Chapter Text
Rage radiated off of Hermione in waves as she stormed through the front entrance of Nott Manor, a large bang echoing through the foyer as the door slammed into the wall.
“Hermione, just wait.”
Theo burst through the doorway just behind her in a light jog, but she couldn’t stop moving. If she stopped, she was going to explode, so instead she began pacing back and forth, scuffing the polished floors with every sharp turn.
“Ugh! I’m going to resurrect that bastard just to kill him again!” She was beyond livid. She didn’t think she’d ever felt so much fury toward a singular person.
They were returning from a trip to Muggle London. In an effort to glean anything helpful in their pursuit of returning Theo’s memories, they went to see a doctor specializing in particularly severe cases of amnesia. Not only was it a total bust—the shoddy doctor couldn’t even make sense of Theo’s symptoms—but they’d also taken scans of his head to assess the physical damage.
And the scans were quite informative in the most horrifying way possible. Viewing the insides of Theo’s skull, they could see the permanent effects from each blow his father hit him with, all lit up on the screen like an insidious Christmas tree. Hearing about it all those months ago was nauseating enough, but seeing the evidence? That was agonizing. Hermione couldn’t stop picturing little Theo, a child, being subjected to his father's wrath. She had half a mind to learn necromancy just to resurrect him and inflict that same torture upon him on an endless loop.
Her steps were halted as Theo gripped her shoulders. While she was breathing heavily, on the brink of losing it entirely, he remained completely calm before her.
“How can I help you?” he asked in a low voice. “What can I do?”
She exhaled a bitter laugh, forcing herself to relax. “You shouldn’t be comforting me, Theo. I should be comforting you.” With a calming breath, Hermione closed her eyes for a brief moment, attempting to settle herself. When she opened them, Theo was still watching her patiently.
As her heartbeat slowly returned to a regular cadence, she swept her gaze around the foyer in search of something to distract herself from the simmering fury in her blood. Only a few paintings lined the embellished walls, each one depicting a serene midnight landscape. Those would do. She stared at the magical brushstrokes, watching the grass sway back and forth under the moonlight in the tiny painted scene.
Suddenly, her eyes darted to Theo as an idea struck. “Theo, do you have any portraits of your father? I’d like to have a word.”
Leaning back, he let go of her shoulders with an amused grin, already following her train of thought. “No.” He glanced around the room, taking in all the nondescript paintings. “My father had most of the portraits removed years ago. I suppose they were getting on his nerves, so he destroyed the majority of them, though I think there might still be a few heinous Nott ancestors tucked away in his study.” Hermione considered for a moment. Not quite the same, but it would have to do.
They spent the next two hours searching every inch of Nott Manor for any painting that portrayed a person, Nott ancestor or not, and brought them into a field at the back of the property. By the end, there were only about a dozen portraits in the pile. Theo’s father really must have loathed the rest of those blasted paintings to resort to destruction, and she hated to think how vile they must have been for even Cantankerous Nott to dislike them.
“Alright, love. I’m following your lead,” Theo said as he laid the first portrait on the grass before her.
“What is the meaning of this? You dare bring me into the wretched outdoors?! That is no way to treat the Duchess of—”
“Diffindo,” Hermione muttered, cutting the old woman depicted in the painting off mid-sentence as a series of deep slashes dug into the canvas. There was silence for a moment, and then the woman exploded in a loud shriek.
“HOW DARE YOU TOUCH MY—”
“Aqua Eructo.” A harsh blast of water shot out of her wand with tremendous pressure, shredding what remained of the portrait.
The portraits didn’t feel any actual pain, of course. She wasn’t a bloody sadist. But still, causing the affronted shrieks of bigots who were long dead was a decent substitute for what she really wanted to do, which was to cause the senior Nott bodily harm.
Theo wordlessly put the next portrait in front of Hermione with a smirk curling up his lips, and she proceeded to magically crumble it like a car in a junkyard.
On the fifth portrait, Hermione stared down at the man, noting his piercing blue eyes and chiseled jawline. This one bore much more resemblance to Theo than the others. She looked up to him, a question in her eyes.
“My grandfather. Churlous Nott,” Theo said through a scowl. It looked so out of place on his face. “By all means, let him have it.”
Hermione hit him with a series of smaller curses, wanting to make it last. Weakened Confringos blasted him into the air, scorching the canvas without obliterating it completely.
