of books in the library. Mother hardly ever read for pleasure, which was why Draco spent the next hour subtly sniffing anything she consumed and squinting to make certain she wasn't under Polyjuice.

"Do you know how to knit?" Draco blurted out without thinking or having a clue as to why this was the lone question on his mind.

"I know enough." Mother looked deeply suspicious. "Why do you—"

"Can you show me? No questions."

Blue eyes narrowed, but there was no further discussion, only his mother calling for an elf to bring her knitting tools. She walked him through casting on before letting him try.

It was harder than it looked.

His hands felt large and clumsy, but he kept going until he was successful. Draco was only mildly frustrated when he asked, "Where is Father?"

"You know where he is."

"With his replacement children."

Her silence was confirmation as she fixed his hands. The pain in his wrist instantly vanished.

Another subject change followed. "Have you done anything more with your contract?"

This opened the conversation in a different, unexpected direction. "I can't say, but I do wonder why the terms are so strict?"

"To ensure the Greengrasses were unable to break it."

He expected that. "I was never the worry."

"No."

Because after the war he knew his duties.

Draco frowned. "Except when it comes to fidelity."

His mother didn't look proud. "The language is strict on both sexes. Historically, it needed to be harsher on men because up until the moment of marriage, they are most likely to—"

"I've heard enough." Draco shuddered.

A technicality and overlooking sexuality had freed Astoria.

He spotted her staring with a small smile. "I am pleased that you are speaking freely to me and letting me teach you how to knit."

Draco rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension. "You're trying. So am I. And I…"

She covered his hand. A sign of encouragement. "What is it?"

"The contract. I—I'm doing this for myself. Not for any other reason."

"I did not ask for an explanation."

Draco nodded, but felt compelled to ask, "But if I can't—"

"Worry about that when it becomes an issue."

Even after he left, he couldn't help but catch her expression.

The wheels were turning in her mind.

This wasn't good.

Unspeakables spilled out of the open doors of the Time Room, crowding the main area, all chattering indiscriminately.

Confused, Draco tapped the shoulder of the person directly in front of him. The intern turned, jolting upon seeing him. Not an unusual reaction, the older he got, the more his reputation preceded him, but knowing this didn't lessen his irritation.

Draco's frown deepened. "What is happening?"

"Unspeakable Nott just completed the latest Time Turner."

From there, Draco spotted Croaker having an animated conversation with Theo. When he spied Granger's hair, piled into a bun that seemed to grow larger over each month, he had to peek around a taller Unspeakable to see her fully. Granger was smiling appropriately when spoken to while her eyes searched the area between exchanges, but when their eyes locked, she stopped looking.

After the crowd dissipated, he got a closer look at their completed project.

It wasn't gold like the other Time Turner, but titanium.

Theo explained that it was stronger, easier to infuse with the proper magic to make it work.

"Have you tested it?"

"Not yet, but we're going to start testing it over the months, jumping short periods of time into both the past and future in controlled experiments," he replied as he held the Time Turner out for Draco to hold.

"Who is doing the certification?"

"Croaker is personally arranging a certified IWC time specialist." But instead of smug, Theo looked worried.

"Why would the International Wizarding Committee get involved with—never mind." As the first of its kind, Draco was surprised that they hadn't been involved before this point. "Let me guess, they didn't believe it could be done?"

"Precisely," Granger replied from the doorway of her office before approaching. "They'll either take it, shut us down, or want us to make more."

She and Theo exchanged looks. "We could always fail on purpose."

"Or you can create limitations that won't interest them."

Draco's eyes slid between the two. "Wait. Are you plotting?"

"Yes," they replied in unison.

There were Time Room Unspeakables working and talking around them. "Then your office would be a better location," Draco said.

When Theo shut the door behind them, Granger's privacy charms activated.

Good. Draco had questions. "What's going on?"

"Croaker bringing the IWC into our experimentation wasn't part of the plan."

"He's ambitious." Draco shrugged. "I'm not surprised."

"Neither am I, which is why I created limitations to this one. Unrestricted, you can travel one year into the future or past, but the IWC would commission one that'll allow more extensive, dangerous travel."

All in all, a nightmare. This could be a weapon.

It would be dangerous today, tomorrow, and in the future. There was no limit if someone who wanted to change this world found out what they'd created.

"How do you plan to manipulate their experience?"

"We'll be running controlled experiments before their arrival and we've made certain no one can spend more than a minute in the future. Runes are built in so no one will be corporeal and affect the timeline," Theo rattled off. "Rigorous checks will be completed upon the volunteers' return to make certain the runes hold. Healers who specialise in time sickness will monitor. We're getting the waivers together for everyone who participates."

"By the time the IWC arrives, we'll have mastered it enough to control their experience." Granger clasped her hands together. "We'll make sure it's not worth investing."

"Sounds easy enough." Draco folded his arms. "What do you need from me?"

"Keep us in the loop about the IWC visit through Croaker," Theo replied.

When Draco agreed, Granger looked at the Time Turner in her hands. "Time is fascinating. This should exist, but used within reason. Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time."

Greg was mixing chocolate when Draco arrived.

He looked stressed. "Daphne's birthday is this weekend and I don't have any ideas."

The plan was to order takeaway and watch films in her living room tomorrow because her parents were trying to spend the actual day with her—something she and Draco found odd. Armed with old knowledge from Astoria, Greg's stress didn't seem warranted.

But he didn't know.

"Buy her something she likes. You know what she likes, right?"

Greg stopped and nodded, but looked dismayed. "I wanted it to be personal. From me."

"Then make her favourite takeaway meal," Draco suggested with a casual shrug.

The idea struck gold.

Greg's eyes widened. "You're a genius!"

"Of course I am."

By the end of the second week of the year, Draco was certain Granger would do one of the following:

Call his Floo.

Ring him.

Or her newest request: ask if she could come through.

The first two were blessedly more common of an occurrence than the latter.

Something else he was certain about.

His cock was going to wither away and fall off with the sheer amount of wanking he'd done thinking about stupid things like casual touches, the smell of her perfume, or the way she looked in glasses. He was able to keep it together at work. He hardly ever saw her. When they danced, he was so focused on the moves, he never processed her hand in his, the way she let him lead, the way she—

Get it together, Draco.

Which felt impossible given the high odds against him.

Last night at the birthday celebration, Daphne blushed over Greg's thoughtful yet delicious gift, likely relieved she wouldn't have to suffer on her birthday for the sake of her pride, and the two sat beside each other on the sofa, stealing so many looks Draco almost yelled at them to get a room. But he kept his mouth shut. He had a dilemma of his own.

Granger hadn't sat next to him.

She'd laid on a blanket near the wall next to Alicia and he'd spent two hours staring respectfully at everything from the way she smiled at the movie, joked with Padma, and, well—her arse in Muggle jeans.

Fear of embarrassment kept his cock soft.

Theo's weird looks kept him busy deflecting.

Astoria was to his left, oblivious.

Proximity kept him from exchanging more than a few glances with Granger.

But hours later, at two in the morning the next night, Draco suppressed the disappointment curling around his chest, squeezing his throat. He knew Granger was out with Wood and his childhood mates who were in town visiting. Yet he still thought about calling or checking in, which was patently ridiculous. It wasn't like they did anything except talk—and why was he thinking about doing anything with Granger? It was—

His Floo flared to life and Granger emerged with an armful of scrolls. "Oliver's mates have invaded my flat. They were at a nearby pub and instead of getting a cab back to their hotel, he suggested my place because it was close and they wanted to keep catching up."

Draco wasn't sure how to respond to Hurricane Granger as she blew in.

"We had our first test today and I need space to observe the data. I—" She stopped and looked right at him. "What is it?"

Every anxious thought, question, and insecurity blended and melted away. "Nothing."

The tightness in his chest remained.

While Draco made space for her at his desk, it lingered.

Watching her start the kettle for tea like she'd been here every day of his life made his impulsiveness threaten to stage a coup on his good sense.

"I should be doing that."

She turned quickly and shook her head. "Call it thanks for letting me invade."

"How did it go?"

"First test was a success."

"How far into the future?"

"A day."

Granger knew what constituted a splash of milk and that Draco liked an extra cube of sugar.

How?

When she sat the cup down in front of him, he wished for a distraction to kill the thoughts that ebbed and flowed each time he saw her. What he felt had no place in his life right now, not with her at least; an emotion he was eager to forget.

But for a single heartbeat, he accepted the cup and all the unsettling feelings that came with it.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"You're welcome." Granger drifted to his desk, put her glasses on, and the occasional sound of rustling parchment was the only thing he heard for the next hour. He sat on the sofa, flipping through one of her suggested novels and rolling his eyes and scoffing at every expected turn.

"Stop your whinging. The Great Gatsby isn't that bad. Figured you'd love reading about terrible people."

"I would if I actually gave a damn about anyone."

"What about Nick?"

"He's socially inept and this entire novel is a glorified soap opera. Not to mention, why is the author so obsessed with the colour green."

"Green is symbolic of money and his desire for Daisy." Granger looked up from her work. "And people find it relatable. We all have things that are just out of reach."

Chapter Text

Granger wasn't wrong.

Wanting her went away in the light of day.

The sun rose as if its purpose was to reveal how patently ridiculous it was for him to think those thoughts about the very unavailable Granger.

But at night, desire returned.

In his solitude, Draco could forget about each obstacle while working on the simple knitting pattern he'd learned. He had no idea what he was making. It was hideously misshapen, parts were unravelling, but swearing silently while clumsily turning yarn into something tangible was far more relaxing than he'd imagined.

"First two weeks of tests are done," Granger announced at midnight. "All volunteers have their limbs and health. There were no unexpected agings or deaths. Best of all, no one has quit."

Draco's brow jumped as he pushed the right needle into the loop. The stitch wasn't half bad this time. "Anyone ever told you that your priorities are out of order?"

"A few times."

"Don't care at all, do you?"

"Not particularly."

He laughed.

"Oh, before I forget. Oscar is coming by with your ticket to the event on Saturday."

Draco glanced at the calendar, realising it really was February. "Finally."

"Don't embarrass me, Malfoy. The first two events went great."

"Of course I will. I'll pick the dance you're still struggling with your footwork on."

She gasped. "You wouldn't."

"I would."

Muttered curse words were what he got in return. He smiled at each.

"I'm changing the subject." Granger sniffed. "What's something no one knows about when it comes to the subjects you chose at school."

After a minute of thinking, Draco confessed, "I liked Divination more than Astronomy."

Granger scoffed. "That horrid subject. Why? It's all a guess, baseless, woolly."

Draco shrugged despite her being on the other end of the mobile and pulled the yarn to tighten the stitch. "I was taught Astronomy from a young age: how to map the stars, what they mean, and what to expect when looking up at the sky. It was nothing new. Divination is as you say, but I was learning something new. Something I didn't know before."

"What sort of stories did they teach you about the constellations?"

"The same ones you learned, I imagine. Mostly god-favoured heroes and beasts who received a place amongst the stars as a memorial of their deeds. I've heard the story of the constellation I'm named after so much it makes me sick."

"Understandable. My mother named me after Helen of Troy's daughter. Promised to one, but marries another until her husband dies and the first she was set to marry comes and marries her. It would be terribly romantic if he weren't her cousin."

Draco laughed. "It's better than being named after a literal dragon who was murdered for the apples he was guarding. Like that worked out for anyone who has ever guarded anything for the gods."

"Hmm." Granger cleared her throat. "He didn't die without a fight, which is rather brave."

"Bravery isn't my thing. It's more yours, Potter's, and Weasley's—albeit stupid and reckless and bound to get one of you three killed at one point."

"Running for my life is at the absolute bottom of my list of things I want to repeat—well, that's not true. The snake." She made a small noise. "I'd pass on the snake."

"Having seen Nagini in action, I agree."

Granger fell silent for several moments before whispering, "Do you think about that year?"

"I try not to. Rough year. Well, a few years."

"Nightmares?"

He stopped knitting. "Yeah."

Granger shuffled around, probably to lie on her sofa and stare at her ceiling. "Do you think about a world where he won the war?"

"I don't think that's a world I want to live in."

"Why not? You'd be safe."

"But then who would I have to annoy me in the middle of the night?"

Granger's laugh was soft, personal, yet he knew her well enough to hear the light confusion.

Running a hand through his hair, he fought off an odd sensation slowly crawling up his throat.

He blamed indigestion.

"I started knitting," he said before he could take it back.

"I bought that as a joke."

"A useful one. My mother taught me the basics and I've been practising."

"Make anything nice?"

"Quite the opposite, I assure you."

Granger laughed. "Are you going to show me?"

"One day."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause.

"I'm back in therapy," Draco told her. Why? Well, he was already spilling his guts. What was one more thing? "Going regularly. Twice a week."

"Oh? That's—"

"Not something I want to talk about, but I've been back since last August. I don't know why I told you."

"Same reason I'm telling you I went back to therapy after my conversation with Ron. I realise I have more issues than I care to admit, but perhaps it's time that I start diving into all the reasons I can't sleep."

"Or why you're hellbent on being reckless at the worst time."

"You'd be surprised at how few impulses I act on." Granger said darkly. "I think I'm going to figure out why I have times when my mind is racing with ideas and then, for no real reason, the world becomes bleak."

"Like why you buy plants you don't take care of or why you like to get lost alone."

"Isn't that normal? Cutting everything off in the world and losing yourself for a while. Fixating on a hobby only to blink and two weeks have passed and everything is dying."

"I don't think that's normal." Draco made a small noise. "Sounds like you're looking for a distraction."

"Maybe I am, but that'll be something I figure out in therapy."

"Therapy is…"

"Not easy," Granger said after a short silence. "You're probably trying to figure out if it's working."

"Ten points to Gryffindor."

Granger cheered.

Father never apologised.

Not for who he was. Not for choosing the wrong side. Not for anything.

Tonight he stood next to Draco on the veranda overlooking the Malfoy gardens where peacocks blended with the clumps melting snow.

Not quite half a year had passed since the argument that started this silent war of no attrition. This wasn't the first time they'd been in the same room; they played nice for his mother with fake platitudes.

It was, however, the first Father leaned heavier on his cane and kept the status quo intact with one question.

"Have you finished your sulk?"

Condescending, but straight to the point.

Draco had been listening to his therapist and deciding how to proceed with his father, but admittedly he was still trying to control the half that wanted to hex his father into a new century.

Not walking away was progress.

Remaining calm was growth.

"I have not been sulking, just like you haven't been avoiding me."

Father said nothing, focusing instead on a particular spot in the distance. "Your mother has been begging me to speak to you for months."

It was clear he wanted nothing less. "You've spoken words and fulfilled your requirement—"

"Draco."

"Father."

They exchanged looks.

In an instant, Draco understood what Helena had meant by his father not being an unresolved issue.

Standing side by side, with a canyon between them was the best they could do; the closest they'd ever get.

Draco knew this already.

He'd accepted this.

This was his resolution.

Neither would move. Neither would ever compromise.

They wouldn't meet in the middle on tightropes.

What was interesting was something Draco had known all along.

He could live with it.

Not every status quo could forever remain the same, and he couldn't keep holding on to this one.

It was time to set it free.

Time to let go of the quiet dream he'd held since childhood.

A real father and son relationship.

Maybe that hope would survive in the wild, maybe it wouldn't, but it was off his conscience. No longer his responsibility to keep trying to make something work that wouldn't.

This was all it was and all it could be.

"It ends here," Draco said with a conviction he'd never felt before. "Whether I fulfil this marriage contract is up to me, and how you choose to punish me if I don't is up to you."

Father said nothing for a long time. "Very well. I will do as I must when the time comes."

"I expect nothing less."

Draco lingered in the back of the group of fifteen, the final one of the day.

Room after room, he toured the house with a woman dressed up like the maid as she told them about her life until they were introduced to the family.

Granger—or rather, Lady Elizabeth—was brilliant, dressed in a gown befitting her station, speaking in an accent that would have been prevalent during the time.

How she'd learned that, Draco didn't know, but was embarrassed by his initial surprise. He hardly listened to the others speak, but was rapt while she discussed life as a lady, the societal expectations, courtship, and marriage.

When she walked through explaining each piece of her attire, it was only then he noticed the brooch he'd gotten her for Christmas.

"Brooches can be given as wedding gifts, to close cloaks, at the shoulders of mantels, to pin paternosters to clothing and as markers of visits to holy places. They can be plain, have inscriptions or be set with precious and semi-precious jewels like this one."

"What sort of brooch is yours?" a woman asked.

Draco stopped breathing when Granger looked at him. "Oh, this is one typically given as a gift."

"Marriage?"

"In some cases."

From then on, Granger didn't break character. She found him no matter how often he moved from one part of their small ground to another, but when he gave a threatening smile as they entered the hall and let the visitors choose dances for them to perform, she smirked back.

What Draco hadn't expected was for the group to be invited to join in.

A few stepped back, but he stepped forward.

Dancing was a blur, as was the rest of the tour. Paired with other people, they danced in a circle, switching partners, closer and closer until she was his. Their hands touched with the final chord and everything snapped into focus. Some in the group clapped, others complimenting his footwork.

For the second dance, Draco was paired with Granger. There was no switching, the steps were ones he'd done several times in the park under the cover of Disillusionment charms, but he let her guide him at first, as he was supposed to be an amateur. When he took the lead, they moved smoothly, coming close but never touching, circling one another in steps he counted.

Granger smiled.

Draco nearly missed a step but recovered, his eyes never leaving hers until the echoes of the final note.

Thank you, she mouthed.

For once in his life, he was tongue-tied.

Granger curtsied politely and excused herself while the other cast took questions from the guests. Draco slipped out the side door, finding himself outside in the winter countryside.

It was especially grey today, but the air was crisp and cold.

"How was it?"

Jolting, he turned to find Granger standing on the other end of the brick house, shawl wrapped around her shoulders to keep her warm. So keen on authenticity that she didn't use magic.

You were brilliant.

You had nothing to worry about.

Draco cleared his throat. "Informative."

As if she could interpret his true feelings, his bland response made her smile grow as she approached. She looked out at the farm that they'd toured before coming indoors—watching people smelt and gather wool, churn butter, tend to horses and farm life. But Draco only looked at her. Granger's deep green gown had rich embroidery with pearl embellishments and her hair was braided intricately.

"How heavy is your dress?"

"I'm currently dreaming of taking it off."

So was he.

Draco swatted the errant thought away.

"Why are you out here?" Granger asked.

"Needed a fresh breath of air."

"Come, the cast eats dinner after everyone is gone. Tonight is fresh fish from this morning's tour and other meats, as well as fruits and vegetables."

He squinted. "Was it hunted?"

"I'm supposed to say yes for the sake of authenticity, but they picked up the meat from the local butcher." She nudged his shoulder. "Come on. After, I'll take you horseback riding."

Dinner was better than he expected. The food was savoury and Draco ate quietly until he was brought into the conversation.

"Now are you Hermione's boyfriend?" the man who played her father asked.

He and Granger exchanged wide-eyed looks, both with forks near their mouths.

They denied it simultaneously.

"No—"

"He's one of my best friends."

One sentence made him freeze, a silent question on the tip of his tongue, but Granger altered the direction of the conversation.

She left to change out of her gown and into jeans and a coat. After saying goodbye, she led the way to the stables. Draco frowned at his inappropriate shoes and what he might step in while she prepped one horse and walked him through saddling the other.

Draco hadn't been on a horse since he was small enough to need his father to lift him, but he remembered what he'd learned as they set off for a trot. The air was cold, the countryside covered in patches of snow that hadn't melted, and although it was early, sunset was upon them. Granger looked serene, her cheeks flushed from the cold.

He didn't want to break the peace, but couldn't help what he said next.

"One of your best friends? That's—"

"True." Granger shrugged. "It's true and I know you'll deny it until the bitter end, but right behind Greg, is me."

"Bold of you to assume."

But damn if she was right.

And also wrong.

Some days she was his favourite person.

Granger cracked a smile. "I'm rarely wrong about these things."

Draco rolled his eyes, but kept his admission to himself.

"Funny. Last year you were about to strangle me because I was testing the runes and now we're talking more often than not and taking horseback rides on the English countryside."

"Recklessly testing the runes," he amended. "I thought you were going to get me killed. Where are we going?"

Their destination was a field they arrived in at dusk.

"We're north enough and far away from light pollution that sometimes you can see the Northern Lights. I saw them last week after practice and hoped they'd return tonight so I could show you."

The horses grazed.

They watched the skies for what felt like hours, talking about nothing.

Their fingers didn't brush because Draco kept his hands in his pockets.

Clouds rolled in, but no lights appeared.

When Granger apologised for wasting time on the walk back, Draco kept hold of the horse's reins and confessed something he swore he wouldn't.

"Today was fun."

"Don't lie to me, Malfoy." She rolled her eyes. "You can admit it's very dull."

"I could, but that wouldn't be the truth."

"Tell me something else that's true."

"Some days, you're not behind Greg, you're in front of him."

Mandy Brocklehurst wasn't one to mince words.

On the tenth day of February, she poured tea and said two words:

"You're fucked."

Draco had to take a drink to orient himself.

"There is no way out of this contract without losing something. You just need to determine which is the lesser of three evils—no Malfoy inheritance, empty personal vaults, or the remarriage clause."

"Explain."

"You violate the contract and lose everything, you could pay the penalties and bankrupt yourself as I doubt you have ten million Galleons lying about that won't come from the Malfoy vaults, or you could set Astoria up to break the contract and remarry."

"Is there a way to get out without any of those options?"

"You'll need a financial exit strategy." She pulled out a small notepad. "Do you have assets in your own name?"

"My flat was put exclusively in my name three years ago. I have gold bars and other valuables willed to only me that are sitting in various Malfoy vaults all over the world. I have my own vault in Gringotts."

Brocklehurst nodded along. "You need to talk to Padma."

"She hates me."

"She does, but you'll need her to move your assets."

Draco rubbed his eyes, a headache forming. "This is a disaster."

"It is, but you'll have to decide if a disaster is worth your freedom."

Valentine's day was quiet.

Granger didn't call or come through the Floo.

He knew where she was. Who she was with.

Draco ate toffee until his teeth hurt, lamented the tightness of his waistline, and drank Firewhisky until he fell asleep.

The troubling feelings Draco guarded like secrets grew without warning.

The longer he was silent, the more they mutated.

Every interaction and conversation, every lingering look and smile. They'd stopped meeting for dancing, but kept taking strolls every Wednesday as winter gave its all in the final fight before spring's takeover.

They'd taken both walks and arms at opposite ends of an opinion, argued and fought, but everything still felt fresh.

Today they weren't arguing.

During a typical Wednesday stroll, Granger read his newly-published article in Mystic Academic out loud.

Obnoxiously so.

But Draco only rolled his eyes when she made little impressed noises at his additions, and snarky comments when she noticed something was cut.

When she finished, he said, "And your verdict is?"

"Have they asked you to write another?"

Draco stared at her blankly before nodding, a small smirk on the corner of his lips. "They have."

"As they should."

"Croaker is allowing the Keeper of the Love Chamber to release the raw data of the room. To test your theory of raw magic escaping the room."

Granger's mouth fell open. "Oh my."

"He wonders—and I do, too—if there's a way to concentrate raw magic and direct it all into a new room in order to unlock it early."

"I've wondered if that was possible."

"In theory, yes. In practice, we'll either be successful or—"

"Blow up the department."

"Terrible odds."

"But not impossible."

"Chaotic as always, Granger."

She merely smiled, then checked her watch and sighed. "I've got to go. Meeting Oliver for dinner."

Granger didn't look like she wanted to go.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"No, we're… working on things. Spending more time together during the off season."

"Is that what you want?"

Granger scrubbed a hand over her face. "I'm sorting through things. Trying to do the right thing."

"Which is?"

"Sometimes, I think I know, but other times, I'm not so sure."

Draco had never felt like this.

Never had to pretend the way he did around Granger.

