Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Ms. Granger, there is…”

“One moment, Ariana,” Hermione interrupted, still scribbling in the pad in her hands.

She hadn’t meant to be rude, but Hermione had always found when she was passionate about something, the thoughts came too quickly and her mind moved too fast. And if she didn’t write everything down to examine more thoroughly later, it would be very difficult to retrace her thoughts.

“I just need to finish one more…”

Hermione stopped.

She stopped everything. Walking. Talking. Writing.

Possibly breathing.

Closing the pad with her pen holding her place, curiosity and confusion won out over anything else she had been working on. Her focus was now here and only here, on the people before her. Though it had been years, she recognized everyone immediately.

Blaise Zabini was leaning against her bookshelf, hands tucked in the pockets of his khakis. Theodore Nott was standing behind Hermione’s couch, which Astoria Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson were resting on. They sat close, and Theodore hovered over them. Daphne Greengrass was sitting in her armchair, with Draco Malfoy standing a distance behind her.

It looked like a Slytherin Renaissance painting.

Hermione felt displaced, both in time and space. She was having flashbacks to Hogwarts, and the office that usually felt almost home-like suddenly was unrecognizable.

Taking three steps backwards, Hermione glanced to the right to check the office sign.

Hermione Granger, Head of the Department of Magical Spectrum Integration

Sure enough, it was her office.

She then glanced to the left, where Ariana was flushed. As Hermione went to re-enter her office, she heard Ariana rushing to follow.

“Funny, I don’t remember Hosting the Slytherin House on my agenda today,” Hermione mused, making her way to her desk.

“I’m sorry Ms. Granger, it wasn’t…” Ariana’s voice trailed off, like she had second guessed all the words she was going to say.

Hermione tried to hold in her frustration with her assistant. “What’s our rule, Ariana? Appointments only unless…”

“They brought it, Ms. Granger,” Ariana interrupted.

Hermione looked at the desk in front of her where a steaming cup sat next to a buttery crumpet, under a stasis charm.

Interesting.

She knew it looked the right color, and as she held it up to her nose, the wonderful, spicy scent consumed her. She took a small sip, and it tasted absolutely divine. Quite possibly the best dirty chai she had ever tasted. The warmth eased her nerves. She briefly wondered who had prepared it.

“Someone did their homework,” Hermione mused.

It was a rule Hermione had long ago put into place, when she realized she often needed a caffeine pick me-up and accidentally skipped too many meals due to her busy schedule.

However, most people didn’t know about her rule. While it was common knowledge amongst her regulars, who were so busy they often forgot to schedule and needed her correspondence quickly, it was certainly not something anyone else would be aware of.

Yet, was it truly a surprise this particular gaggle of people knew such an insider secret? With the money and power in the room in front of her, even after the impact of the war, she knew they could obtain about anything they desired.

She looked expectantly at the group before her, wondering who would speak. Crossing her legs, she waited and sipped her tea.

Silence.

They appeared to be waiting for an invitation to speak, because of course they were. Everyone in front of her would have undergone Pureblood Etiquette training.

“What can I do for you?” she finally asked, because apparently they were willing to sit in silence for as long it took.

“We need your help.”

Hermione was shocked to find it had been Pansy who spoke.

Pansy had rarely spoken to Hermione over the years, and the few words that had passed between them were carefully placed insults that carried a unique sting. She had a borderline frightening amount of courage and a distinct inability to give a shit about the opinion of others. Combined with her often overlooked brilliance, Pansy had always been dangerous and unpredictable in Hermione’s eyes.

And she was now here, sitting in Hermione’s office, asking her for help.

Which Hermione most certainly did not want to do.

It wasn’t because of who they were. No, Hermione was just rather exhausted. Everyone came to her for help. Everyone expected her to have answers. They always had. And whatever they needed of her now… They would have to find someone else.

Hermione took another drink as she mulled this over.

“This really is quite good…” Setting the cup back on its saucer, Hermione looked towards her assistant. “Ariana.”

With one word from Hermione, her assistant nodded and left, closing the office door as she went.

“Help with what exactly, Parkinson?” Hermione asked.

“Please, Pansy,” she corrected immediately.

“Alright,” Hermione nodded.

She waited as silence overtook them.

There was unease amongst them. Glances were exchanged. Shuffling and rearranging. They were remarkably nervous. The scene of so many petrified and unsure Purebloods, with their years of etiquette training, would honestly have been funny to Hermione if she weren’t so damn nervous herself.

Finally Pansy turned her attention away from Hermione and towards Astoria. “You remember my wife, Astoria?” Pansy asked then, gesturing to the woman beside her.

Hermione nodded, though truth be told it was likely a stretch. She barely remembered Astoria Greengrass, having never spoken to her at Hogwarts, and only ever hearing her name in the stories and rumors that floated amongst the students. If she were being honest, she hadn’t even thought of Astoria since then.

She certainly hadn’t known about an engagement with Pansy, let alone a wedding.

“I hadn’t heard. Congratulations,” Hermione said.

Pansy gave a small nod but paid no other mind to Hermione, rather turning towards her wife once more. All eyes in the room were on Astoria, who seemed nervous and tired.

Pondering if that actually was the best way to describe Astoria, Hermione ultimately settled on the descriptor of exhausted. The woman looked completely and utterly exhausted. Almost worn, as if her very soul was drained.

It took a nod and a whisper of words from Daphne before Astoria made a move. And when she did, it was to pull her jumper up a few inches. The movement revealed Astoria’s bare side, but what caught Hermione was the wound there on her skin.

It was an interesting wound, the likes of which Hermione had never seen. Bright and puckered and swollen, as if it were new. Yet the coloring was deeper, as if it were older. Dark red lines were visible through her skin, extending out from the center, as if Hermione could see her veins. The area around the wound was bruising, faint yellow at the ends, deep and dark towards the center.

A contradiction of a wound that simultaneously looked new and old. Hermione knew it made no sense. And if she could see that much from this far away, she couldn’t imagine what it would look like up close.

Hermione’s unending curiosity had her on her feet before she realized what she was doing.

“May I?” she asked. Astoria nodded.

Crouching before Astoria, Hermione looked the wound over, which managed to look far more ghastly up close. The bruising was severe. The red lines of her veins were dark due to a mysterious black shadow that seemed to outline them, and the wound itself definitely looked like it was infected.

As Hermione stood, her mind was whirling with possibilities. She couldn’t help but consider the many aspects that would result in a wound like that, even as she wondered what she could possibly do for them.

“We believe it’s a curse.” Pansy’s shaky voice filled the tense silence.

All eyes were on Hermione. No one dared move, it appeared no one dared breathe as they watched the interaction between the three women.

Hermione nodded, remembering after Pansy’s words that Astoria’s line had a previously cursed ancestor in it.

“The family curse…” Hermione mused.

“No,” Astoria said quickly. “Though, that is still present, but managed. This is...something else.” Astoria looked towards Pansy.

“She was cut with a cursed blade,” Pansy explained.

Hermione nodded, curiosity warring with the need to keep her distance.

This is not my department. This is not my department.

She repeated the words over and over in her head, trying to shut out the need to gather more information, to learn. While the idea of having to help, to fix things, was exhausting, she still found new life at the idea of newly acquired knowledge.

Not my department. NOT my department.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said as she stood. “I think you’re confused. I don’t work with curse breaking. That’s upstairs, floor five. I can have Ariana send an inquiry for a meeting, if you’d like…”

Hermione was already walking around to her desk to retrieve her wand when Pansy stood, causing Hermione to stumble and her words to fall away.

Pansy was twisting her hands together, as if experiencing intense anxiety. Now that Hermione took a moment to really study Pansy, she found her hair ruffled when it used to be perfectly coiffed. Her clothes were wrinkled. Darkness had settled under her eyes. And she couldn’t meet Hermione’s gaze for long before looking away.

Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she had seen someone look so vulnerable. Especially Pansy Parkinson, of all people.

“No, they won’t be able to help us. Only you can,” Pansy asserted.

“Pansy,” Hermione sighed, “I don’t have the extent of curse-breaking knowledge as my colleagues. Not to mention that it looks infected. We should send for St. Mungos at once.”

“Draco works for St. Mungos. It won’t help.”

At Pansy’s words, Hermione looked at Malfoy for the first time since she had walked into her office. He was absolutely still. If it wasn’t for the occasional blink of his eyes or rise of his chest, someone could have convinced her it was a statue replica rather than the man himself.

Though he had been looking down initially, under her gaze, he eventually looked back up. His eyes were sorrowful.

He was a healer now? And she could help when he couldn’t?

She couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

“We need your help.” The emphasis placed on Pansy’s words hadn’t been missed by Hermione. They needed her help, specifically her.

“Why me?” Hermione asked.

Pansy took a breath. “Because she was cut with a blade belonging to Bellatrix Lestrange. And… We believe it’s the same curse as that which was on the blade that cut you.”

Hermione’s breath caught at the words.

They knew details about her curse.

Because of course they did. She was once again reminded that wealth could purchase information.

Not that it would be hard to find, she supposed. After all, she hadn’t hidden the curse that ran through her. If anything, she had tried to share the knowledge of what she had found with healers and health care workers alike. Granted, it wasn’t information you’d find unless you were looking, but they had clearly been looking.

“I already released a publication on the potion I take to manage...that.” Hermione forced herself to look at Malfoy, even as unease rolled through her. “St. Mungos should have access to those.”

Hermione had to make herself focus on the moment. To keep breathing. To ignore the racing of her thoughts trying to fill her mind with memories.

Of Bellatrix.

Of the pain.

Of Malfoy’s eyes on hers as she writhed on the floor that day. The same eyes that were looking at her now...

She had to look away from him.

“We do.” It was the first time Malfoy had spoken. The first time anyone outside of the three women had spoken.

Like everything else thus far, his words had caught her off guard.

So the potion hadn’t worked for Astoria?

“Then I don’t think I understand what else I can do here… If the potion isn’t helping Astoria, then it must be a different curse.” Hermione crossed her arms, her hand coming over her old wound out of instinct.

Her wound certainly didn’t look like Astoria’s did. It never had.

“It is the same one,” Pansy insisted. “We’ve identified it. In fact, we’ve found literature about other instances of it over time.”

Hermione perked up.

They had identified it? They had actually identified the curse?

She had been unable to do so.

The potion she took was made through trial and much error. And it was still a more general potion than Hermione would have liked. Every now and then, her old scar would throb, almost mocking her inability to do better.

But they had identified the curse.

So what was the problem?

“Pansy, I’m still not seeing what this has to do with me. You all clearly know more about the curse than I do. So what could I…”

“Granger...” Pansy interrupted. “We need you because aside from Astoria, who is worsening with time…”

Pansy had to take a breath and steel herself at the words before she could continue. Astoria gave Pansy a brief nod and squeeze of the hand.

“You’re the only person who has ever survived it.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Hermione didn’t realize she had spoken aloud until Pansy was replying. “We can show you everything we have. Thanks to our collective libraries, we have a bit of information and first-hand accounts…”

Hermione scoffed. A bit of information was likely underselling it considering the amount of Pureblood lineage in the room. The amount of generational wealth in the room. What they had at their disposal… Hermione couldn’t fathom it.

“And we’ve put a great deal of time and effort and work into this. All of us have. We’ve even consulted others who have contributed to the project.”

Contributed? Project?

But Hermione couldn’t give voice to any thoughts. Pansy was still talking, the words coming too quick. “But nothing is helping. It always progresses the same, always ends the same for everyone. And Astoria is following that progression.”

Hermione’s mind was whirling. She didn’t understand how it could be possible, any of this. Turning her attention back to Astoria, she found her hand had already slid up her own arm and clasped itself tightly over her scar. A thought was in her mind, one that petrified her, and she honestly didn’t want to voice it. But she knew she had to. It would eat her alive if she didn’t know.

“When were you cut?” Hermione asked Astoria, trying to hide the fear rushing through her. She didn’t want to think she was looking at her future. Not after everything she went through to get where she was now.

“Two years ago,” she replied.

Two years?

Hermione’s scar had been present for longer. A great deal longer. At the point Astoria was cut, Hermione had been taking her own potion for years. Which supported that the potion did in fact work.

“That is why we need your help.” Pansy was watching Hermione intently.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Pansy,” Hermione replied, honestly. “I take the potion. That is why I’m still alive. And if it didn’t work for Astoria…”

“But if we could figure out the mechanism behind your potion, what makes it different from everything else you tried,” Pansy suggested.

“Maybe the same could be done for Astoria using a different delivery route,” Hermione finished, understanding why they needed her. She had information.

Pansy nodded.

“But what you’re asking me to help you do…I don’t even know if it would work,” Hermione said.

“But you could try. You could try, Granger,” Pansy replied.

“It would be hours of work every week,” Hermione continued. Her mind was turning with the implications, trying to think through logistics.

“I assure you, you’ll be well and thoroughly compensated for your efforts. Finances will be of no concern. We’re all ready to contribute,” Pansy assured her, looking towards the others.