“Theodore,” the portrait spoke in a deep, gravelly voice. “Look what you have become. A disgrace to your house. Your lineage. Have you sunk so low as to defile yourself with a Mudblo—”
“Incendio,” Theo gritted the spell through his teeth, sending old Churlous up in flames. Theo let it go on for a long moment, with nothing but the sound of Churlous’s infuriated screams filling the air between them.
Finally, when all that was left was a pile of ash, Theo’s hardened expression morphed into a satisfied smile. When he spoke, his voice came out light and playful again. “That was quite fun, actually.”
They lined up the remaining portraits and, one by one, set them all ablaze. It was magnificent. A small part of her now felt she understood Ginny a little better. Setting your problems on fire was quite cathartic, indeed.
As the last of the canvases burned out completely, Theo suddenly flicked his gaze up, seemingly at nothing. “Draco’s here,” he said, extending his wand to vanish the charcoal colored mess they’d made on the ground.
Oh. The wards must have alerted him. Hermione felt a tinge of embarrassment, piecing together that Theo must have been aware of every time Malfoy flooed straight into her room for a late-night rendezvous.
“Let’s go,” Theo said, interrupting her thoughts. “I’m sure he’s wondering where we are.”
He linked his arm in hers as they strolled back toward the Manor, all traces of anger successfully burned out of her system.
“By the way, what should I wear tonight?” Theo asked as they passed the gardens.
That evening was Harry’s birthday party. And Ginny’s, since their birthdays were only a week and a half apart, though Hermione wasn’t sure if the witch would even speak to her. She’d debated about bringing Theo as a buffer, worried it would only add fuel to the fire with Ginny, but ultimately decided she didn’t want to hide their relationship. If she and Ginny were going to make up, Ginny would just have to understand that Theo was a permanent fixture in Hermione’s life.
“Your usual attire is fine,” she answered, raking her gaze down his Muggle t-shirt and jeans. “It’s just Grimmauld Place, nothing fancy.”
Next to her, Theo still looked unsure. She bumped his shoulder with hers teasingly. “God, you really do get all flustered around Harry, don’t you? I thought you said you were over that little crush.”
Theo exhaled a laugh. “I am over it. I just don’t think I’ll ever look at him without feeling like a bloody first year walking into Hogwarts for the first time on wobbly little feet.”
“Well, if it helps, you certainly don’t show it. I can never tell when you’re actually into someone, you hold yourself together so well,” she chuckled.
Theo hummed in amusement as they entered the manor again.
“Granger?” Malfoy’s voice called out, echoing through the hallways. They found him in the drawing room. “Grange—”
The rest of her name died on his tongue when his eyes landed on them. She looked down at herself and realized she was covered in ash and scorch marks. Theo, too, had collected a layer of black grime on his hands and through his hair. She reached up, grasping a coil of her own hair between her fingers, only to find it just as filthy. Lovely.
Malfoy flicked his gaze between them, then shook his head, seemingly thinking it better not to ask.
“Hello, Draco,” Theo greeted in a chipper voice as he helped himself to a cup of tea. “What brings you here this lovely afternoon?”
Malfoy cleared his throat and tossed an emerald envelope on the hutch next to Theo. He held a second one in his hand, extending it toward Hermione, though he didn’t take any steps to bring it to her.
“My mother is hosting the first annual gala for the Muggleborn Inclusivity Project. No doubt you’ve heard of the organization. She’s on the board now.” He rubbed his lips together as if the words had left a strange coating in his mouth. She wasn’t sure if it was the topic of his mother or the fact that he was inviting her that caused his discomfort. “Anyway, these are your invites. It’s in August at the manor.
The manor. She internally scoffed. Right, just Malfoy Manor, the place she was brutally tor—
Don’t go there, Hermione. Push it away.
Feigning indifference, Hermione sat herself on the loveseat, uncaring about her filthy state. “No, thank you,” she said flippantly, not even pretending to reach for the envelope out of politeness.
Malfoy’s head jerked slightly, his awkwardness replaced by affront. “No, thank you?” He scowled. “Are you serious?”
“Quite,” she answered, plucking a textbook off the coffee table, finding where she left off last.
“But it benefits Muggleborns. That’s practically your whole—”
“Oh, is it?” She snapped back, cutting him off. “Am I a Muggleborn? I had no idea, Malfoy. Thank you so much for bringing that to my attention.”