Fighting back smiles, tearing his eyes away to stop staring at her.

He had to keep reminding himself that they were friends. That she was with Wood.

That he was fighting his way out of a marriage contract.

He kept that boundary up by being sarcastic to the point of cutting, condescending to the point of aggravating—to everyone else out of aggravation, not Granger. Draco remained quiet around her in public, careful not to look, not to notice, not to see.

When the group took a tour of Hadrian's wall for Granger's choice, Wood joined them.

The trip was spiralling into a disaster.

Irrationally irritated by the sight of Wood leaning close to Granger or taking her hand, Draco remained silent, knowing if he said so much as one word, everything else would come tumbling out.

Wood's questions about the history were half-hearted to the point of incompetence. Granger's over-explanations were so intense that Draco got tired of hearing her repeat herself and blurted out something rude to the tour guide when they were out of earshot.

Draco apologised when Bones, Spinnet, and Angelina cut him down with a united glare.

"You're in a shit mood, Malfoy." Spinnet looked concerned in a way that only served to irritate him further. "All right?"

"I'm an arse, remember?" Draco scowled for good measure.

"Hot and cold, too, but you're scaring everyone on the tour." Bones pointed at a couple who were staring until he looked, then they pretended to look at the ground.

"I see." He only felt half bad.

"This isn't Ireland. Oliver's here, too." Spinnet said. "No need to glare every sketchy bastard away."

Bones laughed. But Angelina searched his face for the missing piece. She tapped his temple. "I'll figure out what's going on in that posh head of yours, mark my word."

Draco swallowed.

The threat kept him silent for the rest of the trip and earned him the first side-long glance from Granger.

It wasn't until they were back in London, after everyone parted ways back to their homes, that Angelina threw out an arm when he tried to walk off.

"A minute of your time, Malfoy."

"No."

She wasn't accepting his answer. "I know where you live, so we can do this the easy way or the hard way." Then she pasted on a wide, scary smile. "Pick the easy way."

He exhaled harshly. "Fine. What?"

Angelina stared Draco down, daring him to argue. She wasn't much shorter than him and looked like she hit hard. "You don't have to say a word. Don't deny it or confirm it. I already know, and you know what I already know. Do you understand?"

Draco blinked once.

Twice.

Nodded.

"I'm not judging you. Weirdly, it makes sense. You… you look sick."

"I'm fine." As Draco said that, he swayed on his feet. His vision blurred. "Completely fine."

"Are you—"

He threw up in the grass.

Draco didn't speak to Granger for two nights.

She came through the Floo—not to scream and yell at him because Angelina told her everything she'd figured out. Rather, she'd come armed with a copy of a rough draft of his next article.

He didn't relax until Granger smiled. "Hi."

"Hi."

Draco's first smile since puking at the Apparition point happened when she read her favourite added passage out loud.

This wasn't good at all.

Draco spent the rest of February becoming a true actor; the entire world was his stage. Sleeping less and less, spending hours after each conversation or visit staring at the wall, replaying every moment, hoping his façade held up.

Granger couldn't know what he was struggling with.

It wasn't right.

But acting wasn't a perfect art.

Greg's worrying glances had increased after Valentine's day and by the end of February, he seemed downright suspicious.

Throwing back an alarming amount of sweets hadn't helped Draco's argument that everything was fine. When he started pacing during therapy sessions, Helena suggested that he buy a pair of trainers and in addition to his steadily improving knitting, he should start running each time he felt restless until he was tired.

It would help his tightening trousers.

The first three runs hadn't lasted but five minutes. Draco found himself winded and exhausted.

Perhaps it truly was time to curb his sweet tooth.

Vanity became his motivation. It kept Draco going even though it didn't help.

More and more people kept picking up on his strange moods, his fidgeting, his silence.

This came to a head in the first week of March. Draco's turn to choose a friend's gathering came when he invited everyone to Gibraltar to explore and tour the strait on a boat.

Theo had found out from Granger and invited himself, which turned into Potter, Daphne, and Blaise coming, with Greg and Padma staying behind. When Oliver asked if he could come, Draco had mentioned Astoria coming, too, which turned into a panicked call and his disgruntled fiancée arriving an hour before the portkey was set to leave.

Now he was in Gibraltar, with too many people, on a perfect day.

And what was worse, they'd run into Weasley.

Thank gods the skipper had cancelled the cruise for the day.

His nerves were shot to hell, he was close to screaming at everyone and figured it was best he didn't say a word. Angelina took charge finding a place to dine because everyone was starved and irritable. They ended up near the water at a restaurant that served fresh fish and tapas.

Peace was fragile. Small talk was as casual as it could be.

When Weasley went to buy a round of drinks for the table, Potter's guilt spilled without being prodded. "I mentioned the trip last night when we talked."

Everyone booed, even Theo. Bones was the loudest.

"It's fine. It's unreasonable to avoid him at all costs when he's friends with everyone." Granger shrugged and looked at him for what felt like the first time all day. "If anyone should be upset, it should be Draco. This was his pick."

"Are you sure you're fine?" Wood asked, clearly concerned.

"Yeah." She put on a smile Draco recognised as tense, but it appeased Wood. "Don't worry."

"Okay."

"So long as Draco accepts our apology for allowing everyone to infiltrate the outing that should have been only the core group."

The rest of the table rumbled, adding their name to the apology.

"It's not an issue," he muttered.

And that was that.

The food was good, the drinks relaxed the mood at the table, but Draco was hyper-vigilant enough even Astoria noticed, made evident as she kept nudging him.

Every time Granger looked his way, he turned to his food, the window, or an ongoing conversation, but he felt her observation. The only reason he began to unfurl was because Weasley wasn't grating his nerves as much as usual.

If anything, he was aggravating Wood more.

A debate after finding out the restaurant hosted a trivia night led Weasley to comment, "If I had to choose anyone to pair up with me in trivia, I'd choose Hermione."

"The entire table would pick Hermione." Wood rolled his eyes. "Who would you pick, Hermione?"

"Angelina if it's something athletic." She didn't hesitate.

"And anything else?" Weasley asked.

Granger didn't answer verbally, but she locked eyes with Draco.

Blessedly, more drinks were brought to their table, which changed the conversation naturally.

"You're quiet, Malfoy," Potter said.

"And?" Draco replied dryly.

"And why? You usually never shut up, now you've hardly spoken ten words."

"I like him better this way." Weasley laughed. It earned him a shove from Potter and a glare from Astoria. "What? I'm just being honest."

"Being honest doesn't give you a free pass to say whatever," Alicia replied.

Weasley frowned. "Oh, you're all actually friends with him."

"Of course we are," Theo said testily.

"I knew you were, Nott, but Harry? Angelina? Hermione?"

"We're his friend." Granger's look was full of warning.

This was enough for another subject change to what they wanted to do in town before returning home. The plan was for some to shop and others to wander. Astoria was part of the former group while Draco was in the latter.

"Oh!" Spinnet clasped her hands together. "Are you going shopping for wedding trinkets?"

Astoria's eyes widened. "Erm, we've pushed things back, so no."

The topic was nearly dropped when Potter sighed mournfully. "Twenty Galleons down the drain."

Astoria looked at Draco, confused.

"The bet," he supplied helpfully.

"Oh."

"Is it ever going to happen?" Potter lamented, then finished his drink. "I've never understood why neither of you want to pause long enough to get married. Theo told me all about marriage contracts. The purity clause would be enough for me to run down the aisle."

An awkward silence fell over the table.

Weasley's face twisted first in confusion, then wide-eyed clarity.

Potter instantly sobered, realising what he'd said out loud in his drunken honesty. "Oh, sorry—"

"It's fine." Draco ignored his mortification. "It's not a secret."

Bones, Spinnet, and Angelina looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

Wood failed to read the room. He chuckled darkly. "I don't know how you do it."

This earned Wood a hard look from Granger.

"What?" Wood held up both hands. "He's got to know what he's missing out on."

"Actually, I don't," Draco said. "That's sort of the point."

"And that's none of anyone's business." Granger's hard eyes dared anyone to say another word on the matter.

Wood tapped his finger on the table."Why are you upset about this?"

"I'm not, I'm irritated, there's a difference. Just like there's a difference in talking about something like this in private versus over a meal with an audience as if it's a normal conversation topic like holiday plans or the weather."

"No need to be upset, Hermione," Wood said gently. "I know a lot about pureblood contracts myself. I'm not the only one at this table who's familiar. It's not an unusual clause. There's no harm done."

"You don't get to decide if harm was done. Neither do I. It—"

"It's fine, Granger. Leave it." Draco stood. "I'm going to get another drink."

Two double scotches escorted Draco outside to where the first sign of why the Skipper cancelled the dinner cruise began to roll in. He was finished with the first and working on the second when Granger found him. They stood side by side, her leaning on the railing, him drinking, both looking at clouds forming where the waves broke and met the sea.

"I thought you were coming back."

"I needed air."

"Plenty of it." A gust of wind blew everything awry. "Everyone's heading out to the shops. They think you left to brood. Oliver will be around to apologise to you tomorrow."

"He can keep it. He isn't wrong." Draco waved her off. "Why aren't you with them?"

Him.

"Needed some fresh air. Thought you might want some company while you hid."

"I was getting a drink, then I drank it."

Granger folded her arms across her chest. "Better with someone you trust, I think."

"This is a terrible topic of conversation."

"Hear me out, you're going to laugh." Her hair blew in her face and she brushed it away. "For the sake of equal embarrassment. I've been told that your wedding night isn't always ideal. It's the most exhausting day of your life. You should do it on a day when neither of you are planning for it, when it comes naturally. But don't do what I did. Don't shag your best friend in a tent when neither of you know what you're doing and you're keyed up and grateful to be alive after coming face to face with a snake wearing an old lady as a meat suit. "

Draco almost choked. "You and—"

"Yeah." She shuddered. "Tears were shed, and not the good kind."

"But he's married to Theo."

"I don't think he figured out his true preferences until Ginny and the realisation that he was no longer marked for death by a megalomaniac finally sank in." She shook her head. "Self-discovery is a slippery slope, and I do mean slippery."

Draco winced at all his cold showers and orgasms that had been inspired by her. "I can imagine."

"Zero out of ten, I do not recommend."

The tension broke with a snap and he just laughed.

Granger joined in until the rain started.

Under the awning, chuckles waning, they stood together until it passed.

Chapter Text

With his round spectacles perched on the end of his nose, Potter calculated his next move on the chessboard. Little did he know, Draco was seven steps ahead, eagerly awaiting the opportunity to terrorise his opponent.

"Where's Theo?"

Draco wanted witnesses.

"Running controlled experiments with Hermione. I'm sure there's more to it, but department secrets." Potter shrugged and moved, his pawn now poised to attack Draco's Bishop.

A baiting move he wasn't foolish enough to fall for with his Queen lurking.

Instead, Draco moved a Knight and set up a trap of his own.

Then another.

"Speaking of secrets, I found out one of yours."

Potter was unfazed. "Skeeter publish something again? Must be a slow news day. The article about the third nipple I'm hiding under charms made Theo laugh."

Draco, too. "We all know she lies, but I found out something that's absolutely in-tents."

For the first time, Potter looked up, hair flopping forward, confused expression on his face. "What are you on, Malfoy?"

"I like to think of myself as an in-tent-sive researcher."

He blinked. "Is this a trick? Because I'm kicking your arse."

"Your ratio of wins to losses is one to nine. Try again." Draco's smirk spread. He tapped his chin and leaned in slightly. "It appears you're being in-tent-ionally obtuse today, Potter."

He closed his eyes, exhaling his final patient breath. "Every day I curse my therapist for encouraging me to make peace with you."

"And every day, I want to burn my mind and free myself from knowing about your tent activities with Granger, but here we are."

Potter's eyes bugged wide. "She told you?"

"To brighten my spirits after the prat fest starring Wood and Weasley that somehow I was dragged into."

"I—errr…" Potter glitching made Draco's week. "It was—"

"Do you really want to open the floodgates on all the tent puns I've come up with in the last three days?" His grin turned positively manic. "I have time."

Potter fled from the chess game, knocking the pieces all around.

"Where are you going?"

"To jump."

"Oh, well in that case, do a flip!"

Padma squinted as if scrunching her face would make him disappear.

They were in her office, and she'd only sworn six times and threatened his life twice when she found out he'd used a different name to schedule the appointment.

"I'm still here." Draco waved as petulantly as he could muster. "This is my third appointment."

"Unfortunately," she muttered. "I'm trying to decide who to fire. You're persona non grata, yet someone let you in three times."

"You can't be—"

"Serious? Oh, I very much am." Padma opened up her desk and pulled out a folder that had a picture of him smirking cockily at the camera from five years ago when she and Blaise weremarried. Above the picture was directions.

Do not allow entrance.

"Rude." Draco picked up the folder and held it next to his face. "This isn't my best angle."

Padma sighed as if she were interacting with a small child. "What do you want, Draco?"

He offered the picture. "Your expertise."

"I told Mandy no."

"Now you're going to tell me. Desperate times and I'll call in for backup. Blaise."

Closing her eyes tight, she took a patient breath. "Why me?"

"I need someone to separate my assets from my family's, both physically and legally."

Her head lowered, eyes falling on him. "What for?"

"In the event that I'm disinherited."

"Why would you—" Padma's eyes widened. "You're going to do it."

"I can't talk about it or have anything to do with it so tell Brocklehurst yes and Blaise will retain you on my behalf."

She stared at him for a long moment. "Okay, I'll Floo her."

"Can I get a discount?"

Padma scoffed. "Discount? I'm going to charge Blaise double my rate."

"He didn't say anything about being refunded."

She soured. "On that thought, discount it is."

Wood standing on Draco's doorstep was a surprise.

"All right?"

Draco's brow launched. "Blaise didn't rope you into kidnapping me, did he?"

"No?"

"Whatever you want, I'm busy."

Wood cracked a quick smile. "Knitting, eh?"

Draco threw the needles over his shoulder, quietly hoping his pride didn't mess up his progress. "Mind your business."

There was a pause. "I have brooms in th' car. Want to run a few drills?"

Draco accepted.

After changing into something proper, they took to the skies in Wood's car, leaving the city behind. Conversation consisted of Draco half-ignoring Wood while he babbled on about the nice weather, commenting more than once that he knew about Draco's hatred of small talk. It hadn't stopped him. They landed in a clearing in the countryside; the car was an odd sight in a place with no roads, but it didn't matter. Wood got brooms out of the boot and they took off.

For as much as Draco didn't hate running, and turned to it during times of stress, flying felt natural.

In the sky, he could leave it all behind.

Somewhat.

After an hour on his own, Wood flew up to Draco and pointed at a large hill, gesturing for him to follow.

Reluctantly, he did, touching down seconds after Wood.

"I fly here all the time. Nice, eh?"

It was, but Draco was done avoiding the massive elephant stomping in the countryside. "Why did you bring me here?"

"To fly."

Draco blinked as if Wood were the most obtuse person in the world, which was usually a spot he reserved for Potter. "Out with it."

Wood sighed. "I brought yah here to apologise."

He frowned. "For what?"

"Yah know… what I said in Gibraltar."

Draco rolled his eyes. "That was in March. Did Granger put you up to this?"

"No, she told me not to bother, but I was an arse and you got caught in the middle of me being angry at Ron. He gets under my skin, always taking shots at me and Hermione. It took this long because I was embarrassed. Yah didn't do anything and got thrown in. So yeah, sorry. We good?"

"Yeah." They shook on it then Draco leaned on his broom. "Why do you hate Weasley so much? Is it more than what he did to Granger?"

"Yeah, I saw the way he entertained flirty witches while they were together, then what he did when she broke it off. Hermione told me about their conversion at Christmas and I'm still pissed about it."

He looked away. "Bit of a waste."

"What do yah mean?"

"Granger's trying to let it go, truly this time, and you should too."

Wood's eyes widened. "Malfoy? Pushing for peace? Never thought I'd see the day."

"Me either." Draco scoffed. "But I doubt Granger needs you to fight her battles, especially after the war's long over."

Draco knitted his first coaster.

Ugly and orange, it was imperfect, but when he offered it to Angelina for her birthday, she knew exactly what it was.

She flipped it over, then back, then turned it as if it were a steering wheel. "It's…"

"Fucking hideous, I know." Draco laughed. "Happy birthday."

"My birthday is in four months, but thanks. Did you make Hermione one?"

He was making one for her now. Slowly. "Erm."

Angelina tilted her head to the side. "Have you even figured out what you're going to do?"

Draco recoiled and so did she, stepping back quickly, fear in her eyes.

He frowned. "You're not funny."

"I like these bloody shoes!" She folded her arms. "Are you going to answer my question?"

"I will whenever I figure it out. It's not simple. I'm engaged."

"But not married."

"You know about pureblood contracts."

"I do." Angelina levelled him with a look. "It's not as complicated as you're making it."

"You're forgetting the situation."

"No, I'm not. The circumstances, admittedly, are bloody messy. You've got to make a lot of decisions that'll affect everything you know. But the emotions, they're simple."

"How bloody Gryffindor of you." Draco sighed. "So eager to light everything on fire."

"Someone has to. You're not and Hermione—" Angelina rubbed her forehead. "I think you know better than most that fighting against everything you know and all the expectations that come with it is the hardest battle."

The next day, Draco walked into a sight he didn't expect.

Greg and Daphne were in Greg's kitchen.

Alone.

Greg's smile was particularly dopey, and he thought Daphne had done something different with her hair. She was fidgeting, and when Greg saw Draco, he turned his back to grab a second fork while she adjusted her shirt.

There were at least thirty sampling plates of all different forms of sweets crowding his island in an organised mess.

Draco's heaven. Daphne's hell.

But she looked ready to sink to the depths.

He'd send her digestives, ginger tea, and best wishes.

Draco crossed the room to stand next to Daphne.

"Aren't you running now?" She gave him a look. "Trying to get fit because your trousers were tight and your abs were disappearing."

Greg smothered his laugh into his fist, turning away once more.

"I'm never telling you anything ever again." Draco sulked his way into the seat next to her. "You're terrible."

"Lies," Daphne preened.

"Besides, moderation is key."

"Do you even know the definition of the word?"

Draco picked up the fork. "Which one are we starting at, and is it a race to the finish? Because your stomach will implode before we make it to the end."

Everything stopped.

Daphne's eyes turned to daggers.

Greg's head tilted to the side like a confused puppy. "What do you mean?"

It was at this point that Draco realised he'd fucked up.

Daphne began to pale.

Greg noticed immediately. "What's wrong, Daph?"

"Erm." Draco rubbed the back of his neck. "This looks great, let's just—"

"No." Greg was frowning harder, looking more distressed. "Tell me."

Draco fixed his mouth to come up with a lie to preserve her secret, but Daphne put down her fork and stood up, eyes on Grag while Draco pulled the closest piece of cake close to him for a nibble. "I've never had a sweet tooth. When I eat bread I feel so stuffed and sick."

Greg looked wounded. "Why did you—"

"Because you made it for me," she said.

Draco finished the first piece and reached for another while looking back and forth between them. The entertainment wasn't quite as good as the cake, but they complimented each other well.

Unsurprisingly, Greg wasn't understanding her.

"What Daphne means—"

"Shut the hell up, Draco," she snapped without looking at him, expression painfully earnest as she started to approach their wide-eyed friend. "I bloody fancy you, Greg. A lot. Have for two years. I'll eat anything you make and tear apart my insides and that's why."

If Draco had bet on how Greg would react to Daphne's confession, he would have lost.

Greg went dreadfully pale and passed out.

Draco started to move, but Daphne was already kneeling next to Greg, wand out, reviving spell on the top of her tongue. Cradling Greg's head, she brushed the fringe from his forehead as he slowly came to, adoration on her face.

"Sorry, Daph."

"Don't apologise. Do you—"

"Yeah."

Draco's smile fell as he watched the scene closer. With a new lens of clarity.

"All this time?" she whispered.

"Since forever."

When Daphne kissed him, Draco took it as his cue to give them space.

He took two plates, went home, and ate both, his chest bursting with the truth.

I want that, his mind whispered on repeat.

But Draco mourned over ice cream, contending with the truth: he was no longer a spoiled child. He couldn't have everything.

Draco opened his front door.

His mother looked around as if she was an appraiser and the property value was falling before her eyes. The neighbourhood was still posh, quiet; the most egregious crimes committed here were a few break-ins. Draco jogged the area each morning, and while there were more Muggles than ever in the area, he liked it.

Mother did not.

An elitist to the core, she frowned when a copper car rolled by. "Good Heavens."

"My Floo is open." But Draco let her in anyway.

"I was in the area." Mother took her coat off and handed it to him as she passed.

Draco's gaze followed her as she looked around his flat, tsking to herself, but he closed the door and deposited her coat on the coathanger. Curiosity grew as he trailed her and peaked when he spotted his mother sitting at his table, helping herself to the tea he'd just made.

She blanched. "This is far too sweet."

"I like it." He shrugged. "Not that I'm not thrilled you're here, Mother, but why are you here?"

"I received a very odd letter today about the separation of your assets from the Malfoy vaults."

Draco froze. "Padma moves fast."

"That she does." His mother tapped her fingernail on the table. "I approved the separation of your assets, by the way, but cautioned her to move quietly and quickly. Your father only looks at the finances once a month, at the start of the month."

April was half a month away.

"I would advise that you open your own vault."

"I'm not sure I have enough for a vault."

"Your salary since you began working, every gift you have received from us, every inheritance, and the allowances—you have enough."

"Is that why you came here today?"

"No, I came here today because I have been the one to manage the Malfoy finances since the war. I like to think my management was the reason we weren't left destitute after all the penalties and reparations."

Draco blinked. "I'm still failing to unders—"

"I'm going to teach you how to manage your money."

That night was one of the occasions Granger didn't ask before coming through.

But it was early. Well before midnight. There was light still in the sky.

Granger emerging from his fireplace was a shock. He stepped back as she scanned the room until her eyes fell on him. "Oh! I got your note?"

"Good."

Awkwardly, she held it up. "You said you needed to tell me something. What is it?"

Draco expected another battle with Oscar, not a personal visit.

Couldn't deny he wasn't at all upset.

That he missed the days of Granger Doubles.

That he'd stopped himself from making stupid excuses just to see her more, but each day Granger stopped by once for something different.

Random.

Theo had always been the one to drop off their monthly room budget for his final review before sending it off to Croaker, but lately Granger started delivering the parchment.

She never lingered, was nothing but professional, but Draco's thoughts wandered off behind her.

"It wasn't an emergency that warranted a visit, but the IWC's visit has been scheduled for May twenty-first. I would suggest you begin your tests with the limitations Theo placed on the Time Turner."

Granger nodded, seemingly lost in thought.

Draco didn't want her to come any closer. He probably smelled like death and looked worse for wear in his sweat-stained shirt, comfortable shorts, and the new trainers he'd bought last week. Fresh from his run after therapy and inexplicably jittery, he grabbed the water he'd been drinking and loitered in the large arched doorway.

"Thank you for letting me know." Her eyes wandered to him, widening slightly. "You run?"

"To burn energy. It's supposed to help with sleep."

"Does it?"

"No."

"I ride my bike three times a week for the same reason. It doesn't work but I've created yet another hobby. You're free to join if you want company."

"Same," Draco offered quickly, then settled down so as to not alarm her. "That is, if you'd like to run."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Draco rubbed the back of his sweaty neck, then carded a hand through his damp hair. Granger was watching. Clearing her throat, she glanced around for the Floo container. "I should—"

"You can stay, if you'd like. Going to make dinner."

Granger was sceptical. "Greg told me you couldn't cook. In fact, Daphne told me about the time she almost had to go to St Mungo's after you made shepherd's pie."

"That was an accident. I can make a few things."

Or two.

"Edible?"

"Half the time."

"Terrible odds, but I'll stay."

Draco refused to let his excitement show. Not that he had to try hard. Cold reality settled in. This was far from a date or anything of the like. "If Wood's at your flat, you can invite him over."