Pansy’s voice caught Hermione off guard. She hadn’t been considering payment, of all things, but she wasn’t necessarily surprised Pansy assumed someone would be. And then Hermione remembered once again that there were others in the room. The silent supporters, whom Hermione understood without needing to be told were Astoria’s people.

Yes, she was very aware that finances would certainly not be a concern for this particular group.

“That isn’t what I meant. I run an entire department, which is expanding,” Hermione explained.

“Exactly. You’re hiring new coordinators to delegate more work, are you not?” Pansy asked, hovering somewhere between assertion and desperation. “You can delegate even more. Consider it a trial period to see if the design even works. We can help talk to the minister, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

Hermione was initially shocked they knew of her department plans, though she reasoned she should have known better. These were people who could obtain any information they wanted. And with this serious of a matter, they would come completely informed and armed with as much negotiation and persuasion power as possible.

“I’m not saying no,” Hermione clarified, mind still trying to process. “I’m just trying to think through logistics, here. I’m trying to...absorb.”

Pansy nodded then went silent.

They all were silent, and it was absolutely suffocating.

Hermione was overwhelmed by the flood of emotions she could swear was radiating from this group. One of their own had their life hanging in the balance, and the depths of their affection were clear. She looked at Astoria, who sat tall, while she silently went to war internally with herself.

If Hermione said no, it could very likely be a sentence for Astoria. After all, Hermione was likely the greatest and possibly only lead they had. But the idea of saying yes was overwhelming

The pressure of helping, again.

The need to fix things, again.

The weight of carrying someone else’s life in her hands, again.

The need to be something she didn’t know she was, again.

Not to mention, she could fail. They all could. Then she’s watching Astoria, who could have very easily been her instead, die. And she would directly be related to why. She wondered if she could carry that.

“Granger…” Pansy’s eyes were glistening now. “We have nowhere else to go. Please. We can’t do this without your help.”

But Hermione already knew her answer, if there had ever really been a question at all.

“Where do we start?”

Chapter Text

Why?

Why, why, why, why...

Why had she said yes?

It was a question that taunted Hermione.

Because she knew everything she had been through to create that potion for herself. The challenge. How it still wasn’t even helping her as it should be. So how would she be good enough to help someone else? And this group? Them, of all people? The same people who had called her slurs. Who had taunted and teased and made her cry for years, for fun.

But they had been kids, right?

But they had been on Voldemort’s side. Hell, Malfoy even had his mark on his skin. They were against people like her being a part of this world.

Right?

But they had been kids.

And they had been exonerated during the trials. Every single one of them. Even Malfoy. Memories examined and truths told under veritaserum explained actions had been performed out of fear, commonly under threat of harm to themselves or their loved ones. And the torture they had undergone...

So this was fine. It was absolutely fine.

Fine, fine, fine.

Hermione repeated the word like a mantra as she tidied her desk for the fourth time that morning. She kept repeating them to herself as she levitated the empty chairs around her desk another inch to the left. And as Ariana alerted her of their arrival. And then again as Ariana brought them in.

The group was smaller this time; Pansy led the way, followed by Theodore, and then finally Malfoy, who carried a to-go cup in his hand. Without looking at her, he placed the cup on the edge of her desk and retreated back to the chair farthest away. She picked it up and opened the lid, finding a dirty chai waiting inside.

“You know you only have to bring this if I’m not expecting you,” Hermione said, transitioning it to a mug with a wave of her wand.

It was meant to be a lighthearted comment, but it came out flat and almost rude.

“But thank you,” Hermione said quickly, taking a sip. It really was the best dirty chai she had ever been given.

They settled into silence, which they had sufficiently practiced and excelled at within her office by now. Today Hermione refused to break it.

“Astoria wasn’t up to travelling today,” Pansy finally blurted out. “And Daphne stayed with her, and Blaise’s son is sick. So it’s just us.” Pansy’s foot was tapping quickly and strong enough to make her entire leg shake.

“That’s fine.” With a wave of her wand, Hermione made the empty chairs disappear and return to their previous position around her office.

Pansy’s foot was going hard enough that Hermione could hear it. Another flick of her wand, and a calming draught appeared on the edge of her desk in front of Pansy. She didn’t say anything. Instead she picked it up, downed it immediately, and set the empty container on the desk once more. Her cheeks were flushed but she said nothing.

Hermione waved the empty bottle away then brought two more into existence, one in front of Nott and the other in front of Malfoy. Nott took his, but Malfoy didn’t. He just shook his head no. With a shrug and a wave, Hermione moved it to the side of her desk.

“So how do we do this?” Nott asked.

Hermione had wondered the same thing. She spent the night prior tossing and turning. Each time she started to think about it, her breathing would go uneven and her palms would sweat. She eventually had given up, leaving it for her future self to deal with.

And unfortunately that time had come.

Unlike everyone else, Pansy had many ideas. “I believe it best if Granger…”

“Hermione,” she corrected.

“...starts at the beginning.” Pansy continued on, as if she hadn’t heard her. “We need to be walked through the development of her own potion. We need a thorough understanding of the process, why you made the changes you did…”

Hermione swallowed. She had accepted that they would likely have to address her potion, but she hadn’t yet considered they may need in-depth discussion of it.

“...the more detail the better...” Pansy continued.

Great.

Hermione saw flashes in her mind as the memories were conjured. Screaming. Laying on the floor as she bled. Electricity licking at her skin. Flames scorching her. It took effort for Hermione to stay still in her seat.

“...I believe it is the only way we can assess why it’s working for Hermione, why it isn’t working for Astoria, and move forward,” Pansy concluded.

Hermione let herself reach out and collect the calming draught for herself, swallowing it quickly. “Alright.”

“Unless you disagree,” Pansy said quickly, shocking Hermione.

She waited for Pansy to be snarky. For her to take it back, because how could Pansy honestly be suggesting that Hermione could make such an important decision? Surely she’d take it back.

But she didn’t.

“I concur. We all need to understand each other’s efforts thus far,” Hermione said as she waited for the calming draught to take effect. To carry away the anxiety and any other emotions she refused to examine too closely. Then she realized in horror maybe this was its effect.

Bloody hell.

“I kept very thorough records,” Hermione supplied.

“As did Draco.” Pansy’s words caused everyone to look towards Malfoy, who had once again been remaining silent as everyone else spoke.

Silver eyes met hers again.

Silver eyes that had seen her scream. Seen her squirm on his own drawing room floor. Seen her sick and piss on the floor.

Silver eyes that looked away.

“Perhaps you could even brew a batch of your potion, for Astoria to try?” Pansy suggested.

“Sure,” Hermione managed to whisper. It was weaker than she meant, but she couldn’t remember how to form thoughts let alone words.

Silver eyes met hers again. A deep breath. A clenched jaw.

“Then we can start making our way through the notes, from each side,” Pansy offered. Her words shifted Hermione’s thoughts until she was once again remembering her various trials and experiments.

“Pansy,” Hermione sighed. “You should know my work was experimental and performed entirely by myself at my home, when I was not in the best mindset to be doing such things. It’s not...It’s not pretty.”

Pansy shrugged. “Dying never is.”

Dying.

As Hermione performed countless experiments on herself, she had of course felt like she was dying, but this was the first time she felt validated. If everything Pansy was saying was accurate, Hermione had truly been dying, and whatever she had done had managed to stop it.

It felt surreal to finally have confirmation.

But Hermione didn’t say any of that.

“Where would we…” Hermione trailed off. She didn’t know how to finish her sentence.

Experiment? Study? Work?

“Your residence?” Hermione asked.

“We take what is needed to our place so Astoria isn’t always travelling. Other than that, we wanted to do the bulk of the work elsewhere,” Pansy informed her.

Hermione nodded. She supposed it made sense. Doing the work at Astoria and Pansy’s house would mean Astoria was constantly reminded of the curse. There would be no escape for her. It would take over her entire life, even her home, the place that was supposed to be safe for her. Hermione had been forced to run all of her curse experiments at home, so she couldn’t ever get away from it all. It had been her entire life. And the closest thing she had ever known to hell.

“Everything we have collected and translated, the research, everything we’ve tried, it’s all at Draco’s manor,” Pansy explained

Malfoy Manor?

A chill ran through Hermione at the thought. “I’d rather not return there, to be honest.”

“I moved,” Malfoy said quickly. Silver eyes looked at Hermione briefly then quickly looked away.

She nodded. “Very well.”

Even with the calming draught the atmosphere was tense. The peace was unstable.

Just yesterday Pansy had been playing hard to pull Hermione into this. She had been pushy and insistent. Hermione knew it would be best to set boundaries from the start.

Hermione took a breath. She hated this part. “My office hours should be decreasing with the new programs we are putting into place, but that doesn’t mean my presence here throughout the week isn’t needed.”

A curt nod from Pansy. “Understood.”

More silence.

Hermione waited for the other shoe to drop. For the insistence and the negotiations, but they never came.

“Some afternoons and evenings may be more flexible, but my weekends will be the most free,” Hermione elaborated.

“We’re grateful for any time you can give,” Pansy replied.

Three sets of eyes watched Hermione. Tired eyes. Three Slytherins that Hermione knew from first hand experience were cunning and verbally skilled.

And they were now curiously silent.

Hermione briefly wondered how this silence could ever be in their favor, what game this could be, when it hit her hard and fast: they’re that desperate. They were at the end of their rope, willing to take any scraps of time Hermione could dig up in her schedule because they had no other options.

The realization made her stomach churn.

“How bad is she? Honestly?” Hermione asked.

Pansy looked at the men on both sides of her. Malfoy’s hand was running across his face. Theo looked down at his clasped hands. Pansy redirected her attention back to Hermione and sighed.

She looked like a woman who was barely holding on.

“Bad,” Pansy confirmed. “We had just left St. Mungo’s when we came here before.”

Hermione winced. St. Mungo’s had been useless for her. There is a gaping hole in research, all because the curses were dark magic. No one wants to study such a dangerous and volatile subject.

“How long?” Hermione asked. She hated asking, but if she was going to help, what other choice did she have?

Pansy’s lip quivered.

It was subtle, but it was one of the first emotional displays Hermione had ever seen from the girl. Her carefully held together mask was cracking in front of Hermione’s eyes.

“Their best guess is two or three years. Maybe less.” The last words came out as a whisper, and a tear fell quickly down Pansy’s face.

Hermione understood the rush.

In an ideal world, they’d find a cure that would bring her functioning back to its greatest potential, what it was before...but everyone here knew this was rarely an ideal world. If the best they could do was find something that could maintain her current functioning or hell even just give her a little more time before she passed, they needed to find it now.

Hermione nodded. She took a deep breath. And a long sip of chai.

Picking up her wand, she held it to her throat.

“Ariana, please come in here. Bring everything,” Hermione projected. She placed the wand back on the desk in front of her.

Another drink of chai.

Pansy watched Hermione with wide, watery eyes. Her brows were knit in confusion, but she didn’t dare speak.

The doors to the office swung open, and Ariana walked over until she was standing near Hermione’s desk on the left. Wand in her hand, she was surrounded by various levitating notebooks and agendas, quills, and blank messaging parchment.

“Alright, Ariana. Here’s what we’re going to do…” Hermione waved her wamd over her desk, making her own copy of her agendas and various to-do lists appear before her eyes. “I need you to move everything I have on Fridays.”

“Which Fridays?” Ariana asked.

“All of them.”

It was a tall order, unheard of even. But Ariana didn’t falter. She nodded and waved her wand. Five quills hovered in the air, immediately starting to jot down notes and scratch out entries. In front of her, Hermione could watch Ariana work in real time as the agendas and lists in front of her reflected what Ariana was doing. And Ariana was good at her job. She had already cleared this Friday.

“Block them off for the next year. Draft an automatic response memo for me to review. Move everything on Monday through Thursday to as early in the day as you can. Stack Monday through Wednesday in accordance with our overtime plan, and try to end Thursdays as early as possible.”

Hermione was aware she was throwing a great deal of information at Ariana, so she looked up from her agendas to check-in on her. Ariana was intensely focused but did not appear overwhelmed. She did not falter at the amount of information being given to her. At Hermione’s pause, Ariana looked up, waiting. Hermione sighed. The next part would be the hardest part.

“We need to move our timeline…” she mused, thinking. “Draft a letter requesting our Department Heads skip the transitional phase.”

Hermione didn’t miss the slight hesitation of the quills. It was a moment, just a moment. But Ariana never hesitated.

“Go on,” Hermione urged.

“They aren’t going to like that,” Ariana stated.

“No they won’t,” Hermione agreed. “Which is why you’re going to secure reservations for them all from their favorite establishments. Our list should still be up-to-date. As a way of…expressing our gratitude for their…selfless flexibility during this difficult time of transition.”

Hermione could feel the judgement from Ariana without her needing to say anything. Hermione looked up. As did Ariana.

“Selfless?” Ariana asked with a scrunched nose.

Hermione smirked. “Make it sound better for me, please.”

Ariana smiled and nodded.

“Then write to Kingsley. Update him on all of this.”

Ariana scoffed. “He certainly won’t be pleased.”