Malfoy’s jaw clenched as he stepped forward, slapping the envelope down on the coffee table with a huff.
“It’s just a fucking invitation, witch,” he muttered. “Think on it.”
He stepped into the fireplace, disappearing in a flurry of green flames.
Later that evening, Hermione and Theo stepped out of the fireplace in Grimmauld Place to find it filled to the brim with people. It seemed no one dared turn down an invite to the Chosen One’s birthday. Around them, music blared from invisible speakers, and the lights were charmed to emit a blue glow over their heads.
They pushed through the sea of bodies, and when they spotted a bar table set up in the corner, Theo turned to Hermione, leaning in close to speak right against her ear. “I’ll make us some drinks. Any requests?”
“Surprise me,” she replied, pushing down a shiver as the vibrations from his voice tickled down her neck.
When he disappeared, she scanned the room in search of any familiar faces. The party was mostly filled with ministry workers and people she assumed were aurors. She spotted a few friendly faces of Hogwarts alumni. Padma, Ernie, and Justin were all huddled across the room, deep in conversation.
Continuing her search, she turned to her right just as a tall head of blinding white-blonde hair stepped up next to her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, unable to hold back her baffled tone.
Malfoy scoffed, clearly annoyed by her inflection. “The She-weasel invited me.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. So that was still happening, apparently. Before she could retort, she was pulled into a bear hug from behind. When the arms released her from their grasp, she whirled around to find Harry beaming down at her with a lopsided grin.
“Happy birthday, Harry,” she said with a friendly pat on the cheek.
“Thanks, Hermione.” His smile faded and morphed into confusion as his eyes flicked to Malfoy next to her. “Er… Malfoy. What are you doing here?”
Malfoy’s lip curled. “Merlin, I know you lot don’t think highly of me, but I don’t just waltz into people’s homes on a whim like some gate-crashing freak. I was bloody invited by your wife.”
“...Er, girlfriend. Not wife,” was all Harry could muster in response, still taking in the moment with an awkward bewilderment etched on his face.
“What the fuck ever,” Malfoy muttered under his breath.
At that moment, Ron wandered up, planting himself between Harry and Malfoy. Hermione watched in baffled amusement while Ron jovially clapped Malfoy on the back. Then, much to the latter’s horror, Ron rested his palm on Malfoy’s shoulder as if they were old pals.
Malfoy tried to shrug Ron’s hand off, but Ron was adamant as he greeted in a merry tone, “Hello, you two.”
Oh, this was gold. Ron was fucking with him. Killing him with kindness, knowing it would get under Malfoy’s skin more than any cruel insult or nasty nickname. And it was working.
With his lip curled in disgust, Malfoy stilled, eyes flicking to Hermione. She could see the gears turning in his eyes, putting the pieces together that Ron knew about their entanglement. A flurry of emotions flickered across his face in quick succession. The repulsion at Ron’s proximity shifted to suspicion, surprise, and then finally plain old annoyance. Ron looked no less amused watching him work it all out.
With a sharp jerk of his torso, Malfoy finally shoved his hand away and stomped off, murmuring something under his breath about bloody fucking Gryffindors.
Hermione watched him retreat ino the crowd, then turned back to Ron to find him grinning widely, victorious.
“Merlin, why didn’t I ever try that back in school?” he muttered. “Anyway, just popping in to say hi, ‘Mione. Padma is here without a date, and I have half a mind to see if she’ll give me a redo date after the Yule Ball. I’ll see you in a bit.” And just like that, he was off again.
Harry’s eyes flicked back to her, brows raised. She lifted her hands as if to say I have no idea .
Theo ambled back, handing her a cocktail. Something blueberry flavored by the looks of it, and she smiled in appreciation.
He turned to Harry, quickly scanning his person, taking him in. “Nice to see you again, Potter. Happy birthday.” Theo shot Harry that disarming smile, and by the way Harry’s shoulders relaxed, she could tell it worked on him just as well as it did her. How did Theo do that?
“Thanks, N—”
“Theo,” he quickly interjected, still grinning. “Please, call me Theo.”
Harry cleared his throat. “Right, er… Thanks, Theo.”