"He's on a team trip to Germany. He thinks playing in facilities at different elevations will help build endurance." She rolled her eyes but her smirk was affectionate. "Either way, it's just me."

"Still sorting things?"

Granger half-shrugged. "Yeah, therapy has been fun. You?"

"I've been encouraged to talk about my emotions."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to test it out on me?"

Draco's heart fell through the floor. "What?"

"I mean, are you happy? Sad?" She leaned closer, a sarcastic smirk on her face. "How do you feel?"

That wasn't a question he could answer. Not even jokingly. But he tried. "A little terrified."

Her expression sobered. "Same."

"We should—"

"Start cooking. Yeah."

"Yeah."

Admittedly, Draco was distracted, stealing glances at Granger, who sat patiently at the table with a book. He nearly lost a finger cutting up the basil, struggled with the garlic, and put too much salt and pepper in the pot.

It was surreal.

Weirdly normal for her to be there. The spaghetti wasn't his best. The noodles were on the wrong side of al dente. The sauce was runny. Draco almost binned the attempt when he sat the plate in front of her, but Granger never hesitated before picking up her fork.

She ate everything without complaint.

Politeness, a tiny voice whispered. He shut it up.

Funny. He'd been starved before, but his stomach was knotted so tight he could hardly muster an appetite. Instead, he watched her while trying to look like he wasn't. It was a battle.

"What's your favourite season?" Granger broke the silence. "Consider it my random conversation starter for the night."

Draco rolled his eyes and twisted noodles around his fork. "Autumn. The weather's cooler, everything slows down. People say spring is a time for new beginnings, but I think autumn is."

"I thought you were going to say winter because it's cold like your heart, or something sarcastic."

"I'm capable of being serious."

"Occasionally." Granger smiled.

"You?"

"I like winter—not for the cliché of holidays, but cold weather brings people together." She caught Draco's eye before looking down. "I think it's natural to yearn for warmth, love, and connection. Don't you?"

He hummed but never answered that question.

He did, however, count how many times he wanted to do something stupidly simple while their conversation ebbed and flowed.

Like touch her hand.

Or her face. Or her lips… with his.

And lost count.

The Goblin blinked.

Draco blinked back.

Long nails tapped on the wood.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Around them, Gringotts was busy, people milling about, cranky goblins approving transactions and taking wizards to their vaults.

"I actually have other things to do," Draco muttered impatiently.

"You wish to open a new vault."

"Yes."

"In your name."

Draco held out the parchment. "I have everything completed."

The goblin accepted the roll, his black eyes moving from the parchment to him as if he were a thief. At the end, he cleared his throat. "It seems everything is in order, Mr Malfoy. Your vault is approved."

Draco,

If you're interested, I'm running a time experiment in my office at midnight.

Hermione

Draco wasn't sure what he expected when he arrived at the meeting spot ten minutes before the designated time, but Granger looking around as if she were memorising everything while Theo held out a consent parchment for his signature wasn't it.

"What's happening?" Draco asked.

Theo frowned. "Didn't Hermione explain?"

"She said she was running time experiments and I came to observe."

"I am," Granger said from her desk. "I'm testing the Time Turner and thought you'd want to come with me."

His brow went up. "Into the past?"

"Actually the future. One year, to be exact." Granger plucked the Time Turner from the glass box. "The office is a controlled environment. You and I will see what it looks like exactly one year from today—that is, if you're interested."

He was.

After signing the consent forms, Theo checked and recorded his vitals while Granger waited.

She explained what travelling through time would feel like, having done it more than once.

And then they stood in the middle of her office, the long chain of the Time Turner draped over both their necks. They were standing close enough to touch, her eyes searched his for what felt like an eternity

"Are you ready?" she asked in a tone only he could hear.

"Yes."

"Two minutes, Hermione. Don't spend any longer there."

"Got it." Softer, to him once more, she said, "We'll countdown from three."

"Okay," Draco muttered.

"Three."

"Two."

One breath.

Then together. "One."

Granger twisted the largest dial of the Time Turner once and it started spinning.

First slow. Then fast.

And—

Draco's vision blurred. He closed his eyes tight, feeling heavy and weightless, everywhere and nowhere all at once. A hand grabbed his to stop him from flailing. Their fingers locked and squeezed until his head stopped pounding.

He opened one eye. Then the other.

Granger stood in front of him, already looking around in awe.

They were in her office. According to the calendar, it was 2010. April. Fifteen x's told him it was the sixteenth of the month.

"It worked." Draco couldn't believe it. "It really worked."

"It did, but we don't have much time. Everything looks normal, as it should."

"Are you going to look through the papers on the desk?"

"No, I don't want to meddle with future possibilities." She looked around. "I do wonder what will happen in the time between then and now, what I'll go through to get to this point. I just hope I'm still the same."

"You won't be."

And neither will he.

Unfortunately.

Granger sighed. "I know. All right, time's up."

Granger looped the chain around both of their necks again and started counting.

But Draco didn't join in.

His gaze snagged on a moving picture in a simple frame.

Hermione wore a smile and an orange sundress while Draco looked relaxed in a white button down and tan trousers.

On a loop, she looked at the camera while he stared at her, eyes filled with everything he couldn't say. Then he looked forward and she turned toward him, expression softening.

Granger touched his arm and whispered something before they both smiled at the camera.

He only saw it cycle twice before he succumbed to the weightless feeling of time travel.

Questions filled his mind to capacity, but one repeated over and over again, even after they returned to the right year, even after he went through all the testing, even after Granger cleared him to go.

Did she see it, too?

Chapter Text

The photo was nothing. Right?

Maybe it was on Granger's desk because it didn't fit on her overstuffed mantel at home.

Wait. That didn't make sense.

Or perhaps Draco's future included death from the exhaustion or starvation that came with living and wanting so much he couldn't have, and the picture of them together was a tribute.

Gods, he was hopeless.

Draco stared at the ceiling for the rest of the night.

In the morning, a moment of desperation, fueled by sleeplessness, made him abandon his post-lunch lie about on Daphne's sofa with a, "Fuck it."

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He hopped up and dusted invisible lint off his trousers. "Off to make terrible mistakes."

Daphne didn't look up from her work. "I believe in you!"

With as much bravado as he could muster, Draco went to Granger's office.

He had two goals in mind.

One: a conversation.

Two: confirmation.

Draco knocked on her door. He'd been in a haze the night before and hadn't bothered to pay attention to one maddening thing.

Was a picture of Wood on her desk now?

"Come in."

Granger was working. Glasses on, inkwell open, parchment half covered in her neat penmanship. Her desk was oddly clean, given the stack of files and the empty cup of coffee she'd picked up from him that morning.

But what he didn't see?

A picture frame.

Anywhere.

Draco had to breathe through a nauseous flush of panic.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Are you okay?" Granger released her quill and it hovered beside her.

His excuse would be moronic, Draco already knew, but it was all he had and he prayed she didn't see through him. "Is-is this how you keep your office?"

Granger's brow rose. "Er, yes. Why?"

Shite, he was going to steal her Time Turner and go back to right before he decided to come here and tackle his past self, damn the consequences. "I-uh, I remember the mantel in your flat, all your pictures. Why don't you bring them here and put them on your desk?"

"Hadn't thought about it." She shrugged. "Do you decorate?"

The question took Draco by surprise. "No, but I don't have pictures hanging in my home either. Just pretentious art, most of which I can't take down because they've been magically sealed to the walls."

Granger squinted. "I have more and more questions about your family."

"Don't bother. We're all batty."

"I see."

"Pretty certain it was done because I had a few ancestors with gambling addictions."

"The horror."

Draco was starting to hate the way her jokes made him smile.

"I don't have any of my pictures sealed to the mantel." She cracked a smile that matched his, but it quickly faded. "I've never considered decorating my office. I think doing that would invite anyone who comes in here into my life. If I did change my mind, I don't think I have the perfect picture to bring in."

This response almost drove him both out her door and out of his mind, but Draco lingered, shoving sweating hands into his pockets. "I—well, I asked because I saw a frame on your desk when we went back in time."

"Ah." She gestured for him to come in and shut the door, a request he followed blindly with a lump in his throat. "I've been running time trials for a few years now. I try not to pay attention to every detail because the future is fluid. It's always changing. I try not to fixate on what I see because one alteration, one single choice, can change everything. The future detail you've seen, do you want to change it?"

No.

A knock on the door saved him from answering. A few interns needed Granger's help, and she excused herself, brushing past him on her way out.

Draco spent the rest of the day more confused than ever.

"Repeat after me: I deserve more."

Draco squinted at Helena. "Are you sure about that?"

"Aren't you?" She folded her arms. "Why come to therapy at all if you don't think you deserve the healing you're working towards?"

"For starters, you're less insufferable this time."

"Likewise, Mr Malfoy, but I'm certain it's because you're open and willing to listen and speak."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I've done more talking in the last year than I have in half my life."

At least with Granger.

Helena looked interested. "You don't want to talk about the person you're speaking to?"

Funny.

Draco was certain if he let himself talk about Granger in therapy, he'd never shut up.

"No, but I will say this person joined me on a run yesterday."

It was the best he could offer.

"And how did that make you feel?"

Granger wore oversized clothes and sweated worse than him, her hair looked electric even in a poofy bun. After the run, they had smoothies at an organic shop that was too green for his taste, but Draco drank every bit while watching her do everything from ramble to quietly look off in the distance. Not once did he let himself acknowledge how beautiful she looked.

It didn't matter.

Even at her worst, most unkempt, his definition of the word moulded to fit her.

Draco had showered, too unsettled by weird and unexplainable emotions to even touch himself. "The more I see them, the more I don't want them to leave. Irrational as hell, but—"

"That's how you feel."

After holding his breath, Draco exhaled and finally relented, "I also feel like I'm close to needing another crisis appointment."

"And I'll be here when you need it." Helena picked up her knitting and started back. "Now. Back to what I said, you deserve what?"

Draco sulked with folded arms. "More."

The next Wednesday walk with Granger took a disastrous turn.

It started when she was mid-story about her day.

Draco was so enrapt he didn't notice the biker until it was nearly too late.

Seconds before they came whizzing past Granger, he pulled her out the way. Their bodies collided, Draco shouted angrily after the biker, but they were long gone.

"All right?" Granger asked.

"You're the one who nearly got ran over, are you—"

The question died when Draco realised one thing.

Her hand was in his.

"I'm okay."

They started on the path again, Granger careful with her words yet flustered, skipping details to the point where she nervously laughed and gave up.

"You don't have to hold my hand if you don't want to," she muttered, oddly flushed.

"What if another biker nearly runs into you?" Draco knew he sounded jittery as hell, practically rambling every excuse to not let go. "Potter will be useless once more and Bones will orchestrate my demise. It won't be hard."

"She is quite crafty. Inventive, too." Granger's voice was shaky. "Ask her how many ways can a person die by stepping on a rock."

"My paranoia will never survive." Draco laughed nervously. "I think I was wrong about the Hufflepuffs."

"They're not all sunshine and sharing food."

"What a waste of a stereotype."

"Indeed." Granger relaxed her fingers, instinctively making him do the same. He didn't let go, but it changed how they were holding hands. No longer clasping, but locking their fingers. "My chances of being hit by a bike are lower now, yeah?"

"Better safe than sorry."

They made it to the end of their walk, their homes in opposite directions.

"I suppose you'll have to walk me home now." Granger rolled her eyes with a small smile. "Protection and all that rot."

"Dunno, your streak with keeping Potter on this side of the living means you'll do better Flooing back from mine."

She fake gasped. "The accidental bodyguard turned protector."

"Call it a promotion."

"I'll allow it."

It was cloudy, rain was coming, but the warmth of her hand left him stupidly content. He guided her in the direction of his flat. Granger followed, her hand never leaving his.

When the time came, Draco was still hesitant to let her go.

Astoria was staring at him again.

Draco frowned. "What?"

"You started to say something about Granger and stopped." She looked as confused as he felt. "I'm waiting for you to finish your sentence."

"Oh, nothing. I just—Granger was talking about music last night and the song now reminded me of a counter argument."

"Music? Argument? Granger?" Astoria was the personification of rising suspicion. "Do tell."

Draco was preparing his distraction defence. First by calling over the waiter. They were on a required date that neither wanted to attend. Or at least he didn't. Astoria never complained about a free meal and entertainment.

Instead of divulging, he asked, "How's Lovegood? Your parents still think she's your flatmate?"

"Doing good and yes they're still delusional." Astoria leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Stop avoiding the question. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing."

"You're evasive and trying to distract me from the circumstances of your friendship with Granger."

"I am not." Draco waved his hand. "I'm not saying anything because there's nothing of substance to discuss."

"I can think of a few things. Like Granger spending her nights with you, talking about books and music and work."

"It's not like that."

Her smile turned wicked. "Oh, pray tell, how is it?"

"Granger's an insomniac. So am I. We talk through it."

"And argue about music," Astoria deadpanned. When he started to argue, she raised her hand. "Look, I can't talk because I'm half the reason we're not married, but hindsight has given me perspective. I can see problems long before they arrive."

"There's no problem."

"And I'm not in love with a woman."

He gasped in fake shock. "I didn't know Lovegood was a bloke."

She looked ready to throw her drink. "Draco, seriously, if you—"

"There's nothing to discuss. Keep adding to your escape fund. Keep being happy."

"Are you not?" Astoria's expression faded to discomfort. "Happy, that is."

"I am."

"You're lonely. You have been for a while. I'm your friend, and I keep my mouth shut for the sake of it, but I do worry about you. Our contract limits us both in ways I've been able to manipulate with someone I care about and you—"

Draco closes his eyes. "I'd rather not sit here and discuss my limits."

"I can—"

"Don't do anything."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm fighting in my own way."

Astoria's eyes widened. "Really? Are your parents picking someone else?"

"No, if I marry, it'll be because I want to."

"And everything else?"

"You're not the only one making an escape plan."

"What brought this on?"

Draco never answered, at least not out loud. A confession like that was too raw even for someone who had known him as long as Astoria.

Helena was right.

I deserve more.

Draco peeked into the doorway leading into the kitchen.

Greg was alone.

He walked through the door more confidently. "I wasn't sure if I was going to walk in on something I didn't want to see."

"Daph left this morning." Greg was blushing. "I made her gluten-free croissants. Took three batches before I got the mixture right."

"How romantic," Draco drawled. "Do you have the real stuff for me?"

"I thought you were limiting yourself."

"I've been running everyday so I've decided to balance treating myself with kilometres. Life is about balance, right?"

Greg blinked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Only in a year a picture of him and Granger would be on her desk.

This was fine.

Perfectly fine.

He hadn't been overthinking this for the last three weeks.

Not at all.

"I don't think your emotional eating has changed even though you've lost a stone since you started running. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I only want one of your chocolate croissants, heavy on the gluten."

"Are you ever going to tell me what's going on?"

"Only when I'm on the brink of crisis."

"So… soon?"

"Probably."

The next article was published faster than the first two.

Granger was set to turn up with her copy of Mystic Academic in a bit.

"Draco?"

"In here!" he called from the kitchen.

She'd edited the opinion piece on why the number three was as powerful as number seven. Their discussions had been so extensive Draco wanted to add her as a co-writer, but she declined. He was in the middle of preparing another one of his barely tolerable meals when she breezed into his kitchen, sat her article down, washed her hands in the sink and slid next to him while drying her hands with a towel.

"What's on the menu?"

"Baked salmon and roasted potatoes and vegetables. I'm almost finished." The vegetables were nearly finished and the salmon was already done. He'd pulled out a second plate—something that surprised Granger when she noticed.

"You don't—"

"You're here, aren't you?" Draco glanced up, only to find her attention on him. "I know you haven't eaten."

"I haven't. Susan and Alicia are coming over with takeaway."

"Water your plants."

"Yes, sir." Granger rolled her eyes.

Draco's brow launched into the stratosphere.

She cleared her throat. "I, uh, wanted to congratulate you on another successful article."

He shook the strange feeling off. "Speaking of, I have news."

"Oh?"

"Mystic Academic is offering me a regular feature."

Granger's eyes widened. "That's incredible!"

"The salary isn't bad."

Not the best, but half of what he made at the Ministry.

She tilted her head. "Since when do you care about money?"

Draco opened his mouth to tell her about the real possibility that he'd join the real work force, and having a second source of income wasn't such a bad thing, but he couldn't tell her.

Padma was still filing paperwork to separate each asset from his parents. His mother was helping him learn to budget; something she'd had to learn when the Ministry first froze their vaults after the war. Each morning, he got an owl from Gringotts with his new balance. He wouldn't be destitute if he considered each Galleon he spent.

Brocklehurst would maim him if he destroyed her hard work by fucking up the confidentiality clause.

"I don't, but I'm not doing this for free."

Granger shrugged. "Fair."

"Are you staying?"

"If you'll let me."

"I'm also certain the salmon is overcooked."

"That's fine."

He turned everything off. "The chances of edibleness are lower than usual."

"As if my life choices haven't proven I'm quite lucky."

Draco glanced at her. "Don't let Bones glare me into oblivion because you're late."

"I'll protect you."

"As opposed to slapping me."

Granger's mouth fell open and she burst out laughing. "You deserved it!"

"I did." Draco ran a hand over his hair. "Bit of a bigoted prat, wasn't I?"

"Massive." She bumped his shoulder. "Still a prat, not a bigot. Sometimes you unconsciously squint at Muggles when they're doing something strange, but you don't hate me."

"My ancestors are so disappointed."

"Do you care?"

"No."

Potter picked a pub in northwest London.

There wasn't a game on that Draco knew of, but he'd gotten the folded note through an interdepartmental memo and agreed. He had nothing better to do.

If only he could use the Time Turner to go back in time and tell his past self to tell Potter to fuck off.

Wood was there, too. Not unusual, except Draco knew through Granger that there were two-a-day practices ahead of the season beginning in June. He hardly ever came around. Just last week, Granger arranged a team meal for them that Draco delivered, then he spent an hour flying drills with Wood until it was time to start the second practice.

Today, Wood looked wrecked. His hair gave Potter's competition for the messiest and he smelled like he'd doused himself with gin.

"Who died?" Draco leaned back, eyes on Potter, who was wincing hard. He wasn't known for tact.

"His relationship with Hermione." Potter patted Wood's back. "Sort of."

The misfortunes of others were things Draco often celebrated, but this gave him pause.

Granger had dumped Wood?

A mix of relief and joy flooded him. "Define sort of."

"It means," Wood tossed back another shot and grimaced, his words as bitter as his drink. "She broke it off, but after we talked, she amended it to make it a break. I had to beg her for that."

Draco didn't know what to say, so he decided to smother his joy with bourbon. Top shelf. He ordered another for Wood.

"Did she—uh, did she say why?" he asked.

"She said we don't want the same things, that I don't listen to her, and that we don't work. I told her that we didn't work because she didn't try; that she never allowed herself to give us a real go. She let her breakup with Ron affect everything. It still does!"

Draco eyed the barmaid that was taking their time with the shot glasses. Hurry up.

"Err…" Potter started awkwardly fixing his glasses. "I can't speak for Hermione, but I know when she wants something she won't stop until she gets it."

"She never gave me a chance."

"You had—as of two days ago—five years."

"I love her. And yeah, I didn't always, but I do now. I got too comfortable living separately. If I were closer, if I did what she liked, if I was interested in things she was interested in, if I spent more time with her, then—I know what I'll do." Wood got off the bench, swaying on his feet. "I'll go b—"

"Bad idea, mate." Potter grabbed his arm. "Hermione said she wanted a break. Give it to her. Focus on yourself."

"I—"

"Focus on the start of the season like she said and give her space. If you keep pushing, you'll lose her for good. You know how she is."

Wood sobered instantly.

Draco tossed back his first shot and immediately called for another.

Could he order the entire bottle?

"How do I get her back?"

"You won't get her back by giving her more of what she says she doesn't want," Potter replied.

Wood looked at Draco for his thoughts. "You're mates with her, Malfoy, one of her closest. What do you think?"

Draco's silent, unacknowledged excitement turned into anxiety. He didn't know how to answer.

Honesty wasn't always the best policy. It wasn't the time nor was it his place.

"Give her the time she asked for, I suppose."

Granger didn't talk about her relationship woes.

Or lack thereof.

They spoke through the Floo for the next four nights, and she didn't bring it up once.

Not for lack of trying on Draco's part, but a few subtle attempts that ended in failure made him reckless enough to hit the subject square on the head on night five.

"So, you're on a break from Wood?"

Not his smoothest transition, but Granger was hard to pin down, eager to discuss anything else. "Least favourite Bronte book?"

Draco understood everything she didn't say.

The subject was off limits.

Draco let it go, sighing dramatically. "Will you permit me to choose them all?"

"You're joking, right?"

"Obviously, no."

Granger instantly launched into a rant.

On the following Friday, Draco headed home to prepare for a long weekend.

Dinner with the Greengrass family, then an early morning Portkey to France to visit the winery with his parents. There wasn't much time and he hadn't begun packing.

The weather in his destination was on his mind when he pulled open his office door.

Granger was mid-knock.

"Uh," was all she said in greeting.

She never came to his office like this—at least not empty-handed with her purse over her shoulder, sunglasses atop her head. She was wearing—

Draco slammed the door in her face.

The dress.

Granger was wearing it now.

She pushed the door open slowly, concern sweeping her features. "What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I—" Draco cleared his throat and shook his head. "It's nothing."

"I don't believe you, but I'm not prying." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I came here because there's a concert in Essex today. I bought two tickets because Oliver insisted that he wanted to go, despite not caring for classical music and that it was two weeks before the season started, but now I—I have a spare."

"Oh?" When she didn't look away, Draco asked, "Are you inviting me?"

"I am."

"Presumptuous of you to think I'm free."

Granger winced. "Oh, that's right, I'll—"

"If this is your ploy to get me to consider the superiority of Muggle classical music—"

She smiled. "It's not, but might I remind you, instruments that play themselves can't mimic the passion someone has, the way you can tell they're loving what they're doing. It's better than magic."

Draco stared at her for a moment—curls out instead of pinned up, Muggle clothes instead of robes, casual instead of strict. There was always something about Granger that glowed, but it intensified while she spoke on a topic she was passionate about.

His father was going to interrogate him all weekend about his cancelled dinner plans with the Greengrass family, but it would be worth it. "I'll cancel my plans."

"You don't have to—"

Drago shrugged. "Nitpicking infallible Muggles sounds like a better night."

Granger rolled her eyes again, but laughed. "Of course."

He took his time writing a note and sending it through the Floo to both Daphne and Astoria, offering his apologies to both for not being the buffer for what was always an awkward meal. Croaker had told him more than once that keeping spare clothes in his desk in the event of a goddamn deluge in the department or some natural disaster wasn't worth it, and he was right, until now. He changed into the dark trousers and white button down and thought maybe—just maybe—this wasn't the dress. He certainly wasn't wearing the clothes in the photo.

Granger waited outside and perked up when he emerged from his office.

She frowned at his attire. "You'll need something to help fit in better."

Before Draco could protest, her wand was out and the colour of his trousers morphed to tan.

Oh fuck.

"That's casual." Granger looked him up and down before checking her watch. "We need to go, the train ride is an hour and the show starts in two and a half hours."

Magic made the journey to the rail station quick. On the train, they sat next to each other. Granger pulled out her glasses and a book from her bag. "Have you read this one?"

"No."

"It's not my favourite. I'll admit I skipped to the middle to see how it was going."

The silence stretched just shy of too long.

There was a strange look in her eye that quickly vanished when he cleared his throat. "I didn't know you committed the cardinal sin of bookworms."

"What?"

"Skipping to the middle, spoiling yourself."

Granger smirked. "Sometimes I read the last page before I read the first."

"Rebel."

"I'm full of surprises."

"I'm realising this."

The train horn blew.

It was time to leave the station.