“When he writes back to deny the changes, tell him I’m calling in my favor. Then when he still denies them, tell him I’ll walk. And with that one, send a box of assorted confections from Honeydukes and one of those mystery boxes from the Weasley’s shop. He bloody loves those things… Oh and…”

“Ward the office so he can’t place any prank items here? Will do,” Ariana interrupted, already making note. “Anything else?”

Hermione studied everything in front of her. It would be a tremendous challenge to transition the department so quickly to the new design, but Hermione knew how much time it would free up.

“I think that’s it for now.”

With a nod, Ariana waved her wand and closed all of the books and rolled up the parchments in front of her.

“And Ariana,” Hermione added, “Thank you. I know this will be a considerable undertaking for you, and you’ll take the brunt of the backlash. Fridays will be free for you as well, with pay.”

Ariana smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Herm-Ms. Granger.”

She couldn’t help but smile at the slip-up. Ariana hardly ever used her first name; it only ever slipped out when she had one too many drinks at an event or she was emotional. A blush covered Ariana’s face.

Hermione nodded, and Ariana left, trail of books and parchments following her out. When the doors shut, she finally returned her focus to the three in front of her.

Who watched her with wide eyes and open mouths.

“Bloody hell, Granger,” Pansy whispered.

“You’re really letting her tell the Minister of Magic that you’ll walk if he doesn’t approve everything?” Theo asked.

“He’ll be fine,” Hermione said with a shrug.

Theo nodded, mouth still open, “I think I love you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Pansy elbowed him.

“But really Granger, why would you do this?” Pansy asked.

Because I have to.

Because no one did this for me.

Because maybe I wouldn’t be so damaged if someone had helped me.

“Just say thank you, Pansy,” Hermione replied.

“Thank you,” she said immediately.

Hermione turned back to her agenda. “Alright. We can start Friday.”

--

Hermione rushed from the floo into Grimmauld Place. While Thursdays had never been their favorite night to get together, much preferring the freedom that came with a weekend night, it had been the most conducive for Harry and Ginny’s schedule over the past few years.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” Hermione called, rushing through the house towards the kitchen. Still flustered from the tornado that had been the last twenty minutes, at which time she had been in her work clothes in the confines of her office. She now found herself in comfortable clothing clutching an unopened bottle and standing in Ginny and Harry’s kitchen at Grimmauld.

“Harry was seconds away from coming to check on you,” Ginny replied coolly from the stove. Though she used her wand to stir the pot in front of her, her back remained turned to Hermione.

“Or being sent to check on you,” he muttered under his breath. Ginny eyed him, and he smiled cheekily.

“I know, I’m sorry, Gin.”

“It’s okay considering I see you so often now, It’s not like the few times we can manage to get together anymore are precious or anything.” Tension radiated from her and her tone was scathing.

“Does your favorite sparkling nectar soften the blow at all?” Hermione asked, setting the bottle on the counter beside the witch. Ginny eyed it for a few seconds before turning back.

“A miniscule amount.”

Hermione turned to Harry who in typical and unhelpful fashion simply shrugged. Hermione sighed. “Must I beg?”

“Could help your case.”

“Gin.”

“Would you stop Gin-ing me!" she huffed. "I’m mad at you.”

“I can tell. I am truthfully sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to prioritize your family over work sometimes.”

Ouch.

Hermione recoiled at the words.

“Ginny…” Harry’s voice was soft as he reached out for his wife. Hand gently touching her shoulder, she leaned into the touch.

“I’m sorry,” Ginny muttered. “I just want to know that our future kids will actually get to see their Aunt Hermione.”

Future kids?

“Ginny, are you…?”

But Ginny shook her head. “The treatments didn’t work.”

Hermione’s gut clenched. Harry and Ginny had tried for years before turning to magical fertility treatments.

“Yet.” Harry leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her shoulder before resting his chin there. “They haven’t worked yet.”

Even from where she was standing, Hermione could see the small smile on Ginny’s face at his words. Hermione had always admired the way they helped each other carry the weight of living. And that of this particular pain.

Ginny gave him a peck on the forehead, and he leaned away, taking the nectar bottle from Hermione to open it. Though it was Ginny’s favorite non-alcoholic beverage available, she suddenly wished she had brought wine. Or hard liquor.

“Ginny.” Hermione reached out, placing a hand on her friend’s elbow. Ginny turned to face her, and Hermione could see the red tinge around her eyes. Purple bruises decorated the delicate skin there.

How long had it been since Ginny had a restful nights sleep?

“I am mad at you,” Ginny huffed through tear-filled eyes. “But we just found out today and I…”

There were no words, but Hermione could see the pain on Ginny’s face. There didn’t need to be words. Reaching forward, she pulled her tight in her embrace.

They stood like that for a while, Ginny sobbing into Hermione’s shoulder, Hermione squeezing her tight as she shook. Soothing words whispered and gentle brushes of Hermione’s hand over her back.

“I’m so sorry,” she soothed. “Harry is right. You can keep trying, and I promise to be the absolute best, most spoiling aunt one day. There are so many options. And should your path take you elsewhere, I’ll be here for that, too. I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Ginny pulled back, wiping tears. “Well it’s not okay, but it’s okay.”

“And I am truly sorry about being late,” Hermione assured her. “You are a priority over work. Of course you are.”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I understand where it came from. But I actually am taking a step back from the department to help with...something else. That’s why I’m late. I’m still finalizing the step back.”

“I heard about that,” Harry said then, venturing back into the conversation. “So it’s true then?”

Hermione nodded.

“You’re truly helping them?” Ginny asked. Turning towards Harry, Hermione eyed his guilty expression. Though she had seen it first hand for years, it still amazed Hermione how much of a gossip Harry truly could be.

Hermione nodded again. “I know it may be difficult to understand why. But I need to do this.”

“I don’t think it’s difficult to understand at all,” Ginny insisted. “Should I be in that position, I would want your help, too. And I’m not at all surprised you said yes.”

“But helping them…?” Hermione asked, searching for the frustration or confusion she expected to find.

Ginny shrugged. “They’re still people.”

And that should be enough.

Ginny’s sentiment was one Hermione understood.

Harry nodded, agreeing with his wife. “I’m glad you’re doing it, Hermione.”

Hermione smiled at her friends, once again thankful that she had been blessed with forgiving, compassionate, extraordinary friends who had become family long ago.

Harry dug around in the cupboard and came out with three glasses. “Now do we want plain nectar or shall I spike it with something from the liquor cabinet?”

“I think I need something stronger than nectar,” Ginny said, without needing to think. “Put something together for me?”

Hermione nodded as well, and Harry carried the glasses towards the liquor cabinet. “Muggle or magical?” he asked as he searched through it.

“What do we have?” Ginny went back to stirring the food on the stove.

“Tequila, vodka, and...fairy wine.”

“Vodka. I think it’ll go best with the food,” Ginny replied.

Hermione held the bowls while Ginny began scooping out the food. It appeared to be some kind of stew. “Sorry if I messed anything up with making the food...you know, arriving late.”

Ginny snorted. “Are you kidding? This is takeaway.”

“You took the time to put it in a kettle?”

“Well I had a whole bit about tirelessly working on this meal for you…”

“Ginny!” Hermione gasped, laughing at the theatrics.

“But then you had to be noble and immediately apologize for being late.”

“I hate you,” Hermione laughed.

Ginny made a show of rolling her eyes before smiling at Hermione. “You love me.”

Chapter Text

Malfoy had indeed moved.

At the crack of dawn, and not a moment later, a new container of floo powder and an address perfectly scripted onto parchment had been owled to her home. A floo connection had apparently been set-up for her, and even as she felt the tug of floo travel taking her to Malfoy’s new home, she still could barely grasp the reality of it. Not until she stumbled through the fireplace, arriving at it.

And it was… surprisingly underwhelming.

Hermione was unsure what she imagined. Maybe seeing Malfoy Manor had really painted her image of what this place would be. Perhaps she had been expecting marble and gold and… grandiosity?

And this wasn’t that.

This held typically sized doors and windows. Hardwood floors and deluxe furniture, sure, but no columns. No chandeliers. No gaudy decorations. No cold marble or sterile white. No, this was shades of browns and creams and greys. Decorative carpets and throws on the back of couches with fluffed pillows. It was warm and simple and everything she hadn’t expected to find.

“Hello.” The voice was quiet but sharp.

Hermione turned to find Malfoy leaning against the doorway on her right. Though it was just a meeting with her and Pansy, he had worn nice dress pants and a white button-up, looking effortlessly put together as always.

It was comforting to find at least one thing she expected here.

“Hi,” she managed.

“Pansy should be here momentarily.” His voice had an edge to it and was awkwardly stunted in random places. Though his appearance and demeanor were relaxed, his voice was easier to see through.

Hermione just nodded, her own nerves eating through her ability to form words.

Silence followed. It wasn’t the empty sort of silence that seemed to swallow everything, like a black hole. No, it was the very loud silence that settled heavy and uncomfortable. Almost tangible. Weighing them down and putting them on edge as a slight ringing sounded in their ears.

Whatever it was or wasn’t, it made Hermione squirm. She grasped for something to say. Anything.

“Nice place.” Hermione flushed at her pitiful excuse for making small talk.

“Thanks.”

The silence returned, and Hermione let it. Even if it made her skin seem to itch and a blush rise to her face because it was suddenly so fucking hot. She couldn’t meet his silvery eyes. No, she had to look away from them. They made it too hard to breathe.

Hermione’s stomach growled, or more like roared, in the silence.

“Miss breakfast?” he asked.

“Never fancied it much,” she replied.

Lie.

But he didn’t need to know that she was so nervous about their meeting that she hadn’t slept the night prior. Instead, she had nightmares of that night. Over and over she awoke shaking until she finally gave up.

And then proceeded to vomit in the shower.

“Breakfast is no longer your favorite then?” he asked, casually. Even though the question didn’t feel casual.

Hermione was stunned.

How could he know that?

“We went to school together for years,” he supplied, suggesting her face was revealing how shocked she was at his observation.

Hermione felt tense. Unbelievably tense. Everything with Malfoy was so uncertain, and she did not like uncertainty.

His silver eyes watched her every move so carefully. She had noticed them before of course, over the years they went to school together, but did they always feel this piercing? As if they could cut straight through her?

She couldn’t remember for sure, but she didn’t think so.

It struck Hermione how very little she knew or remembered about him. What she could remember about the Malfoy she grew up with was not consistent with the Malfoy before her now.

He used to carry himself with a quiet superiority, nose high in the air, and his words were venomous when he spoke. But now… now he seemed to be quiet and controlled, speaking very carefully and only when required.

He had always been tall and skinny, and though he still was, the muscles his tight fitting button-up highlighted were new. Where his hair had been slicked down and controlled before, it was now organized chaos. More messy than it used to be, but purposeful, as was everything he did now.

The one thing that was the same was the wear and tear visible on him: the lines and deep bags under his eyes, the way he looked so very exhausted from just holding himself upright.

“Would you be more comfortable beginning without Pansy or waiting for her to join us?” he asked her. His words broke the silence Hermione didn’t realize they had settled into once more. She flushed when she realized she had been staring at him so openly.

“That’s a good question,” Hermione admitted.

They stood and looked at each other for another moment.

“Granger…” he sighed. “I can tell you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m not,” she quickly replied, but her voice wasn’t entirely convincing.

“If you want to work alone for a while, we can come together and compare…”

“No,” she interrupted. “It’s best for Astoria if we all work together. Quicker that way.”

He nodded.

Silence.

“I...I don’t...” Malfoy was stumbling over his words. He shifted from one foot to the other and back again. His mouth would open and then it would close. Eyes cast down, he couldn’t look at her. “I realize we have some things to address...About what happened. I just… I don’t know where to start, with everything…”

His eyes found hers. Those piercing fucking silver eyes. They were different from his fathers. Different from his mothers. Different from hers.

When she thought of Bellatrix, a shiver ran through her. She had to bite down on the inside of her cheek, and her arm burned something fierce.

She thought of the Malfoy she first met at Hogwarts, who taunted her and called her names.

The Malfoy he became with time, who did horrible things while he was at Hogwarts.

The Malfoy who was so thoroughly depressed that he seemed to collapse in on himself further each year.

And the Malfoy in front of her now, who she did not know much about yet.

Hermione studied him. She didn’t know what to do with it all, what to think of any of it. What to think of him. “We can leave the past where it is, Malfoy. Let’s just focus on this, for now.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but he just nodded.

They stood in uncomfortable silence until the fireplace finally roared to life and Pansy bounded inside the room. She was already apologizing and explaining and frankly over sharing. And Hermione was just trying to adjust to this new Pansy who shared so much with her. Maybe too much.

“Well…” Pansy looked between the two of them, “Shall we?”

–

They had spent the weekend meticulously reviewing every single step and ingredient of her potion, ensuring Pansy and Draco had brewed the exact same concoction that Hermione did.

And they had been the same. Except Pansy swore there was the slightest color variation in Hermione’s bottles, though no one else noticed it. Hermione felt for Pansy, who was grasping for straws.