Next to her, Theo nodded, and they fell into an easy conversation, catching up on the mundanities of life. Theo listened intently as Harry described a recent skirmish that had resulted in the arrest of the remaining Carrow sibling. And in turn, Harry let Hermione and Theo yammer on about their newest theories in their memory research.
When they lapsed into a comfortable silence, Hermione steeled herself for her next question. “So, where’s the birthday girl?”
Harry craned his neck, searching the crowd of people. “Dunno. We had a spat earlier, so she’s avoiding me. Must be around here somewhere.”
Hermione turned to look at Theo. “Are you alright if I go…?”
‘Of course,” he nodded. “Go do your thing. Potter here will keep me company, isn’t that right?” He flicked his eyes back to Harry, who seemed taken aback by the suggestion, but ultimately shrugged with a “Sure.”
Hermione pushed her way through the living room and into the kitchen, still no sign of Ginny amongst the crowd. As she stepped onto the back patio overlooking the small yard, she found another familiar face instead.
“Luna, hi!” Hermione’s face lit up as she took in Luna’s bright features. She was dressed casually in a mismatched blouse and flowy skirt, but still beautiful as ever. God, she hadn’t seen Luna in ages. Not since graduation, actually. Hermione frowned slightly at the realization. Why did something always have to fall through the cracks?
“Oh, hello Hermione!” Luna beamed. “I was hoping to run into you.”
“Oh?”
Luna nodded. “It’s my last night here. I leave tomorrow on an excursion with Rolf.”
“Rolf?”
“Scamander,” Luna answered with a shy smile. “It turns out he’s a fan of my articles. He reached out a few months ago, and we’ve been seeing each other ever since. Anyway, he invited me on his next trip to Greece to document a herd of Heliopaths.”
“Luna, that’s fantastic! I’m so happy for you.” It was so good to see her light shining again. “And, er… your father? How is he taking it?”
Luna’s head tilted, and her smile faded slightly as she shook her head. “Daddy’s not thrilled.”
“Mm.” Hermione nodded, accepting the vague answer, and shifted to a less heavy topic. “Well, tell me everything. You and Rolf then?”
As Luna described her whirlwind romance, a familiar loud cackle echoed across the patio. She’d know that laugh anywhere. It only took a second for her to find the source. Twenty paces away, Ginny had her head tilted back in laughter, her silky orange hair falling all the way down her spine. She was standing with—ugh—Malfoy.
Irritation bubbled under her skin as she observed Malfoy smirk into his drink, watching Ginny wipe the laughter-induced tears from her face. Ginny still wouldn’t even speak to Hermione, but apparently, she’d found camaraderie with Malfoy even after leaving Hogwarts.
Hermione had been under the impression that it was a reluctant agreement between the two, but watching them now, she realized they were actually friends. Apparently, the kind of friend you invite into your home to celebrate your birthday. The kind that shove each other's shoulders playfully, like Ginny was doing to him now. An unsettling realization struck. They acted like siblings.
She watched Malfoy roll his eyes at something Ginny said, but his lips twitched up as if he were trying not to smile. While Luna chattered on before her, Hermione couldn’t help the way her lip curled up in annoyance, eyes glued to the red head and blonde across the yard. It wasn’t fair.
Suddenly, Malfoy’s eyes flicked up to hers, and she quickly averted her gaze, but not before she caught his triumphant smirk at catching her gawking. When Hermione shifted her attention back to Luna, the witch had already finished talking and was scanning Hermione’s face, much to her chagrin.
“Oh, you and Draco are sleeping together already?” Luna asked.
Damn, she’s intuitive.
“Interesting, I saw it coming, but not for a long while.” Luna frowned slightly, her brows furrowed as she considered for a moment. “I’m so rarely wrong about these things.”
Knowing Luna would see through any denial, she opted to remain silent.
Luna craned her neck to glance at Malfoy, then turned back to Hermione. “You need to be careful, Hermione. While I do see your strings are intertwined, something is… off. I’ve never seen the fates so confused. You should protect yourself.”
“Protect myself,” Hermione echoed, and Luna nodded. It was the same advice Pansy had given her all those months ago. Hermione wasn’t one for believing in universal signs per se, but it couldn’t hurt to keep it in mind. “Okay, I will.”
When she chanced a glance behind Luna’s head again, she noticed Ginny was now standing alone. Now was her chance. She excused herself, wishing Luna all the best with her travels, and slowly approached Ginny’s side, summoning a gift box from her bag.