When they arrived, it was closing in on sunset.

The park was full of people milling about, unintelligible murmurs of conversations prickled Draco's attention but didn't capture it. Some were on blankets, others were in chairs arranged in a half circle around the stage. People crowded an undesignated dance floor, swaying to the low music coming from the stage's speakers.

Draco didn't know their final destination and followed Granger until she found a spot. Not many had figured out that this was an ideal vantage point, but by the time the show began more would.

She pulled out a blanket from her bag and laid it out before sitting down, carefully tucking her dress. Looking up, she arched her brow, a silent invitation for him to join her.

The blanket was large enough for two, but only just.

Draco knew he was being ridiculous, the initial panic of sitting so close nearly made him sway on his feet, but he chided himself before joining her.

This wasn't so bad.

He could do this.

It was then he realised his mistake.

Here, Draco was able to see the way Granger looked with the sunset behind her.

Completely at ease and relaxed enough to slip off her sandals, taking pictures with her camera in peace while they waited.

"It's nice out," she murmured, then turned her camera on him and snapped a picture.

He hummed in agreement, but not before scowling dramatically.

She took another and laughed at his put out expression.

Draco smiled and Granger sobered slightly, but her eyes were still bright with amusement.

A stranger interrupted the moment by asking Granger to take a picture of them with their camera and she agreed with a smile.

"Do you want me to take a picture of you two?" they asked.

Granger froze then looked at Draco. "Err… do you?"

He was too busy trying to settle his turning stomach, but knowing the future of this moment settled something in him. "Yes."

She blinked and clumsily offered her camera to the stranger.

They posed side-by-side and he tried not to look, to change that bit of the future, but he did so knowing when he looked at the camera she would look at him.

"Smile for once in your life," Granger muttered.

He tensed at the request. "I smile all the time with you."

They looked at each other.

With you. With you. With you.

Draco was no longer breathing.

He'd fucked up. Misspoke. Shite.

Granger's expression softened to a pleased confusion before muttering, "Me too."

They turned to the camera.

Draco didn't remember the rest. Only that pictures were taken, the stranger left, and they ended up back on the blanket.

"Thanks for coming today," she said quickly. "I'm glad I'm not alone."

Tongue-tied, he was at the risk of blurting out embarrassing nonsense.

Like how he'd come any time she called, whenever, wherever.

Like how he liked her hair like this—half up, half down. Frizzed from the breeze and soft in the slowly setting sun.

Like how he could smell the light scent of her perfume—a subtle floral he couldn't place.

A fucking mess, that was him.

He knew he had to pull it together immediately.

Right the hell now.

Draco was relieved when the stage lit up, an indication that the show would begin soon.

When the orchestra began to play, the crowd settled into their seats. He had an appreciation for the classics but this wasn't one he recognised.

He was peeking at Granger's program when she leaned over and whispered, "Muzio Clementi: Symphony Number two in D-Major."

"I knew that."

"Of course you did." Granger smirked, not believing him for a second. "It has four movements, but the third is my favourite."

"Why?" Draco asked, very cognisant of how close their heads were.

"It's whimsical, I think. Joyful. Elegant and graceful." Her attention lifted from the program to him. "Go on then. Your criticism."

He was ready to give it. Ready to talk about the initial start and the first violinist who was a little too into it with dramatic bow movements, but his eyes fell on her lips.

It was far too long before he met her eyes, but they were locked on him.

Their shoulders were brushing. Granger wasn't leaning on him, but it was close, far too close for it to be casual.

But Draco looked away, making light of the tense moment. Or he tried to. "I'll be sure to give my detailed report at the end."

"See that you do." Her retort sounded a bit raspy, but her attention returned to the orchestra. She seemed to enjoy the show, clapping with the rest of the audience at the conclusion of the song.

He stared at the stage.

It was better than admitting he was too distracted by her to even listen.

The clapping started again when the host welcomed them to an evening of music.

After their intro ended, a hush fell over the crowd as they began to play.

Draco knew this one. Bach's Air. Mother said he was a Squib.

Granger murmured, "Beautiful," to herself.

It was, and so was she.

People started dragging their partners to the grass to dance as soon as the song began.

"Dance with me," was the last thing Draco expected Granger to say.

Open hand, waiting for him, he knew this was a dangerous move, but he made it anyway.

They'd danced before, her practices weren't quite a distant memory, but it wasn't like this.

His hand around her waist. The other in hers. Granger's on his shoulder.

Eyes locked on each other.

This was both familiar and strange, easy and difficult, all at once.

Their bodies were close, then closer.

Not quite swaying, not quite standing still.

Granger leaned even closer, resting her ear on his chest, relaxing into him.

It felt like she was testing the waters.

Draco closed his eyes and rolled with the tidal wave that was Granger. His mind was in perfect chaos, swirling and drowning, trying to catalogue every fucking detail about each passing second. Resting his chin on the crown of her head, all Draco could do was hope and pray his heart wasn't racing too loud.

Her inhale dragged every emotion to the surface.

Her exhale made it impossible for him to not analyse his feelings.

Surprise. Anger. Fear. Contentment.

But there was this feeling, the same one that had been weighing on him with increasing frequency.

When Granger held a little tighter, a burst of clarity flooded his senses.

This was it. An unplanned impossibility that wasn't as elusive as he'd once thought.

Both the best and worst thing to ever happen to him.

This was love.

Chapter Text

"Another crisis appointment?"

Draco's long stare found his target. Helena. "You mock me while I am in distress."

"You are always in distress. Keep knitting and breathing."

Amid his panic, Draco realised he could knit without looking. Obviously, his patterns weren't pristine after his four rounds of breathing exercises while working on a lopsided tea cosy, but he was doing his best.

And in love.

Hence the crisis.

When Draco stumbled through her door, life was ending in fire and brimstone.

But after counting to ten yet again, only the tectonic plates were shifting.

An improvement.

"On a scale of one to ten, are you feeling anxious now?" Helena asked.

Draco's stomach clenched. "It was declining until you asked. Now it's fifteen."

"Dividing that by two due to your histrionic tendencies. Seven and a half."

He couldn't argue. "True."

Briefly, Helena looked proud. "Do you understand why I knit during sessions?"

Draco squinted, deeply suspicious. "Is this another thing you're going to tell me that I don't give a bloody hell about?"

"Of course." She offered the same smile his aunt gave him when he was being particularly petulant. "It allows me to listen without real distraction. And to observe. Did you know that the yarn's texture and colour impact your mood? You were frustrated at first, when you hardly knew what you were doing, but now you're doing well enough for the rhythmic motions to distract you from anxiety symptoms."

He made a small noise. "Your knitting is more… aggressive."

"I knit to the pace of your jitters."

What terrifying information. "You never slow down."

"Neither have you. Until…right now." She glanced at the window while Draco looked down. Surely enough he was still, his leg was no longer bouncing. "Are you ready to talk about today's crisis?"

He closed his eyes. It was the best way to confess hard truths. "I've had a life-changing revelation that's brought me to the edge of reason."

"Do you want to explain?"

"Not yet."

Not when he could hardly make it a minute without remembering the way he danced with Granger. How the colours were brighter. The world was sharper. Every mundane senseless action left Draco feeling like he'd been electrocuted.

Like Granger's elbow brushing against him when she took pictures.

Or how she looked at him every so often to see if he was enjoying himself.

Or how even in his state of panic, something clicked into place inside him and everything was so right it felt wrong.

Or when Granger fell asleep on his shoulder on the train ride home.

Draco strongly considered missing their stop, riding to the end of the Earth, just to stay there.

With her.

He hadn't eaten.

Hadn't slept.

He was a pacing, panting mess of warring emotions for hours before he gave up on processing this alone and rushed to Helena's office the minute she opened.

"Any questions for me?"

Granger crossed his mind yet again.

She was never far.

Draco forced the nausea down and asked, "What do you think about love?"

He could tell his question surprised Helena.

Her eyes widened, but then she settled; a soft smile growing. "I think love is too simple of a word to explain an emotion so ineffable."

Draco quietly agreed.

"Its ability to still grow in the middle of so much destruction and death in the world is awe-inspiring."

His chest hurt. "Terrifying, really."

"It's a part of life. Fear is understandable, but we've been working hard on you facing each of them head-on."

"How can I face something that's never been a plan for me?" Draco asked, uncomfortably vulnerable.

"Plans change, and so do people. You aren't the same Draco Malfoy who turned up at my door wanting to better himself. Despite your efforts to stifle yourself from changing too rapidly, you are growing. You have been for quite some time now. And just like you aren't static or a fixed concept, love isn't either. It's constantly evolving. Make it part of your plan and go with its flow. Figure out how it works for you, but do it with the understanding that it's not going to be easy. Love is constant work, but it's worth it."

Draco stared at his knitting to process her words without getting sick. "I'll be okay, right?"

"That's up to you."

"It's a bit of a mess, all of it," he admitted with a shaky, hysterical laugh. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Then keep doing it because it's working."

"I doubt that."

"Are you happy?"

"With myself?" Draco looked at the ceiling, then at her. "I'm working on it."

"Are you happy by yourself?"

"I can be, but I'd rather…never mind."

Helena scribbled a note and asked, "How is my plant?"

The question startled Draco, but he peered at the once unfortunate foliage. It wasn't dead, that was for starters. There were a few new leaves and one that was beginning to yellow. It didn't look wholly pathetic. Growth with setbacks. "Not entirely better but getting there."

Helena smiled. "And so are you."

Aunt Andromeda met him for ice cream in the park while Teddy slept against Draco's shoulder after a full two hours of running around, babbling about the genus and species of everything he saw.

If he said homo sapien one more time…

Draco was actively trying to move his head to his grandmother's arm, but it didn't work.

"He likes you," she smiled gently.

"Doubtful when Potter exists."

Aunt Andromeda smiled. "That is a different bond, but yours isn't any less important to him. How are you? You look different."

Draco's mind suddenly blanked on excuses and sarcasm. All he could do was shrug. "Still me. Some days that's not such a bad thing, other days it's the worst."

This confession earns him an earnest look. "Are you sleeping?"

He rolled his eyes. "You've been speaking with my mother."

"I have. She worries about you constantly." She patted Draco's arm. "You know she wants what's best for you."

"I've been realising this."

Even still, opening his mouth and confessing exactly what he felt and wanted and needed was difficult.

Draco glanced at his watch with hope that their time was up.

"Late for something?" she asked.

"No, just work. Tonight, the IWC will be visiting."

She whistled low. "Sounds important."

"It is to—" He stopped before speaking Granger's name. "Never mind."

"Your eyes are lying."

Draco was fine with that. "I'm fine."

Aunt Andromeda's expression turned sad. "When you're ready, you'll tell me the story, right?"

"I will."

It was nearly midnight when Draco arrived.

Croaker was already there, talking and smiling with the IWC Time Specialists.

One was a tall wizard from Ghana and the other was a witch from Sweden. Draco wasn't the conversational sort with strangers—or anyone, for that matter. When he and Croaker were leading them from the entrance to the Time Room, the Time Specialists were behind him, too busy looking around the Department of Mysteries to hold an actual conversation.

For that, he was grateful.

Granger was waiting outside the Time Room, as planned.

Theo, too. With their runes to keep them from being corporeal in the future.

Croaker went on and on about their experimentation, reciting it from the reports they'd turned in for months now. Draco hung back, catching Granger's eye. She gave him a little nod.

They had been preparing for this for months.

Draco left it to them, excusing himself.

He returned home and fell asleep waiting.

For how long, he didn't know, but inexplicably opened his eyes to an alarming sight.

Granger was covering him with a blanket.

This instantly woke him up.

"Granger?" he murmured hoarsely.

She looked sheepish. "I didn't mean to wake you. You looked cold. I was just—"

"No." Draco scrubbed a hand over his face. "No, it's fine. What time is it?"

"Four." Granger's hair was everywhere and she was yawning into her fist, clearly exhausted. "I came through to tell you it went well, and we were right, they want us to make a better version that'll allow someone to stay in the past or future longer."

"Let me guess, you declined, Croaker tried to make you see reason, Theo explained all the dangers of this, and they threatened to suspend your program."

"Got it in one, but once Theo finished laying out the legalities, everyone backed off. The past is the past and should remain there."

An odd spark of hope lit inside him. "And the future?"

She stared at him. "We should be allowed to make our own."

"Do you—" Draco cleared his throat. "Do you want to stay?"

He didn't know why he asked and was already kicking himself for being an absolute idiot.

Granger's eyes widened. "Er—"

"You look exhausted, and I have a spare room." Draco blurted out, then internally screamed.

"Home is just through the Floo." She thumbed over her shoulder. "I'll pace over there."

"Or here."

No. No. No. Stop. Pause. Run.

"Here?"

Wait. Inhale. Exhale. Don't panic.

"Yeah."

Wanting Granger to stay was the strangest urge to seize his good sense, but now that Draco had lost his damn mind, he felt compelled to follow through.

"I struggle more when I sleep away from home."

But Granger stayed anyway.

Draco showed her the spare room, muttering about Elves that recently dusted and changed the sheets while they stood in the hall. They stared at one another long enough for Granger to sway on her feet, eyes dazed. Draco reached past her to turn the knob, opening the door.

After muttered appreciation, she went inside and shut the door.

"Good night," her voice was close enough for him to imagine her just on the other side.

"Good night." Draco rested a hand on the wood, then practically ran to his room.

A shower was in dire order, the coldest one, but didn't trust himself. After changing into joggers and a shirt, he lectured his cock into submission before settling into bed.

Draco doubted he'd get a wink of sleep with Granger in his flat.

But he did.

Deeply.

When Draco stumbled out of his room after nine, he assumed Granger was gone, but found a surprise waiting when he peered into the room.

There she was, buried under the covers, her hair was the only thing he could see.

Despite her protests, she was fast asleep.

Draco went for a run, took a cold shower and ate a few bites of fruit. All he could muster.

He went to the market and returned with lunch.

He knitted until the opening of the bedroom door made him all but throw his needles and pick up the book he'd already quit.

Granger stumbled out, looking more confused than he'd ever seen her.

Draco tried not to stare at her wild hair and wrinkled clothes, but failed miserably. She looked lovely like this. "All right?"

"What time is it?"

Draco glanced at his watch. "Nearly six."

If possible, she looked more puzzled. "I slept?"

"All day." He put the book on the coffee table. "Are you hungry?"

"Starved."

"Pay attention."

To her credit, Padma hadn't beaten him over the head with the budgeting book she'd brought.

It was close.

Only the cleared throat from Blaise who was in Draco's kitchen making a meal made her fist the pen threateningly. He hadn't expected the visit—and deeply suspected the element of surprise was what Blaise preferred, given that Draco didn't know he could cook.

Draco would be worried for his life, but the caramelised onion pasta Blaise was making out of ingredients he'd found in the refrigerator smelled amazing.

"Are you going to make garlic bread?"

This earned him a dirty look, which would have been more threatening if Blaise wasn't wearing an apron over a suit and tie combo that would be worthless if so much as a drop of tomato touched it.

"I thought this was supposed to be my birthday gift."

Two days early, but Draco was approaching twenty-nine with more dread than usual.

He'd needed the distraction.

"Padma showing you how to pay your monthly bills, manage your finances, and showing you ways to trim your budget is our gift to you. I'm only cooking because I know we're going to be here a while because you've never had to consider the true value of a Galleon." Blaise stopped. "Do you have a bottle of Beaujolais to pair with the food?"

Draco was reviewing his comments and highlighting the personal jabs. "I know how much a Galleon is worth. Also, my mother has several bottles in the wine cellar."

"Sure you do." Blaise flashed a condescending smile.

Padma patted Draco's shoulder in sympathy while looking at him as if he were a bloody idiot.

"Is she home?"

"Always." He scowled at her and she smiled sharply, dangerously. "Easy there, Nundu."

This earned him a rude hand gesture.

Blaise turned off the stove. "What elf does she send over to tidy your flat?"

"Yipsy."

Padma frowned. "Dreadful name."

But Draco called for the elf, who returned with two bottles of wine.

Over dinner, which was so delicious it made Draco jealous, Padma asked, "Do you own any elves?"

"My mother gave me one for Christmas, but said it could stay with the rest of the Manor elves for one Galleon a year."

Blaise took a sip of wine. "Odd gift."

"Useful, actually." Padma pursed her lips, impressed. "How much does she know?"

"Nothing more than I'm trying to get out of it."

She looked at her book. "We'll do balancing accounts first, taxes next week, and we'll go from there until Mandy's finished. I've reviewed your finances, you have enough to need a financial planner but not enough to hire one full time."

Draco stared.

Padma blinked. "Oh, fuck off."

He pouted. "If I say please."

"I'll punch you in the face."

Draco smiled.

Padma relented. "Happy birthday, you arse. I hate you."

Blaise laughed until he wheezed, then laughed more.

Granger came through later that night, minutes after they'd gotten off the mobile. Wearing an oversized shirt and leggings and socks that didn't match, her hair was pulled into a wild high bun and she wore glasses to read the book in her hand.

It was after three.

Draco was up, but reclined on the sofa, fighting his racing mind into submission.

He was losing.

Badly.

"I was going to read after we got off the phone, but I'm restless. Are you?"

"Yes."

Granger made herself home on the other end of the sofa, stretching her sock-covered feet between the cushion and his legs. Draco ruffled the blanket to cover them both.

"You know about your birthday party this year, right?"

"Unfortunately." He rolled his eyes. "I have a day or so more days of peace. What are you reading?"

"The Time Machine."

One of his suggestions. Draco perked up. "You don't hate it."

"I don't. I find it ironic that I've never read this."

"I do, too." Draco laughed. "Where are you at now?"

Granger opened to the bookmark and started reading, "It's against reason, said Filby."

"What reason, said the Time Traveler." Draco quoted without missing a beat.

One second passed.

Another.

Granger took a shaky breath and kept reading.

Draco didn't know how many pages she read before he nodded off, her legs a warm presence against his.

So focused on knitting his first scarf, Draco jolted at the sound of a clearing throat.

He looked up sharply.

Who the hell was disturbing him now—oh.

He was in Helena's office. On her sofa. Twenty-two minutes into his appointment. His birthday was tomorrow and he was stress-knitting his life away. Draco stopped and straightened his back from where he'd been hunched over his latest hyperfixation project that had no recipient because it wasn't good enough.

"Is there anything you wish to talk about today's crisis? Anything?" Helena eyed Draco with the patience afforded to the ill.

"I'm doing splendid now."

"Could have fooled me."

He lifted his chin and closed his eyes. "I thought after so many months you would level less criticism and more accolades."

"I'll only give you what you deserve."

Draco sulked, placing his needles on the sofa and folding his arms, glaring at Helena. "You'll stop at nothing until I have a rant about everything wrong with me."

"I'll accept more honesty and less sarcasm, but if you can't bring yourself to—"

"Hermione!" Draco blurted out. "Hermione Granger."

Helena straightened. "Do you feel better speaking her name out loud?"

His face burned so bright he thought he would collapse from heat stroke. "Worse, actually."

"You have never uttered her name in any session, but I wonder if she is what's been weighing on you all this time."

Draco half shrugged, vision blurring and stomach rolling. "She's…"

"Is she the reason you've made changes in your life?"

Draco shook his head, still distressed. "No. I am. She was with someone and they're on a break, but I—I'm not free. I wish I were."

"What would you do if you were?"

"I wouldn't have to stop myself from being honest."

"And tell her what?"

"What I want. How I feel. Maybe if I could, I wouldn't be so terrified or sick at the thought of it." Draco leaned back, eyes on the ceiling, hot under his collar. "Being awake is fucking awful. I hate this. I wish I was still sleeping, or maybe I don't. I'd probably still see her."

"What is she to you?"

"The issue. The one with my heart. The one you told me I needed to tackle."

"Is she inside or out?"

Draco sighed mournfully. "She's everywhere."

Angelina elbowed Draco in the side to get him to stop staring.

"Oof!" He doubled over from the pain and righted himself, giving her a sour look that only made her smile brighter. He glared at Granger who stood on the other side of him, smothering her amusement.

Rude.

He'd only just left Helena's office after fighting off another breakdown. All because of her.

Or how he felt.

Angelina held up her fist threateningly, gritting her teeth "Say something, tosspot."

Not for the first time, Draco didn't know what to say.

He blinked.

Ah, his current problem.

A hallucination

No, not a hallucination.

Katie Bell was in the flesh. Arm-in-arm with Bones.

"Hi," she said.

"I'm sorry." He meant it.

He'd be sorry forever, and it wouldn't be enough.

"I know." Katie shifted her weight. "Say something else."

"Like what?"

"Let's keep it simple. Hello."

Draco stared at her long enough for Granger to loop her arm through his. All he could hear was her mutter, "You can do this," against his arm.

Those four words, her belief, startled him out of his swirling thoughts. "Hello."

Another step on the road to redemption.

Draco wouldn't let himself make it to absolution, but he could live with this.

"Water your plants."

Granger, who was about to hang up, took a sharp breath. "What?"

Draco swapped the mobile from one ear to the other. "I know you haven't. Do it before they die."

"Now?"

"Yeah, call it an early birthday gift."

"With you as my witness?"

"Preferably with them as my witness, too. After all, I'm their saviour now that it's nearly summer."

Granger chuckled, but he heard her turn on the water and open the door; shuffling around, muttering a few choice words whenever she spilled a bit of water on the ground.

Not long later, she said, "There. Done. Any further requests?"

Draco knew better than to open himself to any of that. "See if they need any water tomorrow?"

"Is that a question?"

He smiled to himself. "I didn't expect you to be so compliant."

"Me neither." She paused. "If we're making demands, I want you to knit me something."

Little did she know, Draco had started several horrendous patterns in her name. They weren't good enough. Nothing was. "Like what?"

"Anything."

He looked around at all the yarn he'd bought in the last few months, colour combinations that had no business sitting next to one another. "It'll be ghastly."

Granger laughed. "Gods I hope so."

"One more thing." Draco bit his bottom lip before pressing forward. "Today, with Katie Bell, when I was stuck…"

"Figured you needed me to be a quick buffer. You've done it for me. It was my turn."

"Thank you."

"Anytime."

This birthday felt different.

It came with an inexplicable tension he couldn't shake off.

Draco started the day with a lie.

Lovegood wished him a happy birthday and assumed she was the first to do such a thing.

"You are."

This was the lie.

Granger's watch had gone off at midnight.

She'd fallen asleep on the sofa reading and Draco hadn't moved from his chair, knitting the stress and stupid thoughts away. Granger had woken, embarrassed that she'd fallen asleep on his sofa yet another night. In her sleepy haze, she muttered happy birthday before kissing his cheek. As if it were normal. Like she'd done it thousands of times. Then she yawned and went home to sleep.

Draco hadn't slept a wink.

He was still wide awake by the time Lovegood and Astoria invaded his flat with breakfast and a single cupcake; his mind racing at the speed of light, replaying the seconds Granger was within reach, while Lovegood performed her yearly search for Nargles in his house.

Astoria stared at him as if trying to find out his deepest secrets.

Eating had never been so unappealing.

"You're not grouchy this year," Astoria commented when they were alone. "What's going on with you?"

"Everything is fine."

It was not.

Far from it.

"I don't believe you." She forked a bit of his cupcake and ignored his outraged expression. "Yes, yes I know eating a cupcake with a fork is illegal, but you look stressed and I have an idea why."

He swallowed his tongue. "Uh, er—"

"You know about your birthday party and you're trying to find an escape plan."

Draco laughed too loud, it sounded frantic to his own ears. "Oh yes, that."

Instead of a surprise, Theo had taken a more collaborative effort and with Greg and his mother.

The three planned something unspeakably worse.

They rented a boat for a dinner cruise on the Thames, trapping him with everyone he knew on water for hours.

The guest list? At least fifty people and their plus ones.

It was going to be a fucking miserable experience, one for the ages.

That was, until he remembered that a hundred people on a boat with drinks and food and music was enough space to get lost.