Nevertheless, Hermione brewed an extra batch the following week and brought over vials for Astoria to try. Pansy was hoping that somehow it would make a difference. Hermione wasn’t as optimistic. Draco was all but silent, keeping his opinions to himself.

The work week was as horrendous as Hermione expected it would be. Sure enough, three of the departments filed formal complaints against Hermione, and one department head beat her to her office Tuesday morning, wanting to deliver the contents of a Howler in person.

Ariana heard the yelling from outside her office, through a set of silencing wards.

There was entirely too much paperwork, Kingsley was blatantly ignoring Hermione, and as the week progressed, Hermione was honestly holding her breath waiting for Ariana to quit.

But she didn’t.

They made it through the first week, slightly wilted but otherwise unscathed.

The following weekend, they moved on to documenting every step of Hermione’s wound progression; It was a gathering of Pansy, Draco, Hermione, and the elephant in the room sitting between them.

“So. We start with the time following the cutting itself. So, picture you were just brutally tortured by Bellatrix, you finally managed to stop the blood flow...And go,” Pansy said, setting the scene. Hermione’s eyes widened. Draco made a little noise. Apparently that was blunt even for his tastes.

“Okay then.” Hermione tried to gather her thoughts. “I guess I received typical wound care immediately after.”

“Do you know what they used?” Draco asked.

What had Fleur used?

Hermione tried to think.

She pictured Shell Cottage.

Fleur’s face hovering above her, coming in and out of focus. Fleur’s voice whispering reassurances and asking questions Hermione couldn’t ever find the voice to answer.

The constant throbbing ache where she had been cut that seemed to penetrate her so deep it went straight through to the bone.

Then there was that fucking laugh. The laugh that instantly put her on edge, covered her body in chills, and haunted her dreams, even now.

She could vividly see Fleur’s face, her mouth opening, but Hermione only heard Bellatrix’s laugh come out. She felt the need to get away. To run far, far away where Bellatrix could never find her again.

She could still recall the feeling of hands pressing her down, and at the time it was hard to tell if it was Bellatrix or Fleur. Drifting in and out of consciousness, she dreamt of the manor. She screamed and cried, the edges of time blurring until she had difficulty remembering where she was.

Or when she was.

“Granger.”

The pressure on her hand made her open her eyes and pulled her back to the present. Draco had leaned in closer to her, but his hand had long pulled away from her own as he kept careful distance. She opened her mouth to speak but words were trapped in her achy throat.

“It’s okay,” he assured her.

It was gently spoken, and his once harsh eyes were looking at her with something she couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t pity. No, it was something else. She wondered if perhaps it was understanding.

Regardless, it was kind.

“Just tell us what you can.” Pansy’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air and any lingering moments.

It was enough to ground her slightly, pull her completely back to the present moment; the room at Malfoy’s new home, sitting in the hard chair she always sat in as she told tales they would hurry to scribble down.

Where to go next?

The days immediately after were blurry and painful, and she found herself unable to open that particular misery any further today.

“It healed,” she finally said, glossing over it. “At least I thought it had. It looked fine. But…”

“It ached?” Pansy asked, supplying the words she needed. Hermione nodded. Pansy and Malfoy exchanged a glance.

“Same for Astoria?” Hermione asked. Pansy nodded this time.

“Then the skin around it became inflamed and itchy. It was unbearably itchy.” Hermione shivered at the thought. There hadn’t been enough anti-itch ointment in the magical or muggle worlds.

Malfoy wrote, nodding as he transcribed.

“Then it started to hurt again. All St. Mungo’s could tell me was the blade was cursed. They could detect something dark in my blood but couldn’t identify it. They had no idea what they were looking at; was it lingering effects of the Cruciatus curse or was it a new curse? They were quite useless, to be frank… No offense, Malfoy. I know you work there.”

“No offense taken at the truth.” He gave the smallest upturn of his lips, and Hermione wondered what he truly thought of his employer.

“They were minimally helpful for us as well,” Pansy agreed. Her eyes were now trained on Hermione. She had long ago stopped writing.

“It was progressing,” Hermione continued. “ Worsening pain and headaches... It was gradual, subtle changes, so it was hard to notice. But one evening I was rubbing pain tonic on it for what had to be the fifth time that day, and I realized it hadn’t always been like this. It hadn’t always been so bad. I knew I had to do something.”

“So you started trying to create a potion?” Pansy asked.

“I actually didn’t start with potions.”

“Why not?”

“While I’m good…” she paused.

Was good adequate?

She thought of how she managed to brew Polyjuice potion as a second year in a bathroom with haphazardly thrown together ingredients.

Be proud of yourself.

“Exceptional,” she corrected, “at potion making, but I wasn’t drawn to the temporality that so often comes with potions. I wanted something a bit more permanent. Easy, I guess.”

“Makes sense,” Pansy agreed.

“So I started with charms. Originally the basic healing variety. Though St. Mungo’s tried those, I wanted to give it a go as well. And when all of those failed, and none of the texts I could obtain gave any help, I turned to potions. It felt like all I could do, I guess. Really it was just experimenting on myself.”

“But you did it,” Malfoy noted.

“Sure,” she shrugged. “I had to. No one else was going to do it for me.”

“But you had Potter,” Pansy quickly added. “And the Weasleys,”

“That’s…” Hermione started the sentence before she knew where it was going. What to say? How much to tell them?

Just the reminder of those days had isolation and grief creeping back in, and she quickly took every ounce of feeling that arose and shoved it down.

Down, down, down.

“A long story,” Hermione finally managed to finish.

“What was the latest symptom?” Draco asked, gracefully redirecting, proper as always. “Before you finally found the potion worked?”

“The-” Hermione cleared her throat, trying to dislodge the knot it felt was stuck there. “The letters were starting to gradually deepen in color.” Even now, the M and U were darker than the rest of the letters.

Draco nodded but stopped writing. Looking up, he seemed hesitant. But he finally managed to ask, “Can we see?”

No.

“Alright.” Hermione pulled the jumper over her head with shaking hands, leaving her sitting in her white vest. Pansy’s mouth dropped upon seeing the ink covering Hermione’s arm.

It was a habit, wearing long sleeve jumpers. She had first started to wear them back when the scar was fresh and she hated it, as well as herself. IIt was only when she had come across a wise witch who shared crisps with her at a local bar in Norway that she ever decided to do anything else.

Hermione didn’t know why she had told the witch about a scar forced upon her, how it had even come up in conversation. But the witch confided in her; she, too, had a scar. She told Hermione about her former lover inflicting it upon her, speaking plainly as if the trauma was common place.

Then she just pulled her cardigan off, leaving her shoulders almost bare, revealing a flower blooming there. When she moved, the bloom would blossom open, petals falling across her skin, vines wrapping around. It was breathtaking. Hermione would never forget the witch’s words: I chose this.

Now Hermione’s own arm was covered in leaves and vines, various flower buds tucked in between, blossoming with movement.

“Merlin, where did you get this?” Pansy asked, in awe as she moved Hermione’s arm, watching the flowers bloom.

“There’s a wizard in Bulgaria who specializes in magical tattoos. Flowers are his favorite.” Hermione smiled as she thought of Kalin and his shop.

“You have to show Blaise. He would kill for one of these,” Pansy said, finally turning over Hermione’s arm to the underside with the scar.

The luscious array of flowers and greenery on the outside of her arm transitioned into sparse vines and twigs as they neared her scar. Pansy looked at her in confusion. Hermione just shrugged, smiling.

It was beautiful, and yet it wasn’t. It was deadly, and yet it hadn’t been.

And I chose this.

–

“Morning,” Malfoy greeted simply.

Hermione didn’t acknowledge that she was seventeen minutes late to their meeting as she rushed through their designated meeting room. She walked up to the main desk in the center of it all and plopped her stuff down. The morning had left her feeling frenzied and rushed, as she always did after an evening full of nightmares.

And they recently seemed to intensify on Thursday nights.

Maybe it was the blatant lack of sleep the rest of the week. After all, the paperwork was piling up faster than Hermione could keep track. Pushing the schedule ahead had actually put her further behind in meeting goals. In fact, she had yet to even meet with the new team members or begin recruitment efforts, something she had hoped to have begun weeks ago.

Spiraling, Hermione tried to calm herself. Adrenaline was rushing through her from the nightmares, and anything seemed to push her over the edge this morning. It was like her body had spent all night tense and fighting, and it had yet to realize the battle was over.

She tried to hide her shaking hands.

In stark contrast, Malfoy appeared calm as ever. Same fancy button-up that Hermione could immediately recognize as a very expensive item. Same formal posture, even as he leaned over the desk to write with what looked like an egregiously expensive quill.

Another thing about Malfoy that had not changed. He still had more money than she could imagine.

“Good morning,” she finally replied.

He didn’t look up as she grabbed books and files from her bag and started unpacking. “Pansy can’t join us today.”

It’ll be me and Malfoy. Alone. All day.

That’s...fine.

“Alright,” she croaked, consciously trying to not falter in her movements. She reassured herself over and over. After all, they were just working on wound documentation.

It will be fine. Absolutely fine.

“Miss breakfast again?” His voice wasn’t judgemental. Rather, as it so commonly was, his voice was almost devoid of emotion. Thinking about it, he had seemed so devoid of emotion thus far. As if you took Malfoy and pulled out every piece of him that resembled feeling.

Hermione wondered if it was replaced by anything, or if he was now just a hollow man.

Regardless, she was thankful for the neutral conversation choice. “Woke up late.”

Another lie.

He took a deep breath. “I came prepared this time.”

Still not looking at her, his hand pulled a napkin forward and let go once it was in front of her. Reaching for it, Hermione found a crumpet laying inside, still warm and already buttered. Her mouth dropped, and she quickly shut it, trying to hide her shock.

With a sigh Malfoy set his quill down and looked at her. “Granger, if I wanted to poison you, I’d be far more inventive.”

Once again, his voice wasn’t angry or snoody and it certainly lacked the venom it used to carry. If anything, it seemed resigned. Hopeless. Put out.

“No, it’s… I was surprised, that’s all.” She was stumbling over her words.

“Oh.” The utterance seemed to slip out, and Malfoy quickly covered it with an additional “of course.”

What is this? A peace offering? Something given out of guilt?

“Thank you.”

He nodded, turning back to his work.

Hermione settled and dug into the crumpet. It was divine. She highly doubted he had baked it, and she made a mental note to thank his house elf, should she ever officially meet them.

“Working on timelines again today?” Hermione asked.

Malfoy nodded but then hesitated. His quill stopped moving, then he eventually eyed her. “Unless you had a different thought.”

“No, no,” Hermione said quickly. “I concur, I think it’s most wise to spend time ensuring we have one accurate document illustrating exactly each step that was made and when. We can’t afford to misremember, and we both appear to be rather…thorough in our bookkeeping.”

Thorough didn’t seem to cover the array of texts, bound books, and folders of loose papers that covered the table and nearby surfaces. No, thorough wasn’t extensive enough. But it would have to do. And Hermione was grateful to finally have someone to work with who paid as much attention to detail as she had.

With a nod, Malfoy returned to his work. He didn’t speak again for the rest of the day, unless it was to answer a question or ask his own, and they were always strictly related to their work material. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He brought her another crumpet on Saturday. And again on Sunday.

They quickly found a bizarre routine; arrive, give a crumpet, say thank you, work in silence beyond the stray question or needed conversation about the material, update each other on their progress, then retire home for the night. Wake up, rinse, repeat.

By Monday, she was thoroughly exhausted as she tried to hold her head up off her desk. There wasn’t enough dirty chai tea to make her feel awake after countless nights of brutal nightmares. Ever since she had agreed to do this, they came back with a vengeance, particularly on those nights before she met with Malfoy in his new home.

Not that it mattered that it was a new home. She dreamt of Bellatrix anyway.

And for what?

She and Malfoy could barely speak to each other. Pansy had been frantic and blunt and her suggestions thus far were panicked and ill-thought out. They had no reason to believe the potion Hermione brewed was actually helping Astoria, and thus far they had only catalogued an extensive wound history that they already knew.

How many times had she felt regret at saying yes?

She lost count long ago.

–

A knock sounded on her door.

“Ariana,” Hermione sighed. It was already mid-afternoon on Wednesday, and Hermione had yet to make it through the stack of Muggle Studies protocol changes they were drafting for Beaubaxton. “I thought we decided…”

“It’s not Ariana,” a voice called through the door. A familiar voice.

Upon unlocking the door with her wand, Theo strided in. Two trays with platters sitting on them trailed in the air behind him.

“What is this?” Hermione asked.

“This is what we call lunch.”

“And why is it here? I don’t…”

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware of how often you consider such basic human necessities as luxuries, but today I am introducing you to the concept of taking care of yourself.” With a flourish, the platters settled themselves on her desk. A chair scooted up across from her, and he sat down with a grin.

It really did smell quite good. What appeared to be a steaming stew of some sorts rested before her. She wondered if it was the roast chicken and meade stew the kitchen never seemed to prepare enough.

“I don’t remember scheduling a lunch meeting today.”