Ginny was staring off, seemingly lost in thought, and hadn’t noticed her presence yet. Standing shoulder to shoulder, Hermione held out the present in between them without looking over.
“Happy Birthday.”
Ginny flinched slightly, then looked down at the box. She didn’t look at Hermione as she accepted it, lazily pulling at the bow.
“What is it?” Ginny asked in a low voice. Hermione got the feeling she was trying to sound indifferent, but Ginny was too transparent.
“Open it and find out.”
Pulling the ribbon off the box, Ginny tipped the lid over and paused. She reached in and pulled out a pair of dark wash Muggle blue jeans. The same style Ginny always complimented Hermione on, only in her own size.
Ginny’s eyes flicked to Hermione, her icy demeanor replaced by shock. “Are these…?”
Hermione couldn’t restrain her excitement, nodding frantically. “They’ll make your ass look divine. Not that it doesn’t already, of course.”
Ginny rolled her lips together, attempting to hold back a laugh that Hermione knew was sitting just under the surface. She was so close to giving in, Hermione could practically taste it. After a long moment of meaningful eye contact, Ginny caved. Grinning widely, she caught Hermione’s eyes, then tipped her head back with laughter when she noticed her giddy state.
When they collected themselves, Ginny folded the jeans and placed them back in the box. “I… I’m sorry.” The way Ginny swallowed told her that it was a difficult sentence to utter.
“Me too,” Hermione spoke in a low voice, cautious not to spook her. “I’m the one who was a shitty friend.”
“Yeah,” Ginny huffed a laugh. “You were. But I dragged that out way too long.” She averted her gaze, staring off into oblivion. “I don’t know why I did that. I was just so angry with you, and then I started pinning all of my other problems onto you, too. By the time I realized it, I was in too deep. I couldn’t… I couldn’t just admit it for some reason.”
Ginny was only validating Hermione’s theories, but it still felt good to hear. “It’s okay.”
“But, erm, I’m doing better these days. With the anger, that is. My rage sessions with Malfoy are really helpful.”
Damn. Now she felt like a bitch for being so resentful of their friendship.
Swinging her arm around Ginny’s shoulder, she gave her a tight squeeze. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Ginny rested her head into the side of her neck in return. “I missed you, too. Merlin, there’s so much to catch you up on.”
And catch up, they did. The pair spent hours outside, missing the rest of the party, too wrapped up in their own conversation. Ginny squealed in excitement as Hermione told her about the trip to Italy—she'd left out any mentions of a certain blonde prat, of course—and Hermione returned in kind when Ginny reenacted the day she got the floo call about making the Holyhead Harpies.
When their conversation came to a lull, Hermione stilled. “Shit, I just realized I’ve left Theo alone all this time. Last I saw him, he was with Harry. I'd better go find him.”
“I’ll come with you.” Ginny linked their arms as they walked back into the house. “I should probably go see my husband anyway.”
“Husband?” Hermione jolted.
Ginny chuckled. “Not really. Malfoy and I always say that Harry and I are like an old married couple with the way we constantly bicker, so we call him my husband.”
“Oh.” Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if Harry was aware of that little moniker. Somehow, she doubted it.
When they entered the living room, the space was much emptier than when she’d arrived. It must be later than she’d realized. Much to her surprise, Harry and Theo were still hanging out together. At some point, they’d shifted to the sofa and were now deep in conversation.
The witches approached from behind the couch. “Hello, stranger,” Hermione greeted, running her fingers through Theo’s hair playfully.
“Mm, that feels heavenly,” he said, melting into her touch as she scratched her nails against his scalp. Opening his eyes, he looked at her upside down. “Where’d you run off to all this time?”
In answer, Hermione flicked her gaze to Ginny, and Theo smiled in understanding.
“Right,” she said. “Well, I’m good to go whenever you are. I just need to use the loo. Be right back.”
“I’ll be here when you’re ready,” he called after her as he turned back to Harry.
After relieving herself and taking a moment to check her reflection, she opened the bathroom door, only taking a single step into the hallway before she was pushed back into the bathroom by a tall figure.
Her heart rate picked up for a split second until she glanced up and realized it was Malfoy.
“Malfoy,” she huffed, taking a step back. “What the fuck?”