This was his plan for survival.

Now if Draco could focus on that and not the feel of Granger's lips on his cheek.

"Nargles, Nargles everywhere," Lovegood bemoaned. "This extermination is going to take time."

This was how Draco ended up kicked out of his flat with Astoria.

If he didn't know anything about Lovegood's whims or the birthday party on a boat, he'd think this was part of their nefarious plan to surprise him.

Or, in Astoria's case, get him alone to talk about the growing sand in the hourglass of their situation.

Soon they'd be drowning in it.

One walk down Diagon Alley to ensure they were on the front pages of the gossip rags, they visited a few shops, Draco bought more yarn and spent longer than he cared to admit looking at a set of expensive parchment and quills with Granger in mind, but walked away. Barely.

Wandering wasn't the same as it was with Granger.

Astoria's interests were narrowed, and she wasn't inspired to expand. While Draco peeked in little shops once they left Diagon Alley, she'd wait outside or on a nearby bench until he was finished exploring. The first mutual interest shop they happened upon was a bakery.

Draco bought one croissant because it felt like he was committing bakery adultery.

They were sitting at a table in the shop with tea and croissants when Astoria finally asked her question, "Any updates?"

"That I can talk about? No. But unofficially, things are moving."

"You know if you need anything, even Galleons, I can—"

"Keep them, just in case my plans fall through."

Astoria sat back in her chair, eyes on him. "I wish I knew what brought this on."

"Call it emotional growth."

Her brow rose. "We both know you wouldn't change unless you were forced to. Or because there was something you wanted enough to make yourself uncomfortable."

A year ago, she would have been right, but he'd been through those moments when breathing was a struggle and personal growth was painful.

He was still there.

"I wish you trusted me," Astoria sighed.

"I do."

Right then, Draco didn't trust himself.

Draco boarded the boat, dressed in robes and feeling like he had a modicum of control of his life.

It slipped before they set sail for the dinner cruise.

What happened?

Granger wore teal.

Simple at that.

Not his favourite colour, but he couldn't stop staring. The dress wasn't particularly special. It was ordinary. Plain but flattering. Neither short nor particularly low cut. It was pleated, the sleeves were lace, and hung just above her knees. But while her legs alone were going to star in updated fantasies, along with her black heels, Draco's laser focus was on the brooch she wore.

The one he'd given her for Christmas.

Granger noticed him and smiled, her hair at odds with humidity.

This was it.

He didn't want to look anywhere except at her, but that proved to be an impossible task.

Before Draco could speak, his parents called for him.

"Later?" she looked hopeful.

"Yeah." And he forced himself not to look back.

To his utmost shock, the party was far less exhausting than he expected. Dinner was three courses, the wine was more than decent, and there was a live string quartet playing somewhat recognisable selections. No one pestered him about dancing with Astoria except her mother, and when she hinted for them to dance again, his mother intervened, "Go mingle."

Draco wasn't the sort, but he spoke to everyone who'd come.

And later, when his aunt drew his father into conversation to give him a moment's peace, Draco agreed with Astoria.

She was the best of them.

Opening presents was a different experience as an adult. Most gave Gringotts deposit slips so he could purchase his own gifts. Padma wagged her finger; a warning to not to even think about spending a single Galleon. His aunt Andromeda gave him a portkey, should he ever need it. But it was Granger's gift that gave him pause.

It also made his father scoff.

She'd gifted him a Muggle CD player and a disc she'd made of the songs they'd heard together at the concert.

When they'd danced.

After cutting the cake, everyone scattered to enjoy everything a dinner cruise had to offer. Draco found himself alone at the bow of the boat with the gift bag Granger's gift was in, muffled music playing on speakers as sunset fell over the Thames.

A throat cleared.

He wasn't alone.

Granger joined him.

They stood side by side, watching day transition into night.

Draco refused to focus on his feelings. It was useless. Even without Wood here, he couldn't act. Couldn't tell her his plan. Wouldn't ruin what they had. Granger in any capacity was far better than the opposite.

"I should have given you Galleons like everyone else." Granger broke the silence.

"No," he looked at her. "I like this."

Flushed in the face of the setting sun and breeze, Granger grew quiet.

Then quieter.

Last year, she rescued him. He'd taken her to the open space where he hid and she showed him the freedom found in space.

This year, Draco wanted to do something different.

"If I—" he steeled himself once more when Granger tore her eyes from the skies. "If I ask you to come with me, will you ask questions?"

She grinned. "Millions."

Draco smiled but didn't ask.

He offered his hand.

With a curious quirk of her lips, Granger accepted.

The landing wasn't as smooth as Draco would have liked.

They were in the forest.

"Before we go any further, we're near the Manor. I know that place for you is—"

She squeezed his hand. "I'm fine. Just take me where you want to go."

Draco took the long way around. The Manor was at their back when they reached the destination.

Granger looked around in confusion. "Is this…is this a dollhouse?"

"No, it's where my father keeps his chickens." Draco opened the door and they stepped into the entrance of the nicest animal home he'd ever seen. Elves loitered about, cleaning while the peacocks slept in perches high off the floor. At least two were still awake, walking around, their diamond collars sparkling.

"Oh, okay." She muttered. "Not literal chickens."

"His emotional support animals." Draco clarified.

She kept looking around, startling slightly as she took in a new sight. "This is the most bizarre thing I've seen in a long time."

"My father's passion."

Granger turned. "Why did you bring me here?"

Draco shrugged. "Last year I showed you my hiding spot, so I thought this year I'd show you a place that reminds me of why I've made changes in my life. Changes I can't talk about, but they're happening."

They weren't floating in space, but they were at the edge of the supermassive black hole.

He wanted to reach out, to speak, and let the truth carry them away.

I'm changing my future, ruining the life I had.

Not for you. For me.

Draco watched her expression shift to something deeper than curiosity. "Talk to me, Draco."

I can't.

I love you.

"I…I'm not hiding."

But he couldn't get any closer or gravity would pull him in.

Draco wished she understood what he was silently screaming, but it was an impossible hope.

Granger hung on each second, stepping closer. Not enough to touch but only just. "I'm not hiding in books anymore. I'm facing things I've been avoiding."

"So am I." Draco looked around. "I usually avoid this place."

"Why?" Granger waved a hand. "Isn't this all going to be yours one day?"

Draco couldn't tell her the truth.

Instead, he told her the only version of it he could muster.

"This isn't the future I want."

Chapter Text

London's heat wave began during the last week of June, but Draco's started the day after his birthday and still hadn't let up.

Neither the heat outside nor the pressure from the IWC slowed Granger down.

Every spare moment since his birthday, they spent together. Draco's days were focused on keeping the department running, working hard, and impressing the powers that be, but as soon as he heard the knock on his door, Granger waiting on the other side, all of his responsibilities vanished. Most of his afternoons and weekends were a haze named Granger.

At the start of each week, she asked Draco to name things he'd never tried. By the weekend, they were trying them out.

Getting out of London and riding the train to their destination and back, no purpose in mind. Losing themselves in the city and stumbling on corners they'd never seen. Eating candy floss until their stomachs ached. Touring the lost tube tunnels. Going to concerts and picking cherries to gorge on under the stars. Brewing with professional potions makers and being asked to come back again. Watching the rare sighting of selkies returning to the sea under the full moon. Riding in the passenger seat while Granger drove on a course, leaving hoarse from screaming and determined never to get into a car with her again.

It was an experience.

They all were.

Draco didn't need an explanation for what he already knew. This was life without pretending. And even in moments when nothing was happening, he understood that he was living.

Doing what he wanted. Exploring what he liked. What he hated. What he was ambivalent about.

Today they were riding bikes on a circuit in Bath with the July sun hidden behind clouds; the humid air hung oppressively over the city.

Their rented bikes and helmets weren't to Draco's taste. He was tired, hungry, and sweating through cooling charms while Granger pedalled as easily as a dancer dances. They were going slow, at his speed, because for as much as he ran, he wasn't conditioned to bike twenty kilometres.

Draco was shite at this.

Granger took pity on him when she spotted something and steered the bike towards it. A cluster of flowers got her off the bike. She reached into her beaded bag for her camera and he clutched the handlebars, watching her take nature shots.

"My mum loves these flowers."

When Granger got the perfect shot, she turned and grinned at him.

This wasn't her first smile of the day, but it felt different.

Draco knew he was going to burn, despite the lack of sun, but Granger was waving her camera in excitement about the perfect shot and all he could think about had nothing to do with how fluffy her hair had gotten in the humidity or how tan she was from their weeks outdoors. It wasn't even about how lovely she looked.

Right then, he was happy for no reason other than she was.

Trouble came sooner than expected.

Four days after bike riding with Granger, it turned up bearing eight flavours of macarons, wearing the faces of people Draco trusted.

Greg and Blaise.

In retrospect, the latter's invitation to his flat to taste test macarons should have been a clue, but the pistachio ones were so divine Draco had no idea he was inhaling weapons of complacency until his stool was lifted off the floor and turned around.

His friends stood side by side. A united front.

Blaise cracked his knuckles. Greg pointed his wand.

Draco finished chewing his macaron. "If these are my last moments, just know… I'm going to haunt you both forever and I shall be very annoying. And ghostly. Oh, and burn my therapy journals."

Greg tilted his head like the bird. "What?"

"Don't let him confuse you and change the topic." Blaise folded his arm. "We talked about this, Greg."

"We did, we did." He took a resolved breath. "I'm back on track."

Draco stared hard. "What the bloody fuck is going on?"

The answer made him wish Greg would use the damn wand.

"Granger," they chorused.

It would be a good time for the ground to open up, but alas, no such luck. Better if he played dumb. "What about her?"

"No time for cutting corners or mincing words," Blaise snapped. "You fancy her."

Draco choked on air. "No, I don't. She's Wood's—"

"Ex."

Greg tapped Blaise on the shoulder. "They're actually on a break."

His expression sobered slightly. "Oh, so basically she wanted out and he whinged long enough to make it a break?"

Accurate, but Draco wouldn't speak, hoping they'd fall down the rabbit hole of semantics.

Blaise, unfortunately, was sharper than that. "All roads lead back to you fancying Granger."

To Draco's credit, he fumbled through excuses. "I'm engaged and the contract keeps Granger off limits."

Unfortunately, it was a terrible one.

If anything, Goyle looked more horrified. "That's not a denial."

"Y-yes it is." This was a rapidly sinking ship and Draco was not surviving.

Where the hell was the panic? It was always there when it came to Granger. Draco needed it to hyperventilate, pass out, and learn from this by not letting himself be alone with either of them.

But no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn't form.

It probably would if Granger popped out the fireplace.

His vision blurred.

There it was.

Blaise was downright gleeful. "Off limits physically, yes, but emotionally?"

Draco looked away.

"That's it! I'm laying down the honour code!"

"We don't have a fucking honour code!"

This prompted Blaise to move. He went into his kitchen and after hunting around, returned with a ladle. "This is our honour code, I'm laying it down."

"That's not how that—"

For a second, he looked ready to beat Draco's confession out with it, but Blaise was always the level-headed one. Mostly. He pointed the ladle at Draco and said, "Convince me. Insult her."

Sounded like a threat.

"What?"

"Insult Granger."

"Why?"

"Because then we'll know," Greg said.

Draco ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He'd hurled plenty of insults at Granger when they were at Hogwarts, this wasn't hard. "Granger is stubborn and aggravating, a real swot with her nosiness and reading habits, her good will and love of stupid creatures and…" He was scrambling for more. "She's got terrible hair and she has ink stains on her fingers and she's short and abusive towards her plants and—"

"Just be honest." Greg stepped forward like he was viewing a body at a funeral, patting his shoulder in sympathy. "What is it that my counsellor always says? This is a safe space."

"Partially." Blaise threw up both hands when Greg glared. "I have a wager about this with Padma and the benefits of winning are far more integral to my sexual health than keeping this a secret."

"Patil knows?" Draco drops his head back. "I'm fucked."

Something slapped against the floor. He straightened only to find his friends, both open-mouth staring, the ladle on the tile.

It took a second to realise why.

It was a confession.

Blaise's grin turned sinister.

Greg snapped out of it with a gasp. "I didn't know I was right!"

Draco closed his eyes and resolved himself to more emotional distress. "I'll only talk about this over the most expensive bottle you have."

Blaise snapped his fingers and a bottle with three glasses appeared. "Dalmore. Sixty-two. I know you like whisky. Drink up, bitch."

Draco inhaled three fingers of whiskey.

It was bloody perfect.

He was losing feeling in his tongue, but this was oddly the most normal he'd been in weeks.

Months?

Greg stuck to pumpkin juice while Blaise kept up with him, grinning like a cheshire cat.

It was unnerving.

"How did it happen?" Goyle asked.

"To be honest, I have no idea." Draco shrugged, loosening his tie. "We got paired on an assignment, and we just kept talking after. Neither of us can sleep, but lately she's been nodding off whenever she comes over. She's…"

Oh, they were staring in varying degrees of shock.

Draco cleared his throat. "How long have you two suspected?"

Greg answered, "Your birthday."

Draco's eyes widened, but his horror at being perceived wasn't over.

Blaise finished his whiskey. "Last August. At the conservation event. The same day you asked for my help. I assumed you were doing this all for her."

"It's mainly for me."

"Shocking." He took out a piece of parchment from his pocket and crumpled it. A whispered spell lit it on fire and in seconds it was ash that he Vanished.

Draco blinked.

"That was my lecture about changing for yourself and not someone else. I made notes. Padma thought your laziness had evolved but I was right. It was for the better."

He sighed. "I'd be much better off if I stayed ambivalent. If I didn't wake up and start caring about my future. I'm supposed to get married, have an heir, and repair my family's public image. It's the least I can do after everything, but—"

"I've always wondered." Blaise poured them another finger. "Astoria hardly keeps the fact that she's seeing Lovegood a secret. You could have easily taken up with virtually anyone, but—"

"I didn't want to, nor did I care or have urges to light our marriage contract on fire until…" Both of his friends watched him, rapt. Draco groaned. "I'd rather choke on my own vomit than talk about my feelings with you lot."

Greg smiled. "You don't have to talk about it, I'm just glad you're arse over tits for someone."

"And Hermione?" Blaise asked. "What do you think?"

"We're friends." Draco shrugged.

His friend's brows rose as one.

"Is that what she said?" Greg wondered.

"I have no reason to believe otherwise."

"Are you absolutely certain?" Blaise tapped his finger on the tabletop. "You spend an awful amount of time with her."

"Yes." Draco frowned. "Wait. How do you know how much time we spend together?"

"Context clues. Casual observation. Your lack of subtlety. Eavesdropping. The list goes on and on, but you obviously haven't noticed the most important thing."

"Which is?"

"How she looks at you."

Draco looked to Greg for help, but found none, only more smiling. "She looks at me like she looks at anyone else, I imagine."

Blaise stared at him for a long moment. "Fucking hell. You're not joking."

"I'm not." But Draco was also growing frustrated, not knowing why he felt like he was missing something.

"Of course you're not. How would you know the difference? You don't notice shit, not even your own misery."

"Oi! Cheap shot. I'm in therapy!"

"Keep going. You need it. I'm going to mind my business and remind you that I have a house in Madeira when you need to flee to the sea like a Victorian socialite whose melancholy can only be cured by a change of air."

"I think I'm handling this quite well. No holidays or smelling salts needed."

Blaise laughed so hard he started wheezing.

He never stopped.

Croaker was practically steaming.

When Draco finally made his presence known, he was pacing the length of his office, about to tear out his already limited hair.

Draco was no fool. He chose his words carefully. "All right?"

The question caused a quick, hysterical laugh to escape Croaker. "I'd forgotten how frustrating Keeper Granger is. Brilliant, but nerve-wrecking."

"Quite." His feelings for her would never change this truth. "What happened?"

"I know you're close with her, Undersecretary Malfoy, and if I could, I'd pay you to make her comply with the IWC's request before they cut funding."

Ah, that.

Since their failed visit, Draco had been fielding an increasing number of letters from the IWC ranging from complimentary to professionally terse.

Croaker was placating yet firm with his responses, but between the growing budget for the artefact room and the Keeper of the ever-locked room putting in their holiday request last minute, the department head was ready to combust.

Draco came with solutions, not problems.

First, he had answers for dilemmas they could handle. "As it pertains to what you called me in here for, I can take the ever-locked room while the Keeper is on Sabbatical. There are no ongoing projects and no duties that would take away from my current ones."

"That's fine."

"Additionally, about the IWC, I've looked at the numbers, Sir, and should they cut funding, it will only cost five percent of our budget. We can recuperate that easily with others interested in funding our numerous research projects."

Croaker glanced at Draco. "It's not about the money. Their funding includes turning a blind eye to some of our more controversial projects. Like the literal rift in space and time also known as The Veil."

"It's in their best interest to ignore it. Just as it's in their best interest to keep funding us."

"I know this, as do they, which is why they're requesting Keeper Granger's appearance at headquarters in August."

Draco's heart stopped. "Oh."

August was in three weeks.

"She'll spend six weeks in closed door meetings while they investigate her claims regarding banning the non-experimental use of Time Turner."

He settled his jitters. "Does Keeper Granger know?"

"She does." Croaker pinched the bridge of his nose. "And true to her nature, she is looking forward to it."

Draco wasn't surprised either.

He thought as much after leaving Croaker's office and turning up in Granger's.

Theo was there, trying to convince her to let him go instead.

"I can't be swayed," she replied calmly. "With the right optics and benefits, you would."

"She isn't wrong."

They turned at Draco's comment—the corners of Granger's mouth quirked, while Theo seemed confused.

"I thought you were doing reports. It's the excuse you used to avoid going to lunch with me."

Draco had done them last week. "Finished early."

This was met with suspicion.

"Now that you're here, can you convince Hermione to let me go instead?"

"And take away the opportunity for her to terrorise them not only on this issue but every grievance she has with the Wizarding World?" Then Draco looked at Granger, who was smothering her chuckle in her fist. "It won't be me."

She fake gasped. "Six weeks around the most powerful wizards in the world. Sounds like a good time. Productive, even."

Draco was happy for her opportunity, but weirdly, he already missed her.

It was strange.

Theo relented after a long staring match. "You're going to need all the help you can get. I'll grab everything we know about time vortexes and instability. The Calamity. Everything. Don't leave until they ban non-experimental use of Time Turners."

"You know I won't." Granger's grin turned downright scary. "I hope they're prepared."

The last time Draco had seen Wood, he was a husk of heartbreak, so it was jarring to see him turn up to pub night so happy.

Terrifying really.

The reason for his joy wasn't only being back in London after the Falcons' secured their spot in the playoffs early enough for them to get a week off, or that he was once again selected to coach Britain's National Quidditch team. No, it was about Granger, of all things.

Wood was back to win her over. And he wanted thoughts on his plan. Potter opened his mouth but changed his mind, deciding to fill it with lager instead.

Greg, who was there because of Draco's invite after Daphne met up with some of her friends that night, stared openly at him.

Draco gave him nothing.

Theo, a rare attendee, was the only one to speak at the end of Wood's excited ramblings. "You want to throw Hermione an early surprise birthday before she leaves for Istanbul…"

"Exactly." Wood bought them all another round. "We'll celebrate it as the end of our break."

Draco sipped his drink, ignoring the looks Greg was giving him.

Theo tilted his head. "Does Hermione know this? Compatibility doesn't change after a break."

"She agreed to pausing things until after the season, and with her leaving for Istanbul in the last week, right when the season ends, she'll be gone for her birthday," Wood said. "I think this is a good gesture to show her my commitment. I'll invite everyone, my parents, it'll be a good time."

Further proof of his delusion. Granger was going to hate it.

However, when Theo started to argue, Potter was the one who ended the conversation. "We'll be there."

His unspoken 'for the show' was loud.

"Wood's throwing you a party in August."

Draco waited exactly five hours after leaving the pub to tell Granger. It was after two in the morning and Granger had brought all of her materials to his flat to sort through.

Confusion crossed her face first, then clarity. She started to tense. "Ah, his response to me telling him I was leaving for six weeks and I wasn't going to talk about our relationship or lack thereof."

Draco rolled his eyes.

Now it made sense.

The party was to create a space that would force them together before she left. Then he could talk to her and convince her to have a second go at it.

"Should I—"

"Don't do a thing." She tapped her fingers on the table. "I already knew before you told me."

"I'd ask how but I don't ask stupid questions."

"Harry's incapable of lying to me when I directly ask." Granger chuckled. "Oh, and yes you do."

"Okay, I'll ask a question that isn't stupid. Why not tell him no?"

"What harm can it do? I know what his game is, and I won't play it. I'll just mentally prepare myself for a night with too many people. Don't get me wrong, I'll have fun. Thirty is a milestone I should celebrate, and knowing Oliver, everyone will be there."

"You don't have to defend yourself to me."

"I know." She glanced at him with a different scrutiny. "Sometimes I wonder if there's truth serum in the air around you. I can't help but be honest, even when I don't have to be or want to be."

Funny, he'd wondered the same about her.

Draco was surprised by Astoria's fire call.

Granger was on her way over with the subject of their argument. Now that she was leaving for Istanbul, where the IWC's annual conference was being held, spending each day together until her departure was unspoken.

He'd been torn between cleaning spells to make sure everything was perfect and changing his outfit for the fourth time. Black and navy were his colours, but Granger's comments when he stepped out of routine made him more inclined to give other options consideration.

Tonight, he was in grey trousers and a casual white shirt, feeling moronic.

"Did someone die?" he had to ask.

Astoria and Lovegood were in Borneo hunting for Acromantulas and weren't expected to return until September. That she had the ability to call was shocking and potentially serious.

She sighed loudly. "Can I not call on my friend?"

"What?" He recoiled, eyes squinting and features scrunched, until he remembered Astoria couldn't see him. "You hardly do."

"I'm checking on you now. Just doing my part to make sure you're not lonely."

"There's no need. I'm not."

A long pause passed before she asked, "If you were, would you tell me?"

"No."

"At least you're honest."

Draco said nothing, but cracked a smile. "Keep focused on your goal. I'll stay on mine."

Another pause. "You know, I could just lay on the sword. Daph and I have been fighting about you, about this arrangement, and how unfair it is to you. I told her you would stop the moment it was no longer in your best interest."

A year ago, Astoria would have been correct.

Now he wasn't sure.

There was a knock on his door. "Hold on."

Draco went to answer his front door. Granger stood there with a box of pizza and a smile.

"For our debate about superior toppings," she said by way of explanation.

From inside his flat, he heard Astoria calling his name from the fireplace.

Granger's smile faded. "Oh, if you have company…"

"No, it's Astoria on the Floo. She's in Borneo. Come in."

She stared at Draco for a long moment before accepting the invitation and lingering in the kitchen while he ended the Fire Call. She only seemed to relax when he returned.

"The only answer to topping choices is obviously more cheese and pepperoni."

Granger fake gasped. "What about pineapple?"

In seconds, his entire odd conversation with Astoria was a distant memory. As was Granger's fleeting expression of what looked like jealousy.

A figment of his imagination.

When the pizza was finished and the argument ended in laughter and no winner, Granger started working on a puzzle she'd brought over before. Draco contemplated knitting but changed his mind and sat on the opposite side of the coffee table, watching her separate the corner pieces out.

"Astoria thinks I'm lonely," Draco blurted out. He had no idea why or where the words came from. "Shite. Forget I—"

"Are you?" Granger looked up from her search, brow raised.

"Yes."

Loneliness was his constant companion, a friend, a comforting presence. But he never felt it around her.

Brocklehurst called for a meeting the next day.

Draco already knew it was going to be terrible for one reason: she'd made tea.

As someone who only held a professional tolerance for him, this was highly alarming. What made it worse was Brocklehurst waiting to speak until he took his first sip.

"I have bad news and I have shite news. Which would you like first?"

The tea he'd drank was now hardened cement in his stomach, weighing him down. Draco was sinking fast.