“Hermione,” Theo whined.

“Theo, I’m too busy. Now that my work is so compact during the week, there is literally no time.”

“I’ll do your daily write-ups for a week,” he offered quickly.

Interesting.

Write-ups were a chore she despised. She had fought with Kingsley for weeks on ridding all departments of the dreadful time wasters. If anything, it made most sense to summarize work by month rather than day, but it was tradition.

Her eyes narrowed as she weighed ridding herself of the task compared to trusting Theo to do it up to her standards.

“Bad idea, should have known,” Theo acknowledged. “But surely there’s some task you could give to me to complete.”

“Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because I’ve already hit my curse breaking quota for the month. You know I can’t be too much of a show-off.”

“You don’t like to show-off?” Hermione asked, not believing him.

“Not at all,” he said with a wave, but it was weak.

“Theo,” she urged, refusing to move until she received a proper answer.

“Potter requested I check-in with you more. After taking on so much with Astoria, he’s worried.”

“Is he?” Hermione asked.

Theo nodded.

“That’s funny because Harry didn’t mention anything of the sort when I saw him yesterday at lunch. In fact, he told me once again how excited he was that I was doing this.”

Theo’s spoon froze on the way to his mouth. Setting it back down, he wiped his mouth and sat tall. Hermione imagined this was Pureblood etiquette seeping out of him, and she found herself wondering if he always had such big tells for being nervous. While she usually enjoyed being able to render anyone who dared burst into her office into a nervous wreck, she found even a hint of anxiety on Theo made her queasy.

“Forgive me for being so upfront, Theo, I’m just not accustomed to people offering without wanting something in return,” she said.

He nodded. “Perhaps I’m just thankful you’re helping my friend.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied.

Hermione wondered about the man before her.

Theo Nott had been kind enough to her at Hogwarts. He had been much quieter and stood more in the background. But he had always been brilliant, and Hermione found herself partnered with him on occasion for class projects.

Even at the peak of the war, he had been someone Hermione had always wondered about, truth be told. She knew he hadn’t been on their side of the war, but she had always felt he hadn’t been entirely on Voldemort’s side either.

During the trials, she learned of exactly how his father had treated him. The childhood he had survived. After that, she found herself wondering how he had managed to hold onto his soul at all. And she always made sure to smile when she passed him at the Ministry.

Like Draco, she suspected the Theo sitting before her wasn’t the same Theo she went to school with.

Thus far, this Theo appeared to be louder and brighter. He had left behind his days of being a shadow amongst the background and now lit up every room. She thought back to their first few interactions in her office and corrected herself: He lit up every room that didn’t involve conversations about his dying friends.

No, Hermione wasn’t daft enough to believe those were the only changes, but she also had to acknowledge that this Theo seemed as genuine as he always was.

“I’m not leaving until you eat something,” he told her.

Begrudgingly, she picked up her spoon and took a bite. She lit up when the taste of meade exploded across her tongue. It was her favorite lunch the Ministry cafeteria offered.

He smiled smugly at her. He knew.

“Did you…?”

“Of course,” he nodded.

“Share with the class,” she requested, sipping her water. “Who is this mystery informant telling all my dietary secrets?”

He smiled that devious smile. “One doesn’t acquire informants by revealing such things.”

With a roll of her eyes, she continued eating, mood perking up now that she was indulging in lunch today. And it was her favorite lunch, of all things. Theo could bother her every day of the week if he brought such delicious food for lunch when he arrived. After considering this, she decided against such a thought. He could bother her almost every day. After all, she did still need that hour to work sometimes.

He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You know these chairs are not very comfortable.”

“I wouldn't know. I never sit in them.” She smiled at him from her plush throne of a chair. It had been gaudy, and Hermione had been adamantly opposed to adding it to her office when Ginny had bought it for her for Christmas.

But if it wasn’t the single fucking most luxurious feeling thing she had ever sat in.So the throne stayed. It was part of her office now. And if it intimidated the Purebloods who so commonly burst in with their demands, then all for the better.

“You know,” Theo said, “I think we’re going to get along quite well.”

“Well you did already confess your love for me,” she reminded him.

“I did,” he agreed. “But I dare anyone who witnesses someone handling the Minister like that to not confess such things.”

Hermione smiled proudly. Her and Kingsley were friends, but sometimes they needed to set that aside to be professionals. And when that time came, Hermione was always proud she could handle it.

But hearing Theo saying all of this, bringing her lunch, being so direct in his advances... It made Hermione nervous. She needed to be upfront with him now before anything escalated.

With a deep breath, she forced herself to speak. “I must tell you now, I’m not on the market to be loved.”

“Neither am I.”

Good.

“So, friends?” he asked.

Hermione sighed in relief and nodded.

“But I must say, I do admire and appreciate your honesty. You Gryffindors always were so damn honest. Sometimes impulsively so.” He smiled mischievously before taking another bite of his stew.

“You Slytherins were always so devious I just had to be sure,” she joked.

“See… Now tell me when did us Slytherins get reduced down to nothing more than pretty faces with devious tendencies?”

She smirked. “I never said you were pretty.” He scoffed and placed a hand on his chest, feigning to be hurt by the remark, making her laugh. “And it was probably around the time us Gryffindors were reduced down to moments of honesty or impulsivity.”

“Honesty…” Theo mused, “Isn’t that supposed to be a Hufflepuff trait anyway?”

“Imagine,” she mused, “if we could only strive to not be so damn one-dimensional.”

“If only,” he agreed.

Hermione took another bite of her stew, but it didn’t keep her from noticing his eyes flicker to her left hand briefly. “Go on and ask.”

“Ask what?” His tone feigned nonchalance and ignorance.

“Whatever has you eyeing my hand. Looking for a ring perhaps?”

Setting his spoon down, he sat back in his chair, eyeing her with a smile on his face. “You are ever so observant. No wonder your trio did so well. I had heard something a while back about you and Weasley splitting. When you left England, I assumed it was to start over somewhere. And when you came back, I thought surely you’d bring someone with you. But alas, no ring.”

“No ring,” she agreed. “You’ve kept tabs on me for quite a while.”

“If I’m being honest, Hermione,” he said, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the table in the most un-Pureblood way, “I was going to try and recruit you to my department when you left.”

Hermione had to admit to herself, she was intrigued. “Curse breaking?”

He nodded. “I knew you were bright, and you had always given me a chance at Hogwarts. Other people wouldn’t even speak to me because of who I was, and you were turning in class projects with me. I appreciated that.”

She let the compliment fall wherever it may land, simply smiling back. Though it left her curious, it had not ultimately been the path she had taken, and the one she had found brought her too much fulfillment to give up now.

“You didn’t get back with Weasley then either? After the initial split, I mean.”

“I definitely, definitely, did not get back together with Ron,” she replied. “I’ve kept everything largely casual since him. It’s easier.”

“Ah. I see,” he nodded.

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“You get to hear my personal business but don’t share your own? What happened to being friends?”

He studied her for a moment. “Alright. Well my sexuality has always been pretty fluid, and right now, you are not my type. But if you know any interesting, remarkably dashing blokes, owl me.”

Hermione was shocked Theo had shared such personal information so easily.

“What’s your type?” she asked.

“Oh you know, nothing too absurd. Someone ruggedly handsome, brilliant... enjoys eating, because I love going out to restaurants. My guilty pleasure is certainly that Muggle notion of Happy Hour. I’m quite taken back that they’re considering ridding themselves of it.”

Hermione cackled at the idea of Theo in an establishment ordering half priced food and alcohol.

Rubbing his thumb over his chin, he continued to think. “You know… someone who’s quite fit to keep up with my…activities...”

Theo winked at her, and Hermione promptly pretended to choke in disgust.

“Overall,” he sighed, “Just someone who thinks I hung the moon, really. That’s it.”

“Ah yes, that’s it, nothing too absurd,” Hermione agreed, rolling her eyes at him. Laughing, she added, “I’ll keep an eye out.”

He smiled, genuinely this time. It was the briefest glimpses of true appreciation and perhaps even happiness. He seemed content.

A moment later, he folded his napkin neatly and set it on the tray in front of him before rising out of his seat. “Regretfully, I do have to run.”

A pang of sadness shot through Hermione. She had truly enjoyed Theo’s company, and she wasn’t ready for him to leave.

But she had work to do, after all.

“Someone else to bother?” she asked.

He smiled, less genuinely, more for show. Playful Theo was back, if he had ever truly left. “Of course.”

Chapter Text

The work week concluded in a typical haze of paperwork and meetings. Though, Hermione was thankful the days had passed with relatively few complaints and no one showed up to her office to complain. She even received a letter from an organization in Greece thanking her for her contributions to the Muggle Relations protocols.

She imagined she would have been rather excited about the calm work week if she weren’t too damn tired to feel anything beyond miserable.

Hermione arrived early on Friday, dragging her exhausted body through Malfoy’s flat. He was already there and waiting, looking as perfectly crisp as ever. As she settled into her chair, he pushed a napkin towards her. She knew a warm crumpet would lay inside.

“Are you always going to bring me crumpets?” she asked, her voice entirely too snarky for him to be giving her a gift that she actually wanted.

But once again, she hadn’t slept, and she was knackered. There was no energy left to put up any facade today.

“If you’d eat breakfast, I wouldn’t have to.”

“Why do you assume I didn’t?”

“Well…” He set his quill down and looked at her. “Did you?”

Of course I didn’t.

It was the closest his voice had come to emotion, and though it was haughty and smug, Hermione found she appreciated this far more than the hollow conversation they had utilized so far. Even if she was pissed he called her bluff, the comment had substance to it.

“Is there a reason you’re so concerned with my eating habits?” she asked.

He sighed again. “Is there a reason you’re constantly questioning my actions?”

His tone was quickly souring, face harsh. But still, it was feeling. It was refreshing. Hermione knew she was pushing it, but she couldn’t help herself.

“You’ve given me plenty.”

Malfoy’s face faltered slightly, jaw clenching as he looked down. Hermione felt a wave of guilt wash through her. She knew her statement wasn’t fair.

“That was uncalled for,” she whispered.

Malfoy shook his head. “It’s deserved.”

Whatever emotion had so briefly shown through him was gone in an instant. His eyes were devoid of expression. He became the hollow man once more.

It was a far cry from the Malfoy she used to know.

Where was the sneering? Where was the anger? Where was the retort?

She didn’t want to be called a slur. No, she didn’t want that Malfoy back, but damn it she wanted to see some sort of life behind his eyes. She didn’t understand why he didn’t defend himself, even when she made comments that never should have been given voice.

“I’m sorry,” she said, despite his protests, because she knew she needed to.

He sighed again, stopped writing long enough to look at her. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Apologize to me. Ever. For anything.” Then he was writing again. “Just eat something. Please,” he added, as if the pleasantry could ease the weight of his tone.

“I’m not fragile, Malfoy.”

His hand stilled.

“Believe me, I, of all people, am aware of that,” His voice shook slightly as he spoke. His eyes flashed to her arm and then looked away just as quickly.

And it clicked for Hermione what was happening, what he was referencing. When his eyes slid up to find hers, she flashed back to the manor.

Maybe it was the nightmares that kept her up all night. Maybe it was the implication of his words. Maybe it was the perfect storm that was everything occurring all at once.

But all she could think of was the manor.

He suddenly wasn’t looking at her from across the table. No, he was looking at her from across the drawing room where he stood and watched. Her body immediately tensed, and her hand had reflexively reached for her wand, as if assuring herself that if she was going back there, she’d have it this time.

But she wasn’t there. She was here. She reminded herself again and again as she mentally clawed her way out. She was here and safe.

And completely pissed to have been so unexpectedly thrown into that memory this morning.

“Would you stop it!” she huffed. “You... you do not get to use that night against me.”

“I’m not using anything against you!” His voice was rising, quill dropped and forgotten.

“Then what do you call this? Treating me like I’ll break, making casual references to that, using it to throw yourself a pity party.”

He laughed with a tone that was far from humorous, hands finding his neat hair and sliding into it as he stood and walked a small circle behind the desk. He came back to face her, face flushed, palms flat on the desk.

“I’m not throwing myself a pity party.” His voice was condescending as he mocked her words. “I’m trying to live with myself, to be able to work with you.”

She scoffed. “Because of course it’s a challenge to work with someone like me. I’ll always be a mudblood to some of you, won’t I?”

Her arm ached, the words mocking her. It felt even worse to voice them.

“Fuck... No,” he gasped out immediately. “You think that’s what this is? That I still feel that way?”

Did he not?

“Have I done any fucking thing, Granger, to make you believe I still feel that way?”

No.

Shame flooded her, but anger quickly took its place.

“You haven’t exactly given me reason to believe anything else,” she argued, surprised with how sharp and acidic her tone was as it filled the room.

He laughed in a way that showed he thought it was anything but funny. “Tell me, what would it take to forgive me, honestly? For all the sins I committed over the years?”

But she didn’t have an answer. Not that he gave her a chance to respond.