Peering up at him with a scowl, she took in his appearance, noting his tousled hair and loosened button-up shirt. The way his lids were slightly drooping told her he was drunk. Of course, she’d seen him intoxicated before, but never so physically affected.
At the sound of his name, his lips curled up into a lopsided smirk. Ah, he was in one of his rare playful moods.
He leaned his weight back against the closed door, giving her space, but never removing his gaze. “Do you want to know a secret?” he asked, tilting his head.
Hermione looked around the tiny bathroom, taking in the ancient yellow wallpaper peeling along the dusty moldings. Harry clearly hadn’t gotten around to redecorating this room yet. She raised her brows, prompting Malfoy to continue.
“You do this thing where you say my name all high-pitched and irritated. ‘Malfoy!’” he mimicked, exaggerating the shrillness of her voice.
She rolled her eyes and pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek, refusing to show how amused she was. This silly version of Malfoy was really something.
“I quite like it.” He rolled his lips together. “I really like it, actually. Not as much as I like when you use my first name, but we both know I have to earn that.”
She did know. Because he liked it so much, she only ever yelled out his first name in bed when he’d done something worthy of it. Only then would she grant him the right to his given name. It was a reward. Funny, she didn’t think he’d picked up on that.
“But…” Malfoy continued. “I like your irritated voice too, so much that sometimes I piss you off on purpose just to hear it. Just to make you glare at me with that scary, murdery look you get.”
Her brows furrowed, caught between surprise and… oh god, arousal. Why did she like this? However, it quickly morphed into annoyance as she thought of the countless times Malfoy had pushed her buttons, egged her on, pressed her until she inevitably scolded or yelled at him. She sent him a withering glare.
“Like that!” Malfoy grinned, delighted, extending his pointer finger like a child.
Smacking his hand away, she began to turn away from him, but paused as she noticed the prominent bulge in his trousers. Merlin, he really did like to piss her off.
When Malfoy clocked it, his grin grew even wider, and he pushed his weight off the door. Stepping the few paces between them in the tiny space, he leaned down until his mouth was hovering against her ear.
“Told you,” he purred. “I must be fucked in the head, because just the thought of the Golden Girl cursing my name has me spilling into my fist every night.”
She wasn’t sure if it was the vibrations of his voice tickling the hairs at the back of her neck or the dirty things he’d said that sent a jolt of electricity all the way down to her core. Her breath hitched, and he must have heard it because he kept speaking filthy words against her skin.
“I can never make sense of it. All I want is control, but when you push back against me every step of the way, I fucking lose myself in you.” He exhaled a laugh.
“You never let me have the reins completely, do you? If I bend you over your bed and shove your face against your sheets, you squeeze my cock with that tight little cunt and make me come before I’m ready. When I tell you to suck my cock, you rub those little fingers over your own clit and steal the orgasm that was supposed to be mine.” He inched forward, and she felt his erection press against her stomach.
“And yet, every time you do it, it leaves me desperate for more. It’s such a mindfuck.” He leaned down slightly and ran his tongue around the shell of her ear, pulling a whimper from her throat. Hot puffs of air caressed her neck, but he didn’t reach out to grope her. He was restraining himself, waiting for permission.
As thoroughly turned on as she was, she wasn’t going to fuck him. Not while he was so inebriated. With a light tug of his chin, she pulled him down until his lips met hers, kissing him softly. Just a brief moment of connection. A reward for being so candid with her tonight. Then, when she tapped against his chest, he backed away, giving her room to shimmy around him toward the door.
“Goodnight, Malfoy.” She’d just begun to turn the doorknob when Malfoy’s words made her still.
“You and Weaseltits made up then?
She craned her neck to face him, brows furrowed. “How did you know that?”
He leaned against the countertop, burying his hands in his pockets as he shrugged. “We had a little chat. She just needed a push in the right direction.”
Hermione’s jaw fell open.
Malfoy had performed the impossible. He’d done what she couldn’t and convinced the most stubborn witch in the world to accept Hermione back into her life. She racked her mind for some ulterior motive, some way he might have benefited from such a kind gesture, but came up with nothing.
That… couldn’t be right. Malfoy was as self-serving as they came.
And yet…
Her eyes flicked between his until he averted his gaze, seemingly uncomfortable with Hermione’s gratitude.
Hermione turned the doorknob and opened the door.
“Thank you, Draco.”