"Shite news." Best get the worst of it out.

"I've spent months analysing every word of your betrothal contract. I think I could quote it. For you this is a benefit, but also a detriment. The major clauses of your contract involve very antiquated language around purity and adultery that don't benefit you. The punishments for breaking the contract are steep, but there's a small clause that states if you don't marry within a certain amount of time, you'll forfeit anyway."

"What's the deadline?"

"End of this year. The final year of the first decade of the twenty-first century."

Draco froze, horrified. "I read the contract—"

"You did, the true deadline was hidden in three separate parts of the contract." Brocklehurst grabbed the parchment and opened it up for him, pointing each spot out. "For example, here is where it says final year. Then if you look down here, it states the first complete decade." Then she took him nearly to the end of the document. "And here is where it says twenty-first century."

"Did my parents know?"

"Likely no. This is a standard contract for the Malfoy family. Your mother volunteered hers and I compared the two documents. The language is exactly the same, except that hers has the end of the twentieth century. I think the contract has its own timer based on when it was activated. I've seen it before. Extremely complicated magic."

He was still stuck on one part. "My mother?"

"Yes, your mother. She has been somewhat helpful."

This floored Draco. He was still reeling, but managed to keep his wits about him. "I have four months to marry or… what?"

"You lose everything and I can't stop it."

"What do you mean?"

Brocklehurst took her seat. "No matter what choice you make: disinheritance, contract breaking, or remarriage, your father, as a blood Malfoy, can approve, challenge or oppose your decision. I'd have to fight with his solicitor about your legal dissolution from the contract or your family, something I'm fully prepared to do. I can shape the terms of your disinheritance, should you take that route and fight for assets that may be intended or willed to you."

So, he had four months.

The decision was clear.

"How do we break me away? I'd prefer a clean break with everything in my name."

"I can file straight away. It'll stop the clock of the contract, but depending on the fight your father puts up, it can take years to fully sort through this split. I have two betrothal contracts still in dissolution negotiations from when I inherited them from my predecessor eight years ago."

Panic rose to the surface as Draco saw his life speeding by.

A blur of litigation and lost time.

Years.

Despite his father's visible apathy, Draco knew he would fight this to the bitter end.

Not out of love, but spite and logic.

Draco was the only son. The last Malfoy on his father's line. There were other Malfoy lines, but none as pure as theirs. Feelings wouldn't matter to his father, only legacy.

"Are you certain you want to do this?" Brocklehurst asked, more concerned than serious. "If you do, the contract is still in play until it's fully dissolved. Be prepared to wait. Don't break any of the terms because you will lose. I may be able to negotiate down the price, but not much, and I've seen Padma's financial reports, you can't pay anything on your own. Maintaining confidentiality is key. Don't tell anyone what you're planning to do or what I'm actively working on. I don't care if they ask, keep your mouth shut and let me do my job."

"Okay. Do it."

Brocklehurst pulled out a fresh parchment and began to write.

Draco's declaration of freedom was filed an hour later.

Chapter Text

When Draco returned home from work, he had a guest lounging on his sofa with a deceptive amount of patience.

Lucius Malfoy.

He was dressed impeccably in standard black with his long blonde hair pulled back to a low ponytail that looked too tight. Ever-present, the cane that doubled for his wand was propped against a bookshelf, out of reach.

Not one of those visits then.

Draco placed his wand on the mantle in full view.

"Hello, Draco."

"Father," he mimicked his father's tone. "I don't recall inviting you over for tea."

"I own this home."

"Actually, no. I do." Draco gave him a look. "But you know that, don't you?"

His father scowled.

One point for Draco.

The conversation had plenty of directions to travel in. Too many. Draco expected lectures and yelling, pointed words aimed to guilt him into compliance, or perhaps downright blackmailing. He was wondering which angle his father was coming from, but stopped when noticing just how calm and painfully collected he was.

A façade.

"I received the filing from a…Miss Brocklehurst."

"Solicitor Brocklehurst, yes." Draco replied blandly. "No need to insult her by not using the proper honorifics. Save it for your true target: me. Would you care for tea?"

"Yes." His father slowly rose to his feet.

Draco made a cup of tea with as much care for his father's preferences as the man had for his.

Too little sugar. No milk. Dreadfully under-steeped. Tragic.

Glorified water.

At the first sip, Draco was all too satisfied watching his father nearly choke and spit it out. The look he received could murder, and would, but with a defiance that bordered on diabolical, his father swallowed the tea.

Then proceeded to drink the rest, unbothered. After finishing, he said, "I see you have chosen disinheritance. To no longer be my son."

Draco looked right at him. "I have. Legally."

"Are you aware of what this means?"

"I am."

"This is going to hurt your mother."

Draco held his tongue on the validity of that statement and went toward the bigger target. "But is it going to hurt you?"

"What do you think?"

The question plunged the room into a silence that smoothed the rugged edges of Draco's anxiety until he felt nothing. Even with papers filed, his father still had nothing to say. No warm words. No understanding. No declaration of love or fear of losing him. Draco wasn't surprised, he was just sad.

Yet resolved.

He'd seen his father's emotions at the end of war when they'd found Draco shell-shocked from Crabbe's death. But that was before his father awoke from the shock and realised how he'd been broken under Voldemort's foot. Still, the sentiment existed under the foundations of his stubbornness.

Depression from isolation. Avoidance from accountability. The changes in his identity from powerful to powerless. No matter how his father dressed and looked, no matter how he acted or bedazzled his emotional support chickens, he was no longer the man he'd once been.

Leaving was more than Draco setting his own course, it was his best chance not to end up living a life with nothing to show for it except regret.

"Are we finished here?"

The corner of his father's mouth twitched. A weak spot. That he couldn't control his temper meant one thing.

He was furious.

"You cannot be serious, Draco. You are ending everything we have worked hard to build and then rebuild. You are ending generations. Hundreds—"

"You told me to do what I needed to do, and you would do the same."

His father sobered instantly. "You are right. You held up your end, I will hold up mine."

Draco: two, Lucius: zero.

And thus began a war.

The rejection filing arrived the following morning.

The list of demands for dissolution approval was longer than Draco's betrothal contract.

Brocklehurst turned up at his flat to collect the papers, skimming its contents before smiling.

"Now the fun begins."

The next few weeks were painfully slow.

As Granger's mood declined as her trip to Istanbul approached, Draco's restlessness grew large and wide in the silence that was filled with words he couldn't speak. Brocklehurst was sending copies of filings she'd done on his behalf and the Malfoy's solicitors' responses, each one more aggressive than the previous; neither backing down.

With a bit of worry, Helena watched him aggressively knit on yet another unworthy birthday gift during his rants and dramatics. The Greengrasses met with him several times to beg him not to dissolve the contract. They'd ordered Astoria to return, and when she did, she was gobsmacked by his bold move.

But they still had their roles to play.

Draco tried his best not to obsess over the implosion of his life, buried himself so deep in work and time with Granger, that when his aunt asked why his mother had turned up on her doorstep with bags yesterday, he hardly reacted and never responded.

Not that he could.

Two days before Granger's early birthday party, while working in his living room at three in the morning, Draco cracked just a bit and asked, "Sickle for your thoughts, Granger?"

They were especially loud tonight.

She put down her quill and sighed, lifting her head and rolling her shoulder. "I was sleeping for hours, but now I'm not. I'll admit I'm frustrated. Aren't you tired of not being able to sleep normally?"

"What is normal?" Draco asked, shrugging, "There's no such thing. It's just a standard everyone tries so hard to conform to. What are you trying to conform to, Granger?"

She didn't answer at first, but then sighed. "Expectations, it seems, will not go away."

"Wood?"

"Is persistent now that he's back. I've told him twice that we're not getting back together and now I regret not keeping it a clean break."

"Your insomnia is centred around him."

"More or less, it seems. It's stress related. His mum came to London and took me out to lunch, promising that we'd talk about anything except him. Which didn't happen." Granger rolled her eyes in frustration. "I know perfectly well that Oliver is a good man, I… he came into my life at a point when I needed normality and peace. I tried to convince myself that he was what I'd need forever, but he's not. I'm reminded that not everyone is meant to stay. Some are temporary. Some are fleeting. And others…"

"Which is Wood?" Draco asked quietly.

"None of them. I think he was put in my life to teach me a lesson."

Draco was enrapt. "What lesson?"

"That I need to stop controlling my emotions. I need to feel everything there is to feel. Love. Fear. Vulnerability. Joy. Pain. Nothing will be perfect, and that's okay. I need to let myself rest when I'm tired. I need to let myself breathe when I'm winded. I need to stop focusing on the bare necessities and let myself want for the sake of wanting."

"What do you want?" If Draco could, if he had the means, he'd give her anything, he knew it.

"So much it's overwhelming to even think about, let alone speak on. I want to make some changes, but right now I'd like to sleep. I'm tired."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Of not sleeping or of expectations?"

"Both." Granger chuckled dryly. "I know you're at least a month ahead on your work. Why are you frantically working like you aren't? You look tired, you've looked this way for a few weeks now. Is there something wrong?"

So much I can't tell you.

"No, just getting ahead while I research for the articles Mystic Academics asked me to consider writing."

"Ah." She clearly didn't believe him. "Perhaps you should slow down a bit, yeah? You look like you could sleep for a week."

Draco absolutely could. So much that without planning to, he blurted out, "I'm tired of this restlessness."

She froze and looked at him. "I am, too. My counsellor says that restlessness manifests when your body resists stillness for any duration of time. Do you know where yours comes from?"

The sources were ever-present.

One gave Draco his name.

Another stared at him in each mirror.

While it was easy to blame the surface layers of his life and every wrong choice he ever made, Draco knew from many sessions with Helena that the true origin of his unease was deeper. Forever changing, but not always a problem. It was sometimes healthy to be restless, to challenge, to question; to use the feeling as a catalyst to make himself move.

Problems only arose when he allowed fear to set up residence and put up blinders that allowed him to avoid his issues. Restlessness would fester and decay to the point where he knew he needed help but was so detached that he couldn't.

That was where he'd been all this time.

Now Draco's restlessness had transformed to something he wasn't used to.

Instead of avoidance, his anxiety came from a place of a different fear.

Losing time to explore freedom. Missing out on the small window of Granger's availability. The need to accomplish—he'd done a lot, but ambition left him hungry. Curiosity was nudging him to speak every nuanced thought in his mind directed at her; the desire to see and hear and taste and feel and experience everything that was her. It was right there… and he couldn't.

Not yet.

Patience wasn't his virtue, and it would never be.

But he could admit the overarching theme of his discontent.

"I'm trapped. It makes me restless."

"In your betrothal or your life?" Granger asked quietly, careful and controlled. Her face gave nothing away.

Her striking the heart of the matter felt like a physical blow. It left Draco dazed. Hundreds of sentences started in his mind, but none came out. So close yet so far. Suffocating on the cataclysmic urge to tell her every ugly, desperate truth he was forced to keep secret made it hard to look at her.

But he did.

"Both."

Brocklehurst walked into her office, still in solicitor robes. "Your father offered to drop this matter if you marry Astoria Greengrass and sire a healthy heir. He would grant the divorce after the child is born."

Draco couldn't disguise his disgust. Not only for his sake, but Astoria's. "She's not a broodmare."

Like the flip of a switch, her hard expression softened. "I'll admit, the way you're protecting her in all this is surprisingly unselfish and truly commendable."

"I'll never admit to caring about her to you."

The unspoken but lingered.

He did. Astoria was a lot of things, but she deserved to be happy.

"Ah." Brocklehurst nodded with understanding. "You're not as horrible as you were."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Can you go back to hating me? Your compliments are alarming."

She laughed and picked up a quill. "Fine. I was thinking about asking for something completely ludicrous in response. Any ideas?"

Draco only had one.

"A generation of his white peafowl to donate to the someplace that'll ethically raise them." He groaned silently to himself. Granger truly had rubbed off on him. How terrible. "Oh, but not their diamond encrusted collars."

Brocklehurst made a face. "Why not? They're probably worth a fortune."

"Exactly the message I want to send."

Draco no longer gave a damn about legacy.

It was worthless.

No more than fifteen minutes later, an owl tapped on the window.

Brocklehurst opened the note and grinned. "Whatever your message was, it was received loud and clear. It's a request for mediation that I'm going to reject. Let them stew."

Draco was so scattered he forgot about his embarrassment over Granger's gift.

In amusement, he'd patched all his failed gifts into the most hideous patchwork blanket he'd ever seen. Seven colours, the most dominant being burnt orange with patches of cream, red, yellow, blue and green.

Far from perfect but warm.

After folding and shrinking it to a small size for Granger to expand later, he dropped it into a small black bag.

Granger's party was at a trendy, private event venue in central London Wood had hired. However, before he went, he Apparated to his aunt's house for one reason.

To visit his mother.

Aunt Andromeda was cutting vegetables for dinner while his mother watched in befuddlement.

"I don't think we pay the House-elves enough," Mother lamented.

"They cook with magic." Draco replied and glanced at his aunt. "Don't let her cook or boil water for anything other than tea. She can't."

"She never bothered to learn when we were growing up."

"My hands are too delicate, of course." Mother drawled with a flair all her own, gesturing to the table where she wanted Draco to join her. She caught sight of the small bag but never asked questions. Not directly, at least. "Where are you off to?"

"A birthday party."

Her blonde brow rose sharply. "Willingly?"

Draco sulked. "Yes, Mother. Willingly."

"Strange. Who's birthday is it?"

"Granger's. It's almost a month early because she'll be in Istanbul for hers."

His mother blinked at him three times. "Very strange indeed."

He fixed her with a hard look and decided to cut to the point of his visit. "Why aren't you at the Manor? Father wants you home."

"We are not on speaking terms at present."

"Why not?"

"You filed for dissolution and he is actively fighting it after I warned him I would leave if he did. I am a woman of my word."

Draco wasn't sure what to say. "H-he misses you terribly."

She glanced at her nails. "Not enough to give me what I want."

"Which is?"

His mother looked right at him. "Whatever it is that you want."

It was at that moment Draco truly believed what she'd said months ago.

She was on his side.

"Mother?"

"Yes, love?"

"I know I don't say this enough, but I love you."

Draco was ill-prepared when she promptly burst into tears.

Wood invited everyone he knew to Granger's party.

Parents, aunts and uncles, and cousins alike. All far too chipper and good-natured for Draco's liking, but Wood took him around, introducing him as a friend. It felt wrong. Draco was more familiar with the Falmouth Falcons players and almost opted to stay with them instead of the attendants that made the environment more of a Hogwarts reunion—with glares and puzzled looks thrown his way, like usual. Weird. Most were from Wood's year, the rest from theirs. Granger's friends mingled with every tolerable Weasley. His own friends were sprinkled about.

Angelina said nothing when they found each other in the ornately decorated hall. They tapped glasses and rolled their eyes as one. Bones glared daggers at Potter when he tried to make conversation, which was wildly satisfying, until Abbott pulled her away. Daphne and Greg were all bright smiles and linked hands, blushing like teenagers.

"Why weren't you on Granger duty?" Draco asked Angelina.

"I called Oliver's idea moronic, so he asked Alicia."

"Does she—"

"Think this is dumb? Yes, but rather her than Harry, yeah?"

"She knows, you know."

"I do, but I told her this was the consequence of her being a bleeding heart sometimes."

Draco said nothing, silently and selfishly agreeing.

Wood hushed the room with a Sonorous Charm and announced, "They'll be here in ten."

Five minutes later, when Potter drifted closer, they were close enough to hear Wood ask if everything was ready.

Potter gave him two thumbs up.

The countdown began soon after.

Wood started passing out hats. When he noticed Draco and Angelina not wearing one, he asked, "Where's your hat?"

Draco only scowled. Angelina walked off to find the ever-moving redhead in the sea of people.

"A bit childish but fun." Wood understood, laughing. Instead of leaving, he remained at Draco's side. "You'll understand when you get married. Sometimes you must do something you don't like for the woman you love."

He remained perfectly blank, but apparently silence wasn't a way to end the conversation.

"Oh, is there trouble in paradise? I don't see Astoria." Wood looked genuinely concerned, ready to lend an ear. "Are you—"

"Everything is fine."

Wood didn't believe him. "Relationships go through ups and downs and sometimes they coast with ease. Hermione n' I—" he pauses thoughtfully. "I know we've weathered one storm, but I think we'll be fine. I'm followin' her to Istanbul, to show her my commitment to doin' better. I think she'll appreciate the gesture."

Draco tensed but remained quiet.

But Wood kept talking. "It's just about showin' her that I'm the person to weather each storm with. I'm the person for her. We complement each other and of course we do, we've been together five years now. Once I show her how serious I am, she'll set us right again. As for you and Astoria, if you're having trouble, take my advice: talk to her. Communication is key. I didn't know anything was wrong with Hermione until she broke it off."

"Er. Thanks?"

"Not a problem." He claps Draco on the back. "I've also learned that if you don't push, leave things alone, they'll work themselves out."

Draco blinked at him, remembering when Wood wanted to rush back to Granger and beg for a second chance. "Right. Of course."

The lights dimmed.

They'd tripped the wards.

When the doors opened, the lights brightened and everyone yelled, "Surprise!"

Confetti rained from the ceiling.

For a single moment, Draco felt like the only one who saw the second of disappointment before Granger smiled. But then her grin brightened as she brought her hand to her chest, gasping and jolting like she had no idea about the surprise. An actress.

But Granger wasn't the only one being surprised tonight.

She'd come with one of her own.

Gone were the long, frizzy curls that were regularly in messy buns or ponytails, and in its place were curls that brushed her collar bone. She looked…Draco couldn't speak. He never could when anyone's appearance changed so drastically.

The next few minutes passed with everyone reacting, giving compliments. Oliver, especially, was visibly shocked by the change. "It's great, yeah, I didn't know—"

"I just wanted a change," was all Granger said.

She glanced back at Draco as Wood steered her away to walk around to greet everyone, who fawned over her hair and wished her a happy early birthday. Granger was polite, taking her time to speak to everyone.

They lock eyes a few times. One time, Draco pointed to her hair and nodded.

She grinned.

Wood looked over in confusion and waved at Draco, too.

Awkwardly, he waved back and stayed out of the way until it came time to cut the cake—one of Greg's delicious creations. But tonight he wasn't sure if he could partake. Standing towards the back with his arms folded, Draco sang more to himself while everyone else butchered the song in eight different keys of flat

Granger blew out the candles.

The party began in full.

The music was turned up, the party games began, and the first time Granger avoided a kiss from Wood after prompting from his parents—he considered leaving.

But didn't.

Instead, he slipped out the back door of the event hall. It was humid to the point where he wondered if it was about to rain. Maybe he would just leave—

The door opened.

Draco turned at the sound, only to spot Granger stepping out.

"It's going to turn into a rager in there."

"I'll pass."

"Agreed." She laughed. "I hope you're not leaving."

"I considered it but hadn't made up my mind."

"Keep me company, at the very least." She gave him a small smile. "After all, I leave in two days. We could continue our tradition of escaping birthday parties."

"I doubt we'd make it ten minutes without someone wondering where you are."

"Probably not." Granger's smile faded.

Draco looked everywhere except her until he could no longer stand not drinking in the sight of her. "I—I think we should stay."

"Okay."

"Oh, and your hair. For what it's worth—not that it's worth much of anything, but I…" Draco swallowed the word beautiful and settled for something else. "It looks lovely."

Her eyes brightened. "Thank you. I told you that I wanted something different. I can't think of the last time I cut it or did something impulsive. It's liberating, even if Oliver nor his parents like it."

"Does it matter what they think?"

"It doesn't." She looked to the hazy sky. "Tonight, after the party, I'll set him straight."

"Okay." He watched Granger touch the ends of her short hair, still looking a bit self-conscious. Draco felt the urge to set her straight. "What I said, it wasn't a compliment. It's the truth." And because he was an idiot, he nudged her in the shoulder. "Come on, I'll get you a free drink from the hired barmaid as a gift."

She squinted. "You didn't give me a gift?"

He laughed and held up both hands. "I did, but wait until you're alone before you open it. Nobody will understand it except you."

"Sounds mysterious." Granger smiled. "I'll agree if you don't make fun of my drink."

Granger's choice was obnoxious.

Sweet and sour and pink.

Also the strongest drink the barmaid could make.

Draco was increasingly worried with the liquors—both dark and light—being mixed at her instruction, but when Granger took her first sip, she squeezed her eyes shut tight before nodding. "Perfect!"

He could hardly hear her over the music or see her because the room was dim. They wandered to a table in the crowded event hall, in the back far away from the dance floor where everyone mingled or danced. It was the first time Granger had been able to sit down with him after being diverted several times by well-wishers and Wood.

"Your drink looks like death, disguised." Draco made a face.

Granger laughed. "I only ever need one."

"I can see why." Draco sipped his modest whiskey. He was on his second and his edges were a bit frayed.

"I'm glad you're here."

"Hermione!"

They both looked to see Oliver waving his hands, beckoning her onto the floor to dance with him, but she shook her head, holding up her obnoxious drink. He laughed and offered his hand to Susan who looked ready to embalm him.

"It's been a while since we danced." Granger said.

He wondered if she'd ask, or if he should, but he didn't.

"Argue with me." She said with a quirk of her lips

Draco was confused. "What?"

"Consider it a gift. Maybe I'll convince you to agree with me."

He laughed. "We hardly agree on anything."

"Honestly, that's the best part."

So they debated over stupid topics like the importance of breakfast, cats or dogs, and the logic behind how wine was wet but could be considered dry. Each time Granger made a point he couldn't argue, she threw up both hands and drank. Each time Draco did, she made him drink.

It wasn't long before they were pissed and talking about nothing; every topic long forgotten. Draco actively kept his hands to himself in a bizarre way he never had to; in a way he never considered. Granger was making fun of the way his face was flushed while swaying, her elbow on the table, gazing at him.

He couldn't stop staring at her mouth.

Granger's smile faded. "I, erm…"

This was what he was doing when they were interrupted by Angelina and Alicia.

The moment was gone, never to be replicated or retrieved again.

Draco stumbled to the exit an hour later, leaving Granger with her friends. To his surprise, Oliver was returning from the Floo. "Just seeing my parents out. Where's Hermione?"

He gestured over to where she was.

"Thanks for keeping her entertained."

Draco said nothing, too pissed for sarcasm, and got himself home.

When Draco opened his eyes, it was three in the morning and—

And Granger was stepping out of his Floo.

He'd taken a sobering potion when he arrived home.

From the look on her face, she had, too.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked.

"You made my gift yourself." Her voice was hardly a whisper. "Must have taken weeks."

"Months. Do you—" Hate it?

"It's colourful. Soft." Granger still looked torn between smiling and crying. "I know I asked, but you didn't have to."

"I started loads of gifts but couldn't choose one so I just combined every attempt into one blanket. If you hate it, I can—"

"It's absolutely hideous." Granger cracked a small smile. "I love it."

Relieved, he sat a little straighter. "You didn't have to come here to say that. I thought you'd be home. I know you have things to do before your Portkey leaves."

"I do. I'm here."

"Why?"

Granger's expression changed from mystified to something akin to seeing him for the first time and being upset about it.

"You left abruptly," she blurted, looking ruffled and distraught.

"I did." Draco rubbed his shoulder that was a little stiff from his adventures of sleeping on his sofa. "I needed to sober up and I—"

"Left?"

"Yes, before I said something mad."

"Said what?"

"Nothing."

Draco hadn't ever seen Granger look so frustrated. "I told Oliver the truth after the party ended. That I only said break because he refused to leave without hope. That I intended for it to be a clean break."

"What did he say?"

"A lot. I'm not sure if he heard me. I just left him and came here."

"Why?"

Her laugh was hysterical, a bit manic. "I'm not sure. I shouldn't be here. I should be celebrating my birthday with my mates, or maybe at home, but no. I'm here wishing I were pissed enough to speak my mind, but the truth is I'm sober enough to be courageous."