“It’s not because of you, it’s because of me,” he continued, breathing hard. “Because I’m having to try and live with myself after everything I did...and everything I didn’t do. After what happened with you... “

He kept going, breathless, everything tumbling out now that he had started.

“Of course I don’t feel that way anymore, Granger. I’m trying so bloody hard, and it doesn’t even matter… It’s never going to matter, is it?”

He stopped suddenly, gasping for air with clenched fists as he eyed the ground. It was the most out of control Hermione had seen him since she arrived. But he wasn’t intimidating or scary. No, somehow the tides had shifted, and Hermione’s earlier words felt much more suited to him now.

He seemed fragile.

Not from being pushed close to a breakdown. No, this was fragile in the manner that someone had been pushed so far, held on for so long, that at any moment they may shatter.

And she didn’t know what to make of that.

“You don’t have to...bring me crumpets to try and...make something up to me.” Even Hermione could immediately hear how ridiculous her words sounded.

Why did I say them at all?

He smirked.

“I could bring you a lifetime of crumpets, and it would never be enough.”

Malfoy grabbed his bag and headed towards the door. Hermione called out for him, but he didn’t so much as turn around or even slow down. He left her there with too many thoughts she didn’t know what to do with, too many words left unsaid.

Tears started falling down her face as she stared at the cold crumpet sitting on the desk.

--

It was too loud inside Hermione’s head.

That was the only way she could explain it. The fears and anxieties that she was normally strong enough to keep at bay had taken over.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Or the repeated discussions of painful and traumatic details of her past. Maybe it was the conflict that finally pushed her over the edge.

Whatever it was, she couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t settle.

She paced her living room with her head clutched in her head, desperate to shut it off. She needed reprieve.

She needed relief from this agony. She needed...

Him.

She was surprised she hadn’t thought of it before.

It had been a while, sure, but she hadn’t heard of any change in their arrangement. And surely he would have told her. She was certain he would have told her.

And he would certainly be distracting enough to shut off her mind.

She conjured her patronus and sent a simple message.

“Come over”

Owls always took too long, and few people actually remembered to close their floo as frequently as they should, so popping over had never been an ideal for them. But patronuses held promise, particularly when sent with short and vague messages that could be waved off if accidentally overheard by others.

Hermione was already pacing again when the floo activated behind her and he appeared. Eyes alight, his smile was mischievous.

She smiled back.

Oliver Wood stepped out.

Chapter Text

Oliver pulled her against him hard enough that their teeth knocked together as they collided. He kissed her fiercely, lips strong as they melded against hers, tongue demanding entrance into her mouth.

“It’s been too long,” she gasped against him.

They were a tangle of desperate limbs. Clothes were ripped off; the strain on her button-up as it pulled open sheared the buttons off, sending them scattering across the floor and filling the room with the sound of plastic pinging against wood.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised.

Her fingernails dug into his skin as he nipped at her lips. Moving down, he kissed across her jaw and down her throat until he was sucking on her neck, biting hard enough to mark her. She gasped at the pleasure of the sharp sting and and pulled him harshly against her body tighter, feeling how hard he was through her trousers.

It wasn’t sweet, which worked perfectly well for Hermione. Because to her, sweet would more often than not leave room to feel. And she didn’t want to feel anything except good.

Distractingly, consumingly, mind-numbingly good.

He worked his way back up to her mouth, kissing her again as his fingers pulled at her trousers. She ran her hand down and across his chest, over his abdomen, and down to the bulge in his pants.

She heard the distinct sound of seams ripping under his grip as he groaned. It was too bad really. She had liked those trousers.

His grip slipped as she started to rub him through his trousers, stopping occasionally to grip him harder. Running kisses across his chest and throat, she found her way to his earlobe and gave it a tug between her teeth.

Grinding into him, she kissed his mouth again. Pulling his lower lip between her teeth, she nibbled hard enough to make him whimper beneath her.

She smiled at the intoxicating sound, wanting to make him make it again.

The need for more was so urgent, she didn’t waste time trying to make it to the bedroom and pulled him down to the ground with her. She was free of her trousers, but he quickly rid her of her knickers with a wandless, wordless vanishing charm.

Wasting no time, his rough fingers slid along her body and down between her thighs. He rubbed circles around her clit before thrusting his fingers deep inside her.

“You always get so bloody tight,” he sighed, working his fingers deeper.

The intrusion was mind numbing, and Hermione keened at the pleasure of it. As he pumped his fingers in and out of her body, hitting the spot inside that made her melt, she moaned beneath him.

Hand haphazardly grabbing for her wand, she flicked it at the floo to shut it off and quickly cast the contraceptive spell on herself.

She grabbed for his pants, but they slipped in her grasp as he added another finger inside her.

“Want. You,” she gasped between pants. “Need. You.”

Hermione cried out as his fingers left her body, leaving her feeling unbearably empty and clenching around nothing. But he was thankfully vanishing his own pants and spreading her thighs with a hand on each knee.

She clawed at his arms as he entered her in one deep thrust, moaning at the sweet bliss of being so suddenly full.

He pulled out and roughly entered her again as his hands held her in place at her waist, making her gasp at the feeling.

He set a grueling pace. The rough threads of the carpet beneath her scratched at the skin on her back, but it only fueled her pleasure as she bucked against him.

His hand gripped her arse, pulling her up against him harder, deeping the angle until he was driving into her cervix with each thrust.

The aching pain of each hit mixed with the pleasure of being taken consumed her. There was no space to think of anything else. All she could do was feel as he drove himself deep inside her.

She was gasping, grabbing at the carpet underneath her fingers, pulling on his hair, dragging her nails roughly down his skin, slick with sweat now.

His hand slid up her body and clasped around her throat gently. Too gently.

“Please,” she gasped. Hermione placed her own atop his and pushed, nonverbally urging him to grasp her harder. She needed it.

Loose enough to not constrict her airways but tight enough to send a rush of adrenaline through her, she relished the feelings coursing through her.

The pleasure. The control. Even the pain.

Unable to quiet her moans as the pleasure built inside her with each thrust, she found herself getting closer and closer to her release.

“Please, Oliver” she begged.

Hand clawing at his now clasped around her throat, the pleasure crested and overtook her. Her orgasm consumed her, and she screamed at the rush. He found his own release, calling out her name as he thrust and came deep inside her.

The room was silent save for their panting breaths as they rode out the last lingering waves of pleasure.

“Fucking...hell…’Ermione,” Oliver managed to say between gasps, panting above her.

Gasping for air, he pulled out of her and rolled onto his back. They both lay there on the carpet, trying to come down from the high. It was always like this with Oliver. Intense and all-consuming. Numbing. Leaving you so wrung out afterwards you couldn’t feel anything if you tried.

They lay there a few moments longer until Oliver eventually had to get up off the hard floor due to his old Quidditch injury, and Hermione joked and prodded, as she always did, and they tumbled into the shower together.

After a rough fuck against the shower wall, they fell into her bed. It was silent as they laid there, and somehow Hermione’s head was already becoming loud once more. She fought it as hard as she could, not wanting to give up the post-sex bliss Oliver was so clearly still lost in, but anxiety ate away at her.

And amongst all the worries she could have chosen to dissect, her brain had become stuck on the conflict with Malfoy.

She traced the claw marks on Oliver’s chest, mind everywhere else. Eventually she fell onto her back, begging her mind to turn off. Staring at the ceiling did little good, as did counting sheep. She was seconds away from begging him to ease her pain and knock her out, just end this misery.

But instead, she asked, “Do you think people can really change?”

“Hmm?” His voice was faint and garbled when he replied. She smiled, turning on her side to look at him, knowing he was likely already falling asleep when she spoke.

Oliver almost always stayed after. They had always been entirely transparent about their arrangement, and they checked in with each other often to ensure they remained on the same page.

Neither wanted more than a sexual relationship.

So it wasn’t risky for them to lay in bed afterwards. To snuggle up. To stay over. No, with schedules as busy as they had, it had always been a kindness they both were willing to grant to ensure that whoever stayed wherever, they knew they’d have a comfortable place to sleep.

“Do you think people can change?” she repeated. She rested her chin on her hand as she studied him.

“Well…” Oliver leaned up, propping his head up by placing an arm behind it, blinking away the sleep before looking at her. “I don’t know. I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

“I dunno. I reckon a lot of things.”

“Like?”

“Who they are, what they did...what they’ve done since...”

She nodded, unsatisfied with his answer but unsure if she should say more.

He was right, of course. Though that didn’t make it easier. It didn’t tell her what to do, and she was tired of having to decide everything for herself. She was tired of everything always riding on her decisions, her actions.

She was just really fucking tired.

“Do you hope they’ve changed?” he asked, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“Who?” Hermione asked.

“Whoever is inspiring this question,” he replied.

“I guess… But what if I believe them and I’m wrong?”

“What if you don’t believe them and you’re wrong?” he countered.

“Fair enough,” she mused. “I guess it’s just...chance.”

Oliver’s fingers found her chin and shifted her so she had to look at him. “‘Ermione, all we have to give each other is chances. A chance to hurt us or help us. A chance at forgiveness or betrayal, happiness or grief. It always just comes down to where exactly you’re willing to place your chances.”

And he was right of course. As much as it pained her to think about it. For years of her life, every action, every choice was the difference in life and death. Now that the wizarding world was finally safe and she was finally stable and everything appeared to finally be returning to some modicum of normalcy, she hoped she could find some relief.

But she was starting to realize maybe that was nothing more than a dream. Maybe she was doomed to always carry the weight of decisions that were heavier than they should be. Maybe they all were.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he offered.

She sighed. “No. I’m sorry. I’m treating you like a personal mind healer.”

“I don’t mind.” And his words felt honest. True. “I swear. I’ll talk to you all night, pet. If you do want that.”

“I truly don’t,” she sighed. “Sometimes it just gets so loud in my head, and I don’t know how to keep it from spilling out. I don’t know how to turn it off.”

He pretended to innocently ponder, but his fingers were already sliding across her skin, making their way up her thighs. “I think I can help with that.”

Chapter Text

Hermione didn’t think she would ever hate her job. But as she collapsed into her favorite window seat of her loft, she thought for the first time that perhaps she did in fact hate her job.

Of course this opinion could have been skewed by the hellish week it had ended up being. More howlers, endless paperwork that kept her up late every night, and even getting kicked out of one meeting. And while she hoped it was a fluke, and she’d return to the calm week she had experienced previously, she feared this could become her new normal.

And amongst it all, she still could not stop thinking about what had happened with Malfoy. Trying to understand how the Malfoy she knew and the Malfoy of now could be the same person. Trying and failing to prepare herself to see him tomorrow.

She felt raw. As if the onslaught of emotions had left her ripped open and worn down. Exhausted. With nothing left to give, nothing left to fight the lingering feelings she couldn’t even differentiate anymore.

Hermione looked out the window beside her, warm chai tea in her hands. The familiar scent wafted from the cup and wrapped around her, like a blanket. She took a sip. Though she was out of espresso and she may have overdone it on the steep time, it still calmed her all the same.

She looked out the window, watching the sun begin to set. The pinks and yellows and oranges that were beginning to fill the sky cast a warm glow on everything.

Golden hour had been her mother’s favorite time of the day.

She sat and sipped and remembered: mornings spent sitting between her parents while drinking chai, lounging with the cup in the living room with them while they all read in peaceful silence together, evenings spent in the backyard watching the sun go down and just chatting about anything.

Everything was romanticized and slightly hazy, Hermione was aware of that much, but it was still wonderful to look back on. It was warmth and safety and comfort.

Her finger pressed against the glass pane in front of her, cold to the touch.

“I miss you, mum.”

The words were a whisper, for no one but herself.

After all, her mother was very much alive. She would just never, ever remember Hermione. No, that part of her mother was gone, and Hermione mourned for her all the same.

It had always left her a little unsure. After all, it was an uncomfortable situation. How do you mourn for someone still alive? There’s no grave to visit. And even if she did believe in an afterlife, her mother was alive.

So these words were for Hermione. And perhaps the spirit of who her mother once was, wherever that may be.

“I miss you and dad, all the time…” Hermione’s voice broke then, a tear slipping down her face. Her throat felt itchy, and she sipped on her tea to ease the feeling.

It helped a little.

“I’m trying,” Hermione managed to say, voice a little stronger now. “I’m trying to help her. Astoria. We’ve never really been close, but I went to school with her. She’s...someone like me.”

Hermione’s scar throbbed, as if taunting her. It reminded her it never actually left, not all the way, and it seemed to come back whenever she was starting to forget.

“Is it stupid I talk to you?” Hermione asked, not expecting an answer. She smirked at herself. At the ridiculousness of the situation. And yet.

And yet.

Her mum had been her rock growing up. She was Hermione’s greatest friend. At Hogwarts, she wrote to mum every week. She had been well-versed in all things Hogwarts, from Hermione’s studies to her friends and even the people she fancied.

Her mum had given the best advice. She was honest but never intentionally mean. She had never tried to manipulate or persuade. Instead, she always talked options through with Hermione, helped her find her own answers that Hermione was most comfortable with.

And if Hermione didn’t desperately miss it.