There was something about her tone that made him sit straighter, made him stand and approach, more in concern. "Is there something wrong?"

After hesitating twice, she finally spoke, "There's something here. Between us."

Instantly Draco was tripping over his words, stumbling over truths and scrambling to find lies.

Not now.

Not now.

Not now.

Not when he was so close yet so far.

Not when he couldn't speak or do anything about his plans, desires, wishes.

"You're—"

"If you think I'm asking, I'm not." Granger shook her head emphatically, looking less stressed and more resolved. "I know there is. I've been feeling this for a while, longer than I care to admit. I keep confessing in so many ways and you don't seem to understand. I'll be gone for six weeks and all my right times have run out, so I'm making myself clear. Here. Now. I'm not alone in this. I know I'm not. You feel this, too."

He wouldn't look at her. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Granger's voice was cool, "Look at me and say that again."

Draco did, but he couldn't. "You should go."

"Oh, I should." Granger ran a hand over her short hair and looked away. "But you haven't answered me."

He started to panic. "Confirmation won't do anything."

"Draco…"

"You have Oliver who's going to follow you to Istanbul, begging for you to get back with him."

"I don't care. He can do as he pleases. That has no bearing on you and me."

"Granger."

Don't do this now.

"Tell me I'm not wrong," she squeezed her hands at her side.

"I'm engaged to Astoria."

Her wounded look lasted a moment. She was nothing if not resilient.

"I know you are. I'm reminded of it daily, in the most subtle of ways, but you're not answering m…" Her voice broke. "Please."

"I'm contracted to marry her just as you're expected to marry someone, someday. He'll be—" he swallowed thickly. "He'll be what you need."

How Granger got so close, so quick, he didn't know. But there she was, a breath away, head tilted up, eyes locked on him, asking, pleading for him to tell her what he already knew.

What he'd known all year. Maybe longer.

Granger curled a finger around his thumb. When he said nothing. She laced their fingers together and peered at him. They shared identical shuddering breaths. Not for the first time, Draco felt his heart explode.

"I—"

"One last time, Draco. Am I wrong?"

"No."

Chapter Text

Words would break the spell, so neither spoke.

After piling blankets in front of the fireplace, Draco gathered pillows from his room and they laid side by side. With hands clasped together between them, more than once, Granger brought a free hand to his face because she could. Just as often, Draco did the same, self-control at an all-time low; quietly terrified of the harm he was willing to do for more.

Granger shifted closer, her focus still on him.

It was stupid and cliched, but everything settled.

Every shred of brittle restlessness and panic was just… gone.

Draco hated himself for his first thought—his only thought.

That he could do this for a lifetime. Stay here. With her. Like this.

Nothing more, nothing less.

This feeling was nothing new, but the contentment of knowing where they stood was, and it couldn't be shredded by excuses. How he felt was worse than devotion or the promise of permanence. It was peace.

He'd finally found it in the right person… at the wrong time.

Peace didn't last forever.

It couldn't.

The room started to brighten from the start of a new day when Granger asked the question that waited patiently for them to emerge from the haze.

"What do we do now?"

Draco had a million answers, easy ones and the impossible. He could throw it all away, break every rule in his contract by telling her everything, but he knew deep down she wouldn't want that.

The right answer hurt like hell. "Nothing."

Granger looked as if she'd been pushed off the side of a building, shock widened her eyes.

Everything… died.

"What do you mean?"

Draco chose his words carefully. "I'm not violating or breaking my betrothal contract."

She sat up, shaking her head, voice faint from confusion. "You're staying?"

No.

"I'm not—"

"You told me you felt trapped." Her breath came harder. "You told me—"

Draco knew his resolve would crumble if he didn't get her out soon. He closed his eyes. "I can't violate or break my betrothal contract."

"Stop with the automatic response, look at me and speak clearly," Granger snapped.

Draco joined her in the seated position, knowing this conversation would soon spiral beyond his control. "I am. This is as plain as I can get. I have no intention of violating the contract. I won't."

"Okay." She blinked multiple times before getting to her feet. "This is—I understand the gravity of this situation. I understand there is a lot to consider. You told me there's something here and now you're saying you're not leaving Astoria."

"I'm not." His heart raced to the point of pain.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling harshly. "I leave in two days. Maybe we should spend the time apart. I don't want to say something I can't take back."

No.

"If that's what you want."

Stay.

But Draco said nothing when Granger turned and left.

The only thing Bones needed to perfect the Grim Reaper look was a scythe.

In black Unspeakable robes, she waited in Draco's office with an expression he couldn't read.

Fresh from getting a walkthrough on the Ever-Locked room from the Keeper, he saw Bones and nearly dropped the two tomes worth of instructions. Draco had planned to monitor the room himself, but Nigel, an experienced Unspeakable from his old team, asked to step in. Their clearance upgrade was pending and Draco had a meeting to discuss his temporary new role.

There was no time for whatever Bones wanted.

Draco walked to his desk and sat the books down. Agitation from the lack of sleep worsened the sourness in his stomach at the mere thought of Granger's impending departure tonight. The dread of their final conversation haunted him to the brink of insanity.

He was in no mood to talk to Bones. "Is there something you need?"

"Be honest."

Draco's fingers tingled. "I'll try."

"What happened with you and Hermione?" Bones asked, her voice chilly. "I brought you up today and she didn't have her normal reaction."

Which was?

Irritation darkened her eyes. "Now you're acting weird, too. Something happened."

Draco wondered what would happen if he jumped out the window, only to remember the light filtering into the room was false. Fuck.

"Are you having a laugh playing with her emotions like this?"

"I'm not doing anything." Scrubbing a hand over his face, Draco tried to force the exhaustion away but couldn't. He wanted to rip his hair out. "Not to be the prat that I am, but if you're going to blame me for something I haven't done, do it outside my office."

She merely cocked a brow. "Right. This is your defence mechanism."

He'd rather take his chances with fire than have this conversation. "Get out."

"You look as sick as she does." Bones folded her arms. "Heartsick, for what reason?"

Dread coils in his stomach. "You don't know what you're talking about."

To his surprise, she cracked a wide grin. "You absolute broomstick. You think we've all been blind this entire time. Don't bother lying because I know how you feel about her. I've known since you prayed with her in Ireland."

"I…" He scrambled to gather the argument topics, but couldn't and sighed in defeat. "Yeah."

Bones looked victorious. "Good. So why are you not with her now?"

"I'm engaged."

"We all know nothing untoward has happened. Hermione made that clear, but she doesn't know why you're acting like a pillock." She looked at Draco closer, her frown deepening. "You look like hell, Malfoy."

Draco's legs barely worked but he rose slowly, eyeing Bones. "I'm fine."

"You're not sleeping."

"How do you know if I'm sleeping or not?" he sneered.

"I have too many dead relatives to sleep peacefully."

Draco looked at her. "What do you want?"

"For you to be upfront about whatever the hell is going on in that thick skull of yours. Putting herself out there hasn't been easy for Hermione—"

"Nothing about this has been easy for me," he snapped and immediately regretted it when Bones flinched. "I'm—I'm doing what's best and if you're going to lecture me about it, you can piss off."

Bones stared at him for a painfully long moment before settling in her seat.

She didn't leave until she was summoned by her team.

Her final question was simple: "Do you want me to talk to her?"

"No."

"Why not? She's leaving and—"

"I won't survive another conversation," Draco admitted in a rush, then buried his face in his hands.

"Whatever it is you're not talking about, I hope it's worth it."

Draco gripped the sides of his hair and repeated, "It is. It will be. It has to be," until she left.

At six o'clock, lead settled in the pit of his spirit.

Granger's Portkey had activated and she was already halfway around the world.

Draco turned up at Greg's with a fork and a murderous glare whenever his friend tried to talk.

He ate two cherry pies, a caramel cake, a box of chocolates, and an entire tray of macarons.

Draco's stomach hurt miserably and he desperately wanted to be sick, but the sweets sat like a boulder in him.

Greg offered him a cup of tea with sad eyes. "You're not okay, Draco."

"I'll survive." He took a sip of the tea and frowned at the bitter taste. "What is this?"

"To settle your stomach."

But it did nothing to help him sleep.

After spending the night suspended in animation, unable to close his eyes or move, a new wave of exhaustion slammed into Draco when he noticed his latest visitor.

His father.

Brocklehurst had already sent over his father's latest demands that she had rejected on Draco's behalf.

What did he want?

Lucius Malfoy was waiting in the Ministry's Atrium, earning looks, stares, and double-takes.

"What is it?" He wasn't supposed to be speaking to him; all communication was supposed to go through Brocklehurst and Father's solicitor.

"Your mother has left the manor."

"Surprised you noticed."

"Of course I did."

"Please, she spends hours alone while you tend to the only family you haven't destroyed or pushed away to the point of—"

"Enough, Draco," he interjected in a softer voice while looking very even. A feat. "I am willing to be more reasonable in my negotiations if you convince your mother to return."

"Or you could let me go."

"I have no intentions of doing that."

"Why?" Draco couldn't wrap his head around it. "Why are you fighting harder to get me to stay now that I want to leave?"

"You are so hellbent on becoming a failure, the last of us. I will not allow hundreds of years of traditions be ruined by someone who couldn't—"

"Shut up and do as I'm told?" he interrupted. "Solve your own problems with my mother, and I'll continue my fight to stop being another one of yours."

His face hardened. "Do you hate me that much?"

"Funny, I've been wondering the same thing."

"I do not hate you."

"You don't love me."

"That is not true. We simply do not agree—"

"About my life. My choices. My decisions. I've suffered for your mistakes and my own. Can you say the same?"

Frustrated with himself, Draco walked away before his father could answer.

Croaker visibly recoiled when Draco darkened his doorway.

"Merlin, Malfoy, you look like hell."

Draco said nothing until he dropped the paperwork on his desk. "I'm taking six weeks off beginning next week. I have the holiday time, I've been working ahead so there's nothing for you to do, and I—"

"Okay."

He stopped. "I thought this was going to be an argument."

"You've been looking like a ghost for the last week and working too hard for the last month. Your paperwork has been flawless, you've arranged my schedule for the rest of the year, and I'm confident I can manage in your absence." Croaker wasted no time putting his seal of approval on Draco's documents. "You should start your holiday now."

"Wait—"

"Off you go, Mr Malfoy." Croaker dismissed him, but not before saying with a surprising amount of sincerity, "Take care of yourself."

Draco wasn't sure how.

Draco skipped his session with Helena, the first in a long time, and went home to stare at the walls.

He made Granger's favourite tea and took one step closer to his impending breakdown with how comforting something as stupid as tea was. He stared at his phone until he almost called her, ready to tell her the truth, but then changed his mind. He threw the phone in the fireplace and sneered when it came hurling back. Draco wasn't surprised, he just wanted it gone. He wrote four letters and burned them all, then spiralled so hard he had to lie on the floor and breathe.

The panic attack hit like a tidal wave.

All Draco could do was drown.

He never heard the Floo.

When his vision cleared, Greg was there with a cool compress on his head. As the white noise began to fade, he picked up the voices of Daphne, Bones, and Alicia. Draco didn't know Blaise was there until he popped up over Greg's shoulder.

"Ah, you're back."

Draco tried to sit up, but hands held him down. He followed them to his captor. Angelina. "You're done."

"What?" he rasped.

"You're. Done," she repeated. "We're calling it."

"What does that mean?"

"It means..." Blaise's smile turned wicked. "This is a kidnapping."

Draco's eyes bugged. "No."

"Theo said you were on holiday. Six weeks. It's all been approved. What were you planning to do? Wallow in misery."

"Yes, exactly that."

"Unfortunately, I'm not going to allow that," Blaise said cheerfully. "Is he ready?"

No, he wasn't talking to Draco.

"Yes," Daphne answered from far away.

"Excellent. I have a Portkey. It's legal. Somewhat." Blaise flashed an old silver watch that was on his wrist. "The only thing you need to do is hold on tight, my little Victorian socialite."

"I'm not going—"

"Funny that you think you have a choice." Blaise grabbed Draco's hand while Angelina and Greg let go. He tried to jerk away but his friend's grip was stronger. "The fresh air will do you some good."

Then he was yanked from the world.

September in Madeira was an extension of summer.

Warm and sunny, everything was green and full of life—nothing worse than being miserable in paradise.

Thanks to depression and a nasty sunburn from merely existing outside too long, Draco spent the first week in a haze, bemoaning the genetics that gave him translucent skin. He refused to speak to anyone involved in the kidnapping, which left Greg making pouty, sad eyes at him any chance he got and Blaise… enjoying the fresh ocean air and not giving a fuck.

Where his wand was, Draco had no idea, but the moment he found it, he was getting the hell out.

The only thing he couldn't escape was his phone.

Theo's 'We'll talk when you get back' haunted him.

As did the unopened message from Granger.

On morning seven, he opened it.

I made it safely. Just wanted you to know.

There was so much he wanted to type, so many calls he halfway placed just to hear her voice. Draco didn't trust himself. He threw the phone off the balcony and held his hand out until it landed in his hand.

With shaking hands, he typed, Glad to hear it.

And forced himself not to type another word.

The following morning, Draco walked to the balcony's edge to look out at the ocean.

The sunrise was a mix of thin clouds, warm colours, and ripples glowing gold. Draco listened to the waves crashing on the beach and birds singing their morning songs; so focused he didn't notice he wasn't alone until she sat down.

Padma wore a sundress without shoes and her hair swayed in the breeze. She hadn't come empty-handed, offering Draco a warm cup.

"Here to put me out of my misery with poison?" Draco asked solemnly.

She huffed and rolled her eyes. "You're so bloody dramatic, it's tea, you arse."

Always sceptical, he squinted at her until he sipped and survived. It wasn't bad. Ginger and honey to help his stomach. "Surely you aren't here to be supportive."

"I'm here because you're not talking to Blaise or Greg."

"They kidnapped me."

"For good reason. You still look like you want to walk into the ocean."

"Parts of me are considering it."

"That would be inconvenient. My husband cares about you. Greg, too. So many other people refuse to do nothing while you have a nervous breakdown."

Draco chuckled hollowly. "I'm tired."

They drank and watched light conquer the sky.

"Funny," Padma chuckled. "I thought you were too much of a lying shit to be honest and too emotionally lazy to fall for someone. Imagine my surprise last November when you tried to convince us that you and Hermione were friends. I knew then there was more to it."

Draco tensed.

"Are you not telling her because—"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"I can't or else—"

"I know."

"You can't say anything to Granger."

"I won't. Mandy made that very clear. She also said you and your father are nowhere near settling. She's putting out genuine offers and he's just rejecting everything, dragging it out. How long are you going to wait?"

"As long as I have to."

"And how long do you think Hermione will wait not knowing anything?"

Draco closed his eyes for a moment. "I have no expectations."

"Just so you're not shocked by anything."

She pulled out a rolled newspaper and handed it to him. On the front page of The Daily Prophet was a photo of Wood and Granger sitting together at a table with a headline Lovebirds Reunited? Wood was smiling at her but she was looking down at the menu. It wasn't a surprise, Draco expected Wood to follow Granger to Istanbul, but it hurt all the same.

Not his presence, but seeing her for the first time.

The quality wasn't great, but Granger looked muted. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. She was tense. He hoped it wasn't wishful thinking.

"Everything you worked for will fall apart if you don't pull yourself together," Padma told him. "But in order to do that, you need to let yourself break down."

Draco looked at her. "You're giving me advice?"

She sighed. "If you tell anyone, I'll deny it."

His eyes widened. "You're actually supporting me?"

"Unfortunately."

"Are we friends now?"

"Absolutely not." Padma's scowl softened. "I'm just here to keep you distracted."

From what was answered six minutes later with the invasion of Angelina Johnson-Weasley.

For seven days, she didn't let him wallow. Angelina teamed up with Greg and Blaise to force him out of the house where Blaise spent Galleons like they were Knuts. Along with Padma, they got up at dawn and made him walk the beach until he could run.

Before she left, Angelina hugged him.

"I still want to shake you about whatever is happening that you won't talk about, but I'll let you sort through it."

Draco's only response was: "Water Granger's plants. They'll die without me."

Her eyes got a little sad before she agreed.

After he spent the next day staring at a picture of Revani Granger sent him with a message I think you'd like this, his moping was interrupted by Alicia's arrival with his knitting needles.

"Hermione thought you'd want these."

"She knows I'm here?" Draco asked.

Alicia nodded. "Whatever you're not telling us… you know she's going to figure it out."

It would be both helpful and harmful if she did, but Draco kept that to himself.

"Until then, W—welcome to my prison."

Alicia laughed but clapped his shoulder. "Keeping those distressed damsel rumours alive, then?"

"Always."

"Has the ocean cured your melancholy?"

Draco pretended to have a fainting spell, sprawling on the sofa. "I fear nothing will."

But Alicia seemed determined to cure it herself. She bullied him until he attended a Floo session with Helena and flew with him at sunset. As a reward, they made Greg play Keeper, his genuine screams of terror at Alicia's skill made Draco smile for the first time. Instead of cake, they binged on local cuisine and ignored the papers that had more headlines about Wood and Granger.

She stayed eight days. On her way out, Alicia burned all the papers and said, "She's bloody miserable."

Draco didn't want to hear that. "Are you talking to her?"

"Yes. Angelina is in Istanbul now. She plans to stay until the conference is over. I'm going, too."

Something in him relaxed. She wouldn't be alone.

Bones arrived that night.

The next morning, they winced at the sun together. No one else wanted to walk the graveyards with her except Draco. The peace that came with death was cryptic for his tastes, but at least it gave everyone a break from keeping him sane. Draco didn't forget Granger's birthday, sending her a message in the middle of the night.

Brocklehurst Floo called with more news in the nine days Bones was there. Negotiations had grown contentious with his mother's lengthening absence.

On the last night Bones was there, they all drank themselves silly.

"Hermione's back in London," Bones said while pouring him another finger of Firewhisky. "She put in her notice at the Ministry."

Draco couldn't believe it. "Why—"

"The IWC offered her a position in their Regulations Department. The European division. She is the one who will determine when the IWC can step into a Ministry's experimentation program and when they should not."

He barely heard anything Bones said, his mind was racing, "Is she—"

"Leaving London? No, but there will be some travel," she assured. "Oh, and her plants lived. George took care of them. She said thank you."

Draco froze. "Why is she back early? Is she—"

"Okay? No, but she's Granger."

He knew that meant she was masking, not sleeping, barely eating. Draco itched to call her, but that wasn't a good idea. Still, he was desperate for information. "How did it go?"

"According to Angelina and Alicia, she was impressive during the IWC's conference, had a lot of confidential closed door meetings, and met with the Supreme Mugwump multiple times. The papers announced they are backing away from time research and focusing on other efforts. I believe her objective was complete so she returned home a little early."

"Let me guess. She got them to focus on House-Elf conservation?"

Bones chuckled. "No, they have decided to crack down on the domestication of endangered and exotic animals."

Draco waited until he was pissed and alone before he finally broke down, laughing until his tears turned into sobs.

Everything changed with Bones' departure.

Draco wasn't feeling better by then, but felt less insane than he would've been had he locked himself inside the walls of his flat.

He'd been in Madeira for over four weeks, but it had been at least three since he stopped being upset about it. Two since Draco finally began to understand why Blaise had trapped him like a princess in a tower and taken his wand. One since he started taking calls from Brocklehurst without breaking down and attending sessions with Helena without bullying.

Draco stole moments away to peacefully inhale the salt air.

"How is it that you're still pale?" He turned at the question only to find Daphne settling into the spot beside him on the balcony.

"Misfortune," Draco drawled. "How long have you been here?"

"Five minutes. How are you?"

"Okay, for now." He looked at her. "Shouldn't you be with Greg?"

"Shut up and say you're happy to see me."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"As a reminder, I'm not your therapist but you look like you need to talk."

He took another breath and confessed. "I'm happy you're here."

Her smile faded. "Not for long."

Draco heard his name being shouted from the house and looked at a sheepish Daphne. "What's happening?"

"It's kind of a funny story…"

Chapter Text

The story, in fact, was not funny.

It began with a long-standing disagreement between the Greengrass sisters.

As an only child, Draco had no idea how Daphne's bitterness about being the 'well sibling' and Astoria's anger about everyone treating her as if she were made of glass had anything to do with him. But it did.

Apparently.

Raised voices brought Padma first, who decided to sit front row in the kitchen where breakfast was already laid out. Blaise poked his head in a minute later, eyes widening comically at Draco's silent plea for help. Shock turned into amusement as he joined his wife for the show. Greg was in front of the stove holding a plate of gluten-free toast he'd made Daphne, looking just as bewildered.

Draco tried to sneak out of the line of fire.

"Don't take another step." Daphne shot him a dangerous look then whirled back to her sister. "You complaining about being sidelined is rich when you've benefited from it as of late, when Draco—"

"Leave me out of this."

"Oh, you're very much part of this."

Draco sighed. "Why are you here, Astoria?"

"Two nights ago, I went to dinner with Luna and we bumped into Granger."

Tensing was an error he couldn't help but make.

Astoria's blue eyes narrowed. "She… she said she was sick but looked like absolute hell. Last night I brought it up to Daphne, and she exploded on me for being a spoiled, selfish and blind bitch—"

"Because you are," Daphne added.

"—and you're going to tell me what the hell is going on, Draco. I should've asked when Blaise said he was beaming you to Madeira against your will and told me to make excuses with my parents. They're barely speaking to me as is since Draco's filing. They just want me to fix what's broken."

"Nothing." Draco stared at his feet.

Astoria gasped. "Shite. Shite. Shite. I've fucked up."

"You have," Daphne echoed.

It earned her a glare from Draco.

"This is getting good." Blaise sipped Padma's drink. "Ask him about Granger again, you're getting off topic."

He cut his eyes at Blaise, too. "How am I supposed to know what's going on with Granger? Must be a bug. It's that time of the year…"

Astoria tilted her head, looking as if she were trying to calculate a difficult Arithmancy problem all while knowing the answer was right there. "She asked about you."

Draco couldn't help it. He flinched.

Astoria knew him well enough to squint suspiciously. "Not only that, but it was like she was forcing herself not to. She apologised and left. I asked Daphne what was going on and she screamed at me. So, here I am, and I'm…"

"Close," Padma supplied helpfully. "Very close."

Greg looked supremely uncomfortable. "Should I finish serving breakfast?"

"No!" They all said at the same time.

He froze, eyes wide. Daphne mouthed something to Greg and he came to her side.

"Will someone please stop speaking in riddles?" Astoria snapped.

Unfortunately, Draco—still twitchy about Granger asking about him—was the first to put his foot in his mouth. "Why does it matter to you? Go be with Luna or travel or whatever it is that you do—"

"You spend hours at night talking to her, you stayed together in Gibraltar. Now you flinch at the mention of her name. What happened?"

"Nothing," he murmured. "Nothing happened. It's fine. I'm fine."

"Stop lying to me!" Astoria shouted. "You've seemed happy and I thought it had to do with your friendship with Granger and therapy. Was I wrong?"

"Get out."

"You can't kick me out of Blaise's kitchen."

"Fine, then I'll leave." He started for the door.

"You more than care about her, don't you?" Astoria asked softly. "Is that what I'm missing?"

He closed his eyes. "It doesn't matter."

"Draco…"

"Stop!" He whirled around, fists balled. "I don't want to talk about it, especially not with you."

Astoria looked wounded.

This was enough to set him off..

"Stop pretending you've noticed anything beyond your own life. The one you get to live in literal peace while I…" He was sick with a bitterness that had festered far too long. "I hate this. I always hated this deep down. I regret every second of every day I did nothing while waiting for you to get everything together for your freedom. That I didn't call this sham off before now. That I let it even start in the first place is my fault. I accept it and I'll live with the fallout."

"You said you were okay."

"Things change," he said coldly. "I don't blame you. You're not responsible for me."

"But that doesn't mean I don't care, that I'm not your friend, that—" Astoria ran a hand through her hair, defeated. "I have been on the brink of cancelling all of this for years now, but what's stopped me is you."

"What?"

"You're lonely, Draco. You've been lonely since I've known you and rather than admit it, rather than break free like I am and find what makes you happy, you'll subject yourself to duty and make yourself miserable. I don't know when you decided to wake up and take responsibility for your own life, but if you actually communicated with me, I would have—"

"Would have what, Astoria? Made more of an effort? To do what? You've been running around the world trying to raise money for the rest of your life and I—" Draco faltered, voice breaking. "I-I don't even know when mine will begin."

It stung more than he was willing to admit.

Astoria's expression softened but she stubbornly refused to move. "It's her. You love her."

"I—" Draco knew his nausea had nothing to do with anything he'd eaten. He couldn't lie. He couldn't hide it. He couldn't eat the truth he'd never said out loud. "I have the worst timing."

Draco ignored the quiet gasp that sounded like Daphne.

Astoria looked distressed but it rapidly turned into relief. "What are you going to do until this dissolution is finalised? Does she know anything?"

"The contract's nondisclosure clause makes certain she doesn't."

"But Wood—"

"Nothing I can do about anything until this is finished."

Astoria nodded. "I know you're hurting, but a part of me is relieved by knowing all this, seeing how much you love her."

"Because it's proof that I can? That I'm not cold and an unfeeling bastard?"

"No." Astoria said softly. "Because you let yourself fall, even unconsciously. I know this is the worst feeling in the world, having to keep it in, hide it away. I've been there. I am there. I want to help you."

"There's nothing you can do." No longer hungry, Draco left the room.

No one followed.

By the beginning of October, Madeira felt so small that Draco found the wand Blaise had hidden and postured until he had a returning Portkey in hand.

London was expectedly dreary, a reflection of the melancholy lingering in his spirit.

His flat was in a state of cleanliness that was only possible due to House-elves.

Emptiness settled in after midnight.

One, two, three o'clock passed. All in a similar silent fashion.

Draco had never wanted his Floo to light up as bad as right then.

He dropped his teacup when it did.

The sight of his mother emerging in all her glory froze Draco. The cup didn't shatter, but it broke into three pieces, liquid spilling as Draco quickly and thoughtlessly picked it up, nicking his finger on the porcelain.

"Bugger."

It bled more than expected.

His mother sprung into action, forgetting about magic long enough to pick up a handkerchief and cover his hand with it.

"Come, let me heal it." Her eyes were on his hand, checking it before retrieving her wand. All Draco could do was agree. One spell and his skin knitted together. Satisfied with her work, she smiled. "There."

"Why are you here?"

"To welcome you back, of course."

"At three-fifteen in the morning?"

"I knew you would be awake," his mother replied simply. "And you are. How was Madeira?"

The question was hard to answer. In some ways, time away was what he needed, but it also hadn't changed a damn thing. Despite Brocklehurst's pointed notes, his father's solicitor hadn't responded to their latest offer. Things were quiet on that front. Suspiciously so.

Yet the clock in his head hadn't stopped.

Draco was haemorrhaging time.

Nothing he could do except wait.

"Have you gone back?" Draco changed the topic.

"No. Your father is quite desperate, but not enough to give in. He is far more relaxed upon realising that you do not have the funds to secure ten million Galleons from someone else, as you cannot pay your penalties from the Malfoy or your personal vault. He was concerned about Mr Zabini."

"I wouldn't ask that of Blaise even if I could pay him back. Father—"

"He does love you. In his own, stubborn way," his mother said gently. "I know it disappoints him that you are rejecting the life built for you."

"I've outgrown his wishes."

Her expression reflected the surprise that had jolted Draco the first time he'd realised this.

"I see."

It wasn't an easy or a short road. No matter how discouraged Draco felt, this was his choice. His father had a chance to make his own years before, same as all his ancestors. Wanting a life that was more than okay, evolving past the hindrances and existing in the kind of world that wasn't an obligation—all punishable offences to his father who'd already lived as he'd wished.

Draco missed the audience of one that would understand these thoughts.

"There it is again. That look."

"What look?"

"I know what heartache looks like." His mother's stare was unavoidable. "I've seen it many times. I say little on this topic, but there is not much that escapes my notice. Your pain joins your long-standing unhappiness."

"You knew?"

"Duty can be the thief of joy," she sighed. "I thought you were okay with the arrangement. Not everyone wants to fall in love, but I've realised my error."

"What?"

"I wonder if a casualty of change is you finding what you have needed all along." His mother touched his face, blue eyes thoughtful. "I did not love your father until he earned my love. You are not like me."

"What do you mean?"

"You need to be loved with passion and devotion; one that you will give in return."

"Mother…" Draco tried to look away, but she wouldn't let him.

She read him, searching the pages of his soul until she found it. "I know."

"No, you don't, because if you did—"

"I wouldn't support it." She gave him a long look. "And no, I do not."

Draco swallowed thickly.

His mother hugged him. "But I will cope."

First, he stiffened, then slowly held on, crouched down, clinging to her. He didn't let go despite the embarrassment he felt from the tears in his eyes.

She stroked his hair. "We can't help who we love."

Angelina dropped by Draco's flat the following morning, invitation in hand.

"It's for George's trick or treat maze for the Halloween party. Weasley Wheezes is hosting it for benefactors and investors alike. We're testing it out on our mates first."

Draco frowned. "I'd rather not be a Weasley guinea pig."

"Cute that you think you have a choice." Angelina pinched his cheek.

"Oi!"

"Hermione will be there." She watched him closely. "She'll come if you do."

Draco couldn't conceal his shifting expression if he tried. "I don't think I can—"

"Her patience is wearing thin from your silence. She's dreamed up over a hundred scenarios to confront you, and only ten don't end in violence."

Impressive.

Angelina was still locked on him. "What is it? Why are you doing this?"

"I can't say anything."

"Can't or won't."

"Both, so stop."

She nodded. "I told Hermione it must be serious, but as a warning, she might make you talk."

Draco would be ready whenever she came around.

(No, he wouldn't.)

Draco turned when Brocklehurst emerged from the Floo. He'd been waiting in her office, tapping his foot for the last fifteen minutes while she was in a case management conference for a different case.

He needed a status update immediately. "Anything?"

Brocklehurst shook her head. "No."

Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. "What is he doing?"

"Sounds like he wants another conversation with you."

"He's not getting it," Draco grumbled. "He only cares about control, and getting my mother to come home."

"What does she think?"

"She's on my side."

"Interesting." Brocklehurst paused. "Hm. I have an idea and need someone who knows your father best. Don't worry, I have her contact information."

Draco recoiled. "What—"

"Best if you don't know. Plausible deniability."

Draco hadn't said more than two collective words since Wood arrived at the pub.

Potter looked just as shocked when he took the seat between them and ordered a pint, a charming smile pasted on his face that the barmaid returned. He got his drink much faster than either of them.

"I thought you were having dinner with Hermione," Potter said.

"She isn't answering her Floo." Wood's good nature slipped a beat, but recovered. "Odd because she still hasn't returned to work after Istanbul. Forced holiday. Malfoy, have you talked to her about me?"

"No." Draco cleared his throat. "I've only just returned from Madeira last week."

"Oh." Then he perked up. "How was your holiday?"

"Tragically sunny," he drawled.

Wood laughed. "You're funny, Malfoy."

"How was Istanbul?" Potter asked.

"Good, I had a chance to spend time with Hermione and I think she really listened to what I had to say."

Or she wasn't listening, Draco quipped to himself.

"I had a lot of time to think about my future—well, our future. Potter knows."

Draco wondered if that was true given how wide his green eyes had grown, but Potter never said a thing and the next hour went by in near silence.

They weren't watching a particular game or rooting for any team. Draco kept sneaking glances at Wood, who was far too chipper for someone who'd gotten dumped. When Wood paid his tab and left, Draco wasn't the only one who watched him go.

Potter had a squint that was vaguely familiar. Suspicious. "I'm not sure what's going on there, but he's planning something and I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, something permanent. Marriage. Hermione…"

Draco's blood turned ice cold at the word but he knew what Potter was trying to say. "Is adverse to it all."

"Yeah." He tilted his mug towards Draco's. "Here's to an utter shite show."

"Here, here."

They drank together, but it didn't quell his worry.

On the second Saturday of October, Draco arrived at the site of the maze—an open field somewhere in the countryside.

It was already decorated with multiple entrances. Everyone was there—Angelina, several Weasleys minus two, Potter, Theo, Alicia and Susan. Wood was there, too. And he was surprised Astoria was there without Lovegood—more when she asked to be his partner.

"So the rules are that you go through the maze to find the prize in the centre," George announced. "Winner gets immunity from being an unwitting participant in my next invention. Let me know if anything glitches."

Draco's eyes widened in fear, already forming excuses to get out of this mess.

"Glitching is possible?" Astoria said, a little frightened.

"Nothing is impossible." George grinned charmingly.

"I love a good challenge," Wood declared.

"We're aware," Pansy drawled.

Greg shakily asked, "Aren't there more rules like—"

"No." George looked downright maniacal. "Nothing's lethal… I don't think."

The Weasley Pansy was shagging winced. "George…"

"Would I steer you wrong?"

"Absolutely."

"I'm out," Potter declared. "Going to wave my trauma flag."

George tapped his chin in consideration, then whispered something in his wife's ear that made her nod. "Okay, I'll allow it."

Bones raised her hand. "Can I wave mine?"

He conferred with Angelina once more and squinted. "I thought you liked the maze idea—"

"I was just having a laugh." The grin she flashed was scary. "I listen to The Veil for a living. I fear little."

Draco knew that.

"Is everyone here?" George looked around. "Where's Padma?"

Theo chuckled. "She's in Milan with Blaise, who wasn't falling for your trap."

"Trap?" he gasped, throwing a hand over his heart. "I'm innocent!"

Everyone collectively groaned.

"I believe he said—" Theo cleared his throat and put on the most pompous, Blaise-esque expression Draco had seen. "I beg your finest fucking pardon? A maze created by George Weasley? Absolutely not."

George booed while everyone else laughed. He sulked more before looking around, "Hermione's late."

"Actually, I've just arrived."

Everyone turned.

Draco had to exhale through his jitters.

Granger looked… the same.

Like herself.

Even after Wood waved her over because he was the only one without a partner, Draco still watched her, noticing all the signs of her not being okay. The smiles that didn't reach her eyes and the physical distance she put between herself and everyone. It was awkward the first time Granger caught him watching. Her expression went from neutral to focused; a pause that silently told Draco he wasn't escaping again without a conversation.

For the first time since the beginning of whatever this was, dread turned into a solid weight in his chest as George explained the rules.

"Get to the middle first. Along the path, there will be treats or tricks. Don't get attached to your partners, the maze was designed with chaos in mind. Some of the tricks are treats, and some of the treats are tricks. The maze changes shapes, and it may trick you into going in the wrong direction. Optical illusions and traps exist as well."

"Is there anything good?" Pansy asked a little fearfully.

"Glad you asked!" George's grin turned sly, waggling his brows. "Sprinkled throughout are some sweet rewards, completely legit, and several snogging tricks or treats for you lovebirds. As a warning, it'll only activate if the pheromones between you and your maze partner are high enough. Meaning, you have to be attracted to them."

Reflexively, Draco glanced at Astoria, who was staring thoughtfully into space.

"Everything begins in five minutes."

And then George ran off like a cartoon villain leaving Angelina to direct everyone to their entrances.

Draco and Astoria's designated entrance was right next to Wood and Granger's.

To his horror, Astoria dragged him to cheerfully approach the pair.

"Hi!"

Wood was surprised by her exuberance. "Oh, hi Astoria."

"Hello," Granger greeted pleasantly, then glanced at him. "Draco."

"Granger." Fortunately, he didn't stutter her name.

"Astoria," her tone was flat. "Are you in town for long?"

Too busy glancing between them, it took a second for Astoria to reply, "I am. Wedding planning."

"That's exciting, yah?" Wood grinned. "I'll have to get some suggestions from you."

Granger's brow shot up.

"Of course!" Astoria giggled.

Draco was in the fucking twilight zone. What the hell was she playing at? Astoria was here at the request of her parents demanding she fix whatever caused him to file a dissolution request. There would be no wedding. They both knew that. Draco started looking around, dying for a subject change.

"Oh, that's…" Granger swallowed, looking anywhere except at him.

"It's about time, right?" Astoria patted his shoulder and ignored the way he was looking at her.

"Yeah…sure." She folded her arms. "Good luck in the maze and with all the planning."

"Thanks!"

Draco had never been more thankful for George Weasley's chaos.

His voice eviscerated the awkwardness. "Alright fighters, to your gate!"

The maze was nothing like George described.

Typical.

At every turn there were questions they had to answer in order to proceed. Draco had run from two apparitions, all but leaving Astoria behind. He was no saviour. They bumped into Pansy and the Weasley she was dating, got separated by a hedge, and once he'd even heard Bones cackle maniacally. They were cut off from a path twice by abruptly growing hedges and a brick wall.

The only treat they'd come across turned Astoria's hair bright red.

"And what did we learn about touching anything created by George Weasley?" Draco chastised.

"That it's fun?" Astoria went into her purse for a mirror. "It's not bad, right?"

Along with her rosy cheeks and button nose, she looked like a damn clown. "Not at all."

With a new smile, Astoria skipped along the maze. Draco didn't know how much time passed before they spotted Wood trailing after Granger. His clothes were turned into wood—clever. The fresh anxiety bleeding off him as he stiffly shuffled behind Granger made Draco pause.

"Hermione. Slow down…"

Astoria brightened and jumped up and down, waving her hands. "Hermione!"

She stopped, mouth tightening as if she wanted to be anywhere else.

Draco started for another direction but Astoria all but dragged him towards the pair.

"Teamwork, right?" Wood suggested.

"Let's just finish this," Granger replied.

"I just—"

"Oliver, please. Let it go. I haven't—" Her eyes fell on them.

Astoria awkwardly waved. "Fancy meeting you two here."

Granger blinked "What happened to your hair?"

Astoria touched it. "A treat? I think."

Granger squinted. "Treats are tricks and tricks are tricks when it comes to George. Don't touch anything."

"That's what Draco said. I was curious."

"Your hair's nice." Wood's compliment earned a smile from Astoria. He looked around, slow to raise his hand to point in the direction Draco was headed towards. "I think we should go that way."

"Agreed." Granger brusquely started toward the hedged arches.

Wood and Astoria exchanged shrugs.

Draco followed, keeping his distance, and was just crossing beneath when he spotted a shimmer.

A trap.

Granger walked through first, but when he tried to step back, a hard shove from behind sent him stumbling forward. All of a sudden, the hedges filled in behind him like the arch never existed. Not wanting to be alone with Granger, Draco reached into the bush but it pushed him away at first touch.

He could hear Astoria on the other side lamenting loudly about them getting separated, but Wood was louder, more anxious. "Are you okay, Hermione?"

"Yes," Draco replied. "We both are."

"Actually, we're not," Granger said from behind him.

Dread made Draco freeze. Turning, he quickly realised that she was absolutely correct.

There was no way out except an oddly familiar door.

The first locked door they ever tried to solve.

"Am I—"

"You're not hallucinating? It's probably a spell. Something in our subconscious, a memory." Granger didn't dare get close to the door, but after looking in all directions, all escapes were sealed away. And the space between them and the door was small. "No runes to get us out of this one."

Vines grew from the tops of the hedges, over their heads, budding and opening into a familiar sprig over their heads

Mistletoe.

"It's not even bloody Christmas, George!" Granger swore.

"Trick or treat." Draco muttered.

"What's happening?" Wood asked.

"Mistletoe," Granger replied stiffly, her eyes not leaving him.

"I thought George said—"

"It's trick or treat," Astoria reasoned. "The only way out is to do what it wants, right?"

Frazzled, Draco tried to sidestep Granger and ran into an invisible wall. He turned, unable to take more than a step before another wall stopped him. All the while, Granger stood there, waiting for him to stop wiggling like a fish on a hook.

An awkward moment passed before Astoria loudly said, "Now don't we have a situation here!"

Draco wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

"It should take a quick kiss." Granger rubbed the back of her neck. "The hand will do, maybe?"

Before he could offer, every plan to leave the first moment that door unlocked died when she reached for his hand and brought his knuckles to her lips. Granger let his hand go and Draco felt like his hand had been burned.

The spell didn't end.

The invisible wall closed in further.

Draco's panic blurred his vision.

"Didn't work," Granger told the others.

"I thought George said snogging trick or treats wouldn't happen if—"

"Focus, Wood!" Astoria interrupted. "Okay, so you're going to have to—"

Draco jolted. "The contract. I can't, unless there are extenuating circumstances."

"Unless you want to be trapped there forever, I would consider it one of those circumstances where the rules don't apply," Astoria said, nearly giddy. "You have permission. Whatever it takes. Is my word granting permission enough?"

"We'll see…" Draco muttered.

"What does that mean?" Wood asked loudly.

"Just look for another way around, wooden man."

"Oi!"

Still frozen when Draco turned back to her, Granger's expression was impossible to read.

No excuses. No hindrance. Just them.

However long it took.

Draco's heart hammered an anxious rhythm. He was either going to drop dead or be sick everywhere. But fear never stopped him from stepping closer, murmuring apologies even as he cupped her face in his hands.

"Are you actually sorry?"

"No."

Heart somewhere near his ankles, Draco lowered his head, his lips brushings hers once, twice. Not enough yet too much, his blood instantly sang. Granger lifted on her toes to stop delaying the inevitable, fisting the front of his shirt and kissing him soundly.

But she pulled back just as quick, eyes wide.

There was no crushing pain. Searing flesh. No mark of adultery on his forearm.

Permission had been enough, but the door hadn't unlocked.

With every shred of hesitation gone, Draco went back for more of whatever it took to unlock a keyless door but found home and hunger instead.

Granger's feet were firmly on the ground when he pulled her closer, moving her hand off his shirt and shivering when they found their way around his waist. Being here with her was like stepping inside a warm house after being trapped in a winter storm. His fingers tingled and his face felt warm; it couldn't last forever but Draco wasn't interested in leaving this comfort.

Draco's lips were on hers again before he could say something ludicrous—like how he'd dreamed of this moment or how he hadn't wanted anything more than her since he'd truly understood the definition of wanting.

It was rushed and frantic until Draco accidentally nipped her lip and Granger became pliant. In an instant, sloppy, urgent kisses morphed into an unhurried exploration. They shared each other's breath, Draco savoured the moment, and Granger's hand moved from his waist to curl around the side of his neck.

The door rattling on its hinges echoed in his head.

Draco didn't want to move, but knew he had to.

This couldn't happen until everything was sorted and he desperately wanted to make the most of it, convey his truth against her lips, but there was never going to be enough time.

The spell ended with the door opening.

"Oi!" Astoria yelled, "The shrubbery is vanishing!"

They pulled back just enough to stare at each other for a fleeting moment. Granger touched his jaw, searching his eyes desperately for words he bit back.

This wasn't enough. I love you. I'm ready to risk it all.

As he fought against every urge to speak his soul, Draco couldn't believe he used to wonder if what he felt was real or a figment of his imagination due to proximity and loneliness.

Now he knew more than ever that the power of a kindred spirit was real, but he had to keep his mouth shut tight.

Silence himself.

Remember why he was doing this in the first place.

Granger kissed his knuckle once more and he touched a short curl. It felt softer than he remembered.

"I think we're overdue for honesty, don't you?"

Draco didn't answer. He barely had time to step back before Astoria appeared, smiling wickedly, with Wood behind her. "Shall we continue?"

"Sure," Draco muttered numbly.

Granger walked on and Wood followed.

Astoria grabbed his arm and held him back, muttering, "You're not the only one who can read a damn contract. The rules were created to stop children from being born outside the relationship. That's how I was able to circumvent, and why you didn't have the same freedom. Kissing doesn't bring about children, you idiot. Have you really never—"

"No." Draco was too lazy before, and now he wasn't sure if he could stop if he ever flew too close to the sun.

"Then, you can thank me later."

By the time the hedges unfurled, he and Granger were back to their status quo: avoidance.

Wood jumped into the role of guide, not leaving Granger's side while Astoria watched him with mischief in her eyes that he couldn't comprehend because he was too busy reeling from the low that followed such a high.

The rest of the day was a blur.

Bones won. Draco was too listless to care.

It wasn't until he was back in his flat that everything hit him.

Draco barely made it to the loo before he was sick in the sink.

Granger turned up at his door at two in the morning looking absolutely furious.

A shocking sight, but one he'd missed terribly. For the first time since her birthday, he felt normal.

Whole.

"Oliver proposed," she blurted out. "Sort of."

Draco went through six emotions in a span of ten seconds before numbly stepping aside to let her in then shutting the door

"Granger—"

"He sat the ring down on the table and said he'd give me time to think about if I wanted to put it on. As much time as I need. But he was ready and wanted for us to get married and start our life together."

"Why. Are. You. Here?"

"Because I know what I want." She turned to him. "Because I hate this tension. Going from talking every night to not speaking for weeks has been—"

"Crippling."

Like waking in a country where no one spoke his language.

Granger sobered. "Yes."

"I—"

"I hate admitting that I miss you and I'm tired of keeping my distance." She searched his face. "Today… after what happened… I need to know what the hell you're not telling me so we can figure it out together."

Draco ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not breaking my contract. It's not up for discussion. If you think Oliver proposing is going to change anything, I—"

"Draco—"

"Stop. Don't do that."

"No," she snapped at him. "I want you to stop. Look at me and be honest. I'm terrified but I'm here. I'm anxious but I'm asking you to stop being a coward—did today mean anything?"

"Of course it did!" Draco was practically gasping, forcing his anxiety down. "If things were different…"

"Your contract." Granger froze. "Astoria. I've done some reading and—"

"Please, don't." Draco was so tired he let himself press his forehead to hers. Let himself breathe her in. "I've made a mess of things."

"We have, and I'm so tired."

Draco knew the bone-deep weariness she spoke of.

"I'm tired of wanting you." Her voice shook as tears slipped. "I-I can't keep doing this."

"I know." He wiped each one away.

"My timing has never been this wrong." More tears fell. They didn't stop. "I thought this universe was…my calculations. I watched and waited and I was sure. I was sure."

Draco's curiosity tries to cut through his misery but it can't break the mold.

"I'm not this person."

"I'm sorry," he murmured, throat bobbing. He kissed her out of desperation and emotions he couldn't speak, feeling as broken as she looked.

His vision blurred when her lips moved roughly against his before she turned her head. "I can't."

"I know." Evidence of his own misery rolled down his cheeks. His hands wouldn't stop shaking no matter how hard he squeezed them. "I'm trying to do the right thing."

Granger crumbled like limestone. "Then don't marry her."

Before the truth came roaring out of him, Granger forced herself out of his reach and left the way she'd come.

The click of the closing door resounded in his ears.

Sleep wasn't just elusive, it simply never came.

Chapter Text

Granger disappeared the next morning.

After a few panicked friends came to Draco when she failed to return home, he turned to Blaise, who called Theo. Several shady methods later, Theo placed her in Australia. A ten minute call later, Angelina confirmed Granger was with her parents and would return in two weeks. What Granger said after was for Angelina’s ears only, but she looked terribly sad when she hung up. 

Wood, at their post- rats in a maze commiseration dinner later that evening, spun a different tale. 

“Her mother wanted her to visit before she returned to work,” Wood told the table between sips of his Butterbeer. “She’s been trying to get them to move back to London for a while now.” 

Draco frowned, lifting his head from the beef stew he’d been staring at. 

Wood didn’t know she’d quit the Ministry to take a position with the IWC. 

She hadn’t told him, and neither did anyone else at the table. 

Potter whistled a tune. Spinnet changed the topic. Draco left early.