She too often found herself sitting on this window seat, one that she just knew her mum would have adored and frequented herself if she had ever come to visit. Sipping on chai, she’d sit and talk for a while, to her dad or mum or sometimes both of them, as if they could hear her.

“I just don’t know what to do about this, mum. I have to help her. But helping her means working with him. And I don’t know how to be around him. I don’t even know who he is anymore. And I just get so nervous and panicked and…”

It’s okay to feel.

The words from her memory hit her hard and fast. She remembered that day so clearly:

Hermione had fallen off her bicycle and scratched her knee on the concrete. Warm, bright blood oozed from her skin, filling Hermione with panic at the sight.

Hermione had tried to hide how she felt. The fear and panic were so strong, and if she just ignored the situation, maybe it would go away. But her mother swooped her up and hugged her, singing to her as she took her inside and placed her atop their countertop.

Her dad had come in as her mother grabbed the first aid kit, and he came over to Hermione to ask what happened.

Hermione remembered the tears that threatened to spill over her cheeks, so she had refused to speak. She didn’t want to give voice to her fears. She didn’t want to have to face it.

She shook her head no with a trembling lip.

“Hermione,” her mum had cooed, coming back inside the kitchen. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, dear. Feelings are scary, some more than others, but they aren’t bad. It’s okay to feel.”

After that, the phrase became a reminder, a mantra, of sorts.

When Hermione buried herself in school work, when she pushed through instead of slowing down, when she tried to avoid talking about something, her mum had always reminded her.

It’s okay to feel.

“It’s okay, isn’t it mum?” Hermione asked the silent and empty space, smirking, already knowing what her mum would say in response.

It was like Hermione could picture her mum sitting on the other end of the window seat, feet tucked in, cradling a mug in her own hands. She could picture the way her mum would look at her, the gentle smile that would grace her face as they spoke.

The way she would nod. And then give Hermione’s hand a tiny reassuring squeeze.

Growing up, Hermione had always hated the way muggle tv portrayed moments like this. The main character would hallucinate, and there would be time spent cryptically discussing if they were “real” or not. When in reality, it was much like this.

It was knowing someone so intimately, even after they are gone, that you can imagine exactly what they would say and do, each mannerism, with such detail you can picture them in front of you as if they could be there.

Hermione took another sip of tea.

Her mum would be right of course.

It was okay for Hermione to feel all of it: desire and desperation to help Astoria, fear that she couldn’t, anxiety at working with Malfoy, hesitance to trust him and doubt that he had changed, hope that he had, and maybe, maybe, the smallest hope they could move forward.

That it could somehow truly be as simple as that.

Because if Hermione felt anything anymore, with perfect clarity, it was exhaustion. She was so fucking tired, and it would be so nice if they could just move forward.

So perhaps she could do that.

Not ignore the past. Not ignore her current hesitance and anxieties. But still move forward anyway. Try to at least.

It was painful to even consider, but she knew she had to think about it.

Did he deserve it? Had he truly changed?

She didn’t have an answer for that. It left her sitting in discomfort, one of the most agonizing feelings, in her opinion. But she forced herself to stay with it as she continued to sip her tea, as she thought about him and what she knew of him. What she didn’t. What she hoped for.

She took another sip, allowing herself to continue falling into the rabbit hole of her thoughts.

--

Footsteps sounded in the room before coming to an abrupt stop. She knew he had seen her, but she didn’t pause, didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge him.

The footsteps picked up again. Malfoy came into her vision. He eyed her and the napkin on the table as he laid his stuff down.

She scooted the napkin closer to him. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” he muttered, lifting the paper to find the muffin underneath.

“I made it,” she said.

He eyed her, still standing, still thoroughly confused.

“If I wanted to poison you, I’d be much more inventive,” she said, copying his previous words to her.

It made the corner of his mouth lift ever so slightly. It wasn’t a smile, and it was so small that someone may argue it wasn’t there at all. But she had zeroed in on his face, and she saw it. She knew.

I’ll take it.

“Thank you,” he whispered before taking a bite. He chewed slowly, eyebrows lifting and a small nod as he did so. “It’s very good.”

Hermione knew that already. It was her best recipe. Harry demanded she bring them to every holiday gathering since he had first tried them. But Malfoy didn’t need to know that. She’d gladly take the compliment, especially from him.

She extended her hand out to him. “My name is Hermione.”

He eyed her again, stopping mid-chew, eyes flashing from her face to her hand and back.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked once he had swallowed his bite of muffin.

“Starting over,” she replied, making him stumble.

“Why?”

“I told you, I think we should leave the past where it is. Focus on what we’re doing now. Who we are now. Focus on helping Astoria. I think it would be...simplest,” she explained.

Malfoy eyed her again, and she had to shove the frustration down that was beginning to boil beneath the surface.

Just let this be easy. Let us forget.

“We can be cordial. Maybe even friends, one day,” she continued.

Her hand remained out in front of her. He still hadn’t moved to take it.

“Friends...?” he asked hesitantly.

She nodded. “If you want.”

A pause.

Finally, he nodded, taking her hand in his own. Hermione was very aware her palm was likely sweaty, but it was too late, and her hand was already clasped in his.

His hand was cool and he, of course, shook hers in such a pristine way. Calm and controlled as ever, as if his previous outburst had been but a dream.

“Draco,” he said. She nodded.

Draco.

Hermione made a mental note to start using that instead of Malfoy. If that’s how he introduced himself, that’s what she would call him.

“Surprised it isn’t a crumpet.”

“You know I eat other things, right?” she smirked. “That and I’m shit at making crumpets.”

There was another small upturn of his lips. Still so small, but she could tell it was real and genuine, and she appreciated that far more than any grandiose smile.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked again.

Draco looked at her with something Hermione couldn’t quite identify. It was more than confusion or curiosity. It wasn’t quite admiration or awe.

Whatever it was, she didn’t like it.

She didn’t want applause, and she certainly wasn’t suggesting starting over with him for noble reasons. Rather, after further mulling it over at her window seat the night prior, she realized she had three.

The first, and absolutely the most selfish, was she didn’t think she could bear going down that path, reliving the memories. They would discuss everything that happened, in detail, and she didn’t know if she’d survive reliving it all again here with him. Yes, she was trying to acknowledge her feelings, but that felt like too much too soon.

The second, and most mutually beneficial reason, was that she was tired and suspected he was as well. She was exhausted from fighting for so many years. She was too exhausted to continue fighting, of any kind. And making the choice to hash it out with him would take everything she had left.

The third, and certainly most shocking, was that Draco’s words were resonating a little louder within her. The idea he had changed started out as a simple musing. A wonder, if anything. But it had haunted her all weekend, into the work week, and she was now perhaps stupidly optimistic. Hopeful, even.

After all, she had been to his trials when his and Narcissa’s memories had come to light. All of his actions, or lack of, a response to threat of harm to his family or himself.

It didn’t excuse the actions that occurred, but it had to be acknowledged. Hermione was not ready to say this was a good man, or even a changed man.

She certainly wasn’t yet able to consider if he was actually a good person with poor role models, no choices, and repeated trauma.

But she had to admit to herself that she didn’t recognize the old him anywhere within the person in front of her now.

And that was enough, for now.

But she didn’t want to tell him all of that.

So she didn’t.

“Because I need to,” she said simply.

Chapter Text

The next part would be the worst part.

Hermione knew it was coming.

The batch of her original potion, which at Pansy’s request Hermione had meticulously brewed herself and then delivered to Astoria, did not appear to be easing symptoms at all. They had long ago finished reviewing the entirety of Hermione’s wound progression, and the prior weekend had been spent locked away with Draco in his study, comparing notes and pouring over texts.

It was more of the same- collections of simple, standard spellwork and potion recipes that never worked for Hermione and showed little promise for Astoria. They tried everything they could come across, to no avail. The charms weren’t strong enough, there never had been a counter curse created, and the lack of herbology centered options would have been comical if it wasn’t so damn depressing.

Though she had never voiced the concern, Hermione had been skeptical the entire time. After all, they were exhausting their General Magic options. Though it was the primary of the two categories of magic, it was the one Hermione considered to have failed her the most.

General Magic, the majority player in the magical world, was…basic. Sure, there was enough variation amongst the different subtypes, and it could range in intensity and power. It was what was taught at Hogwarts and used by everyone, every day. But it was standardized by the Ministry, and after Hermione’s extensive research, she found it uninspired.

It hadn’t taken long for Hermione to recognize that this curse, this particular brand of foreign and wicked magic, needed a solution of equivalent imagination. A few months of experiments had shown her General Magic wasn’t the answer, and everyone aiding Astoria’s cause seemed to be quickly arriving there as well. They needed something else entirely, leaving one avenue to pursue.

Fringe Magic.

An umbrella term, it constituted all forms of non-standard, under-studied, lost, or ancient magics. It was the form of magic that filled up Restricted Sections and books that were taken from Death Eater’s homes in post-war raids by the Ministry. While not always dark in nature, it was always dangerous in some capacity, and it was difficult to acquire documentation of it let alone actually practice it.

But difficult did not mean impossible, and Hermione had certainly spent a fair amount of time dabbling in such things.

Still, Hermione dreaded it.

Even though it provided possibilities to try when General Magic gave none, even though it had helped her observe a common combination of potion ingredients that would ultimately inspire her own, returning to this area would be painful. After all, adventuring into Fringe Magic, or returning in Hermione’s case, to address this curse meant revealing what had happened to her with her own attempts, the darkest of her stories.

And it possibly meant reliving some.

But stories and research came first, and Hermione knew the story she needed to tell. It was the first piece of Fringe Magic she had turned to. The first thing she thought to try.

Runes.

Sure, deciphering runes was common enough. After all, it had been taught at Hogwarts, and Rune Translation was a common practice. It was Blaise and Daphne’s entire occupation. But utilizing runes, spellcasting with runes, that was an entirely different thing. That was Fringe Magic.

Some may argue Runes were simple things, but those were the people who only dabbled in it. Those who took a class or passed their exams and declared themselves experts in the area. The truth of the matter was even lifelong academics in the field were not always able to properly translate the more intricate rune scripts. It was a complex magic, often rooted in the more pure forms of magic, and contrary to popular assumption, it rarely utilized dark magic.

Maybe that was why it had felt like the safest option, initially.

Hermione sat with her old Rune text in her hands, the corner pages still tacky and partially stuck together from spilt blood. The sound of ripping filled the small room as she tried to open it, and she quickly stopped. Her hands shook, and she had to look away. Though she tried to focus on keeping her breathing steady, images flooded her mind of her screaming and writhing on the floor.

She couldn’t help but wonder why everything with this scar always ended with her writhing on a fucking floor.

She remembered her wand shaking in her hand as she worked to cast a reversal charm. The words wouldn’t form on her tongue. She couldn’t stop screaming. Her attempts to remove the injured skin from her arm failed.

It burned. Every part of her burned, as if her very skin was being torched by flame, with the worst coming from her scar. It radiated down, deep down, settling in her bones.

She wondered if cutting off her arm would make it stop.

Ron walked in. His face upon finding her... The agony. The panic and fear. His desperate screams over and over.

“What did you do?”

There weren’t words. Nothing but pain. Unending pain eating her alive. Pain that would never stop. All of it would never stop.

Ron’s attempts to end the spell himself did nothing but intensify the spell, and he apparated them to Mungo’s. The bright lights and cold floor. Her screams echoing in the new space. Ron shaking her again and again.

“Hermione!”

But it wasn’t Ron’s voice. Ginger hair and a trail of freckles morphed into white locks and steely eyes.

“Hermione?” Not a scream but a gentle probe. “Are you okay?” Draco asked.

Was she? It felt like the pop quiz she wasn’t prepared for.

“We can postpone this for a while longer,” he suggested.

She managed to find her voice, though it was small. “I’m fine.” He didn’t respond but studied her, eventually nodding and settling back in his chair, putting distance between them.

“Are you sure, Hermione?”

It was Daphne who spoke this time. Hermione surveyed the room to find that both Daphne and Pansy had joined them, though she was unsure exactly when.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, though her voice sounded hollow even to her own ears. “Blaise…?”

“Got called in to work,” Daphne explained. “It’ll just be us.”

Hermione nodded. Took a deep breath. Then she forced herself to lift the text and place it on the table.

Daphne looked at it intensely. As a Rune Translator, it was her job, but Hermione had long ago heard of the woman’s personal interest in the subject matter. She supposedly found it all fascinating, consuming texts on her off-time and even becoming a collector of those that were more difficult to obtain.

The look on her face told Hermione all she needed to know about the rarity of the book in her possession.

“This is what I...translated next.” The words were sour on Hermione’s tongue as she pushed it towards Daphne, who immediately reached for it.

“Bloody hell,” she whispered as her fingers gently traced the lettering on the cover. Pansy leaned over trying to look from where she sat. “You tried to translate this?” she asked in awe.

Hermione looked down, too ashamed to even pretend to be offended by her words. Her attempt to translate the text had been a disaster. But she had been desperate, and it had somehow been her most promising lead at the time. So she put forth her best effort.

Her best effort still hadn’t stopped her from falling to her knees screaming after she cast that particular spell.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, realizing the implied insult. “I don’t mean to offend. I’m just baffled. These are very old, even for ancient runes. Very rare. I would have had difficulty with much of this, and I specialize in this area.”

She opened the text to the dog eared page. The sharp crack of the stuck together pages finally being completely ripped apart filled the room. A torn paper scrap was sticking out near the dog ear, a haphazardly placed bookmark that fell out once opened.

“Is this it?” she asked, even as she began to read the page before her silently to herself. Hermione watched her eyes flash back and forth as she scanned the page.

Hermione managed a nod. Her hand went to her scar without thinking about it, an instinct when remembering that particular pain.

Daphne’s brows furrowed as she read. Her eyes stopped moving, likely focusing on a rune of particular interest.

There it is. She knows.

Suddenly, the apple she had accepted from Draco was a regret as it threatened to come back up. The sharp taste of bile filled Hermione’s mouth, and she pushed her nails into her palms hard enough to try and override the feeling with pain instead.

“Hermione?” Daphne’s voice was somehow even softer now, pulling her from her thoughts.

She was suddenly aware she must have said something. “Sorry, what?”

“Do you need a moment?” Daphne asked, ever the considerate one. She could see in Daphne’s eyes that she was already understanding where the story would go.

It was clear Daphne had been humble earlier. After all, this was her area, and she had the competency to translate it. She knew exactly what this spell did.

“What is it?” Pansy asked.

Daphne ignored her. “Hermione…”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, tone sharper than intended.

She didn’t look convinced. “Hermione, I’m serious. If…”

“I’m fine,” she repeated, interrupting Daphne.

She chanced a glance at Pansy, who was still trying to read over Daphne’s shoulder. Hermione wondered how much knowledge Pansy had regarding rune translations. If she could read it, too.

She then let herself look at Draco. His silver eyes were watching her, but when their eyes met, he quickly looked down.

He could rarely, if ever, meet her eyes when they discussed her wound.

Hermione looked down, herself. She hated this part, admitting how bad it had gotten. “I…”

The words got caught in her throat. At that moment, she realized it was the first time she would be telling this particular story to anyone. No one knew, not even Ginny. And her and Ron had never spoken of it again.

Spit it out.

You have to tell them.

Just tell them.

“I hadn’t been sleeping or eating. The pain from the wound was becoming rather unbearable.”

“Did pain potions not help?” Pansy asked. “They have been our saving grace.”

Hermione shook her head. “I was tirelessly looking for answers and testing out new experiments. Even though my wound didn’t progress as far as Astoria’s, I was causing new and increasingly complex problems with each attempt. I honestly don’t know how those alone didn’t kill me.”

No one spoke. The weight of what Hermione had just said, the idea that Astoria could be headed the same direction, was too much. Pansy clenched her jaw, grabbed for Daphne’s hand, who collected it within her own tightly.

“I was desperate for an answer,” Hermione continued, trying to redirect back to the focus. “And I also had…”

She paused, unsure of how to ever capture in words what was happening with her and Ron at that time. Did she even want to?

But no, she knew she had to. It was relevant after all. Her mental, physical, and emotional state had impacted their relationship, which impacted her further. It was a never-ending feedback cycle of torment. One they needed to know about.

But she couldn't tell them all the details. Not yet, at least.

“I had a lot of…interpersonal conflict at the time, so my head wasn't clear. And with very little background in Ancient Runes of this kind, and being in no state to be translating, I don’t know that we can even really call what I did a proper translation…”

“It looks like you did a fairly decent job,” Daphne said.

She was coddling her, and Hermione hated it. “Are you having a laugh?”

“I’m serious, Hermione. Considering all the…” Daphne grasped for a word. “...variables...it looks like you were off to a good start. You almost got it…”

“Almost is the key word,” Hermione interrupted. She looked down at the text.

“You mistranslated something?” Pansy asked, point blank.

Because of course she would. Pansy Parkinson had always been blunt. She wouldn’t shy away. No, she would get straight to the point, and thus far they had only been ignoring her. It didn’t matter the impact her jumping to the point would have on others. As long as she got the information she needed.

Hermione knew she wasn’t being fair, not in her assessment of Pansy or her words with Daphne. But there was no energy inside her to give to proper socialization when she was too busy just trying to hold it together.

Hermione bit her tongue and nodded at Pansy.

“This one,” Daphne offered up. She pointed somewhere in the text and Pansy nodded, as if that meant anything to her. Based on Pansy’s eyes scouring the text, Hermione imagined it did not in fact mean anything to Pansy. She couldn’t read the runes.

“I thought it said halt,” Hermione admitted. “I thought it was a spell that could halt my wound from progressing.”

“And what did it really say?” Pansy asked.

Daphne waited for her to answer, but when she didn’t, she stepped in. “Freeze.”

At her words, Hermione’s eyes squeezed shut. She grit her teeth against the memory.

The feeling of magically having your skin freeze until it was decaying on your body… There was nothing like it. She hoped no one would ever understand that pain.

Magic was a finicky bitch. It was the same concept as frostbite, but the way magic froze skin was different. Quicker with a stronger bite. Though, magical freezing could sometimes be reversed.

The give and take of magic.

Hermione raised the sleeve of her shirt and magically kept the tattoo from covering her arm. Though her Mudblood scar was almost always on display, the one from that night was not. It now shone through: long black and blue lines ran out from the scar, webbing across her skin that was usually covered with tattooed vines.

Pansy leaned in to look. Daphne watched but stayed where she was. Draco looked away.

“This area is still numb to the touch,” she whispered, placing a finger tip on the skin right between the letters B and L and sliding it over to the O, where the skin was rough.

She closed her eyes. If it hadn’t been for Ron’s intervention, if he hadn’t found her, that night may have killed her. It had taken extensive emergency healing procedures, including two surgeries, to fix it as best they could.

“Hermione…I’m sorry.”

She opened her eyes to find Daphne’s warm ones focused on her. Her lips were pursed, the book set on the table. It wasn’t until a tear slipped out that Hermione realized her vision was blurred. Flushing, she quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand.

“I did it to myself,” she said with a smirk, trying desperately to pull herself together.

You can cry at home. Away from them.

Do not cry in front of them.

Wait for home, wait, just wait...

Hermione looked at her palm, tracing the half crescent shapes that now indented the skin from her nails. “Besides, we haven’t even reached my accidental electrocution. That was a real blunder, let me tell you.”

Daphne set the book down, gaining Hermione’s attention, and she reached out for it.

Instead, a hand wrapped around her own.

Looking up, Hermione found Pansy was watching her with a heartbreakingly pitiful expression on her face. Pansy’s other hand came up and joined until both were wrapped fully around Hermione’s one outstretched palm.

“Hermione, you don’t have to do this,” Pansy said.

“Sure I do. I want to help Astoria,” Hermione corrected, even as tears continued to fall. She turned her head away in a desperate attempt to hide them.

“No,” Pansy said, gently squeezing Hermione’s hand and causing her to turn back towards Pansy. “You don’t have to make jokes and try to soldier through it. I know we…”

Pansy turned to look around her, likely at the others in the room with them, but Hermione couldn’t take her eyes off the girl in front of her.

“...may not be your first choice to be vulnerable with. Justifiably so. But a really fucked thing happened to you, and you survived. Don’t you ever feel shame for what comes with that. Okay?”

It was an unexpected but powerful moment.

Hermione had never expected to hear such a thing from someone else and certainly not Pansy Parkinson. But here they were. And it was like having a fucking weight lift from her chest.

To hear someone say what she had been through had been awful? To be validated in her emotions? To be considered a survivor?

It was freeing. Empowering, even. Warmth bloomed in Hermione’s chest in a very unexpected moment of clarity and support. And it was coming from Pansy. Whom Hermione was realizing was far different than the vapid, one-dimensional Pansy she assumed her to be.

It’s okay to feel.

Hermione nodded.

“Okay?” Pansy persisted. “I mean it.”

“Okay,” Hermione whispered. Another tear slipped down.

Pansy gave her one more squeeze before gently releasing her hands. Pansy’s own eyes had begun to water, though no tears had yet fallen.

“So I’m Hermione now?”

Pansy smiled.

“Well, the Golden Girl breaks down in front of you, and you’re forced to see her as a whole person and everything,” Pansy joked, prodding at Hermione, who couldn’t help but return the smile.

Hermione understood the sentiment.

Chapter Text

Reviewing the rune texts had brought Hermione’s embarrassing experiment to light, but it had done little for Astoria. After all, the freezing spell was clearly not appropriate, and Daphne’s translation confirmed Hermione’s initial fear: the text was a dead end.

Thankfully, the potion text Draco had backordered months prior had finally come in.

A colleague had put him in touch with a friend of theirs in Germany, who had passed Draco off through a list of roughly ten more blokes before he had finally made contact with a collector of rare potion texts in Scandinavia. For a reasonable price, they offered a text with what they believed could be the solution.

Hermione wondered what the collector had considered reasonable.

The text must have truly been something, because both Draco and Pansy had fawned over it for days. They had spent the weekend meticulously pouring over the text and collecting potion ingredients, and though Hermione wasn’t needed at the manor herself, she received updates periodically via owl.

The time gave her a welcome reprieve to coop herself up in her loft to finalize the Beaubaxton draft and respond to outstanding inquiries regarding the department’s services. When it was all finally complete, Ginny came over with an armful of bottles of fairy wine, and they drank until they were both lying on the floor enchanting Hermione’s ceiling. Harry had to come over and help Ginny get home.

Hermione knew they had just visited the fertility doctor again. She didn’t have to ask how it went.

The next week was a beautiful, unexpected shift at work. The mountains of paperwork were finally transforming themselves into smaller hills. The howlers stopped arriving. Hermione even received an owl from Madame Blanchet, Beaubaxton’s current headmistress, raving about the reform documentation Hermione had created and requesting an on-site visit.

Hermione and Ariana celebrated with a bottle of nectar, and she allowed herself to go home before nightfall that evening. It had been a Wednesday of all days, and Ariana was beside herself with the gifted extra time. Hermione made a mental note to give her an exceptional present soon. Or perhaps a raise. Maybe she’d simply ask Ariana what she needed.

When the weekend finally arrived, Hermione was in such high spirits, she didn’t imagine anything could bring her down.

Until Draco showed her the potion recipe.

It turned out Pansy and Draco had already started the potion. With a hefty claim to be able to neutralize dark residual magic from any curse, the potion was quite honestly as finicky a bitch as you’d expect.

It required several very hard to obtain ingredients, and those ingredients then had to be carefully handled and refined, some mixed with others in hours or even days long mini-potions. Pansy had spent the entire week helping Draco, brewing at her shop while he was at work.

Finally on the verge of collapse, Pansy had been forced to retire for the evening, leaving Draco and Hermione the task of finishing the potion.

It had to be exact, which would be fine for Draco and Hermione. After all, Draco had obtained his potion knowledge from Severus Snape, and over time his expertise had grown until it likely rivaled Snape’s. And, they had both long ago established how Hermione exceeded with potions and anything requiring meticulous detail.

But as the sun began to rise, and they neared their fourteenth straight hour of tirelessly tending to the potion, she wondered how much more they could take.

Draco had not complained. It had been a shock to watch him complete so much work without comment, and it had been tedious work at that: finely chop ingredients to the specified sizes, add precise measurements, count each stir and time it in accordance with the timer he had magically created to hover over their workstation.

Yet, he never, ever complained. His eyes stayed trained on the work before him, and he was reluctant to even give over control to Hermione more than absolutely necessary.

But the potion that should have turned a bright and vivid green had long ago shifted to a burgundy color, and it never changed. When it finally fizzled out, signifying the potion was not viable, Draco wordlessly collapsed on the floor.

He rested on his knees with wide eyes, staring, unmoving.

They sat for a while.

Neither spoke or moved. They just sat in stillness, lost in thoughts. Hermione didn’t know how long she would have stayed that way had the rumbling of her stomach not pulled her from it.

She was starving and exhausted. Her body physically ached, and her head throbbed. Looking at Draco showed he must feel similarly because he didn’t appear much better off. She tried to speak to him, but he didn’t answer. His gaze remained trained on the ground.

They sat in silence until Astoria and Pansy had awoken. And then Hermione watched Draco physically wilt as he told them what had happened. Or what hadn’t happened. That it hadn’t worked.

Pansy’s face fell, but Astoria just nodded. As if Draco had told her something as mundane as the weather forecast. And she remained steady as she held Pansy, who sobbed through her exhaustion and fear.

They sat in silence until Pansy’s sobs became whimpers and then ultimately disappeared altogether. Until they both stood and said their goodbyes before going to Daphne’s for the afternoon. Until Hermione and Draco were alone again.

Hermione stood and offered a hand out to Draco, who looked at it as if it were foreign or dangerous.

“Come along.”

“Where are we going?” Draco asked.

“To find some food.”

“I’ll just get…”

“I meant out of the house,” she interrupted.

“Are you dense or just out of your mind?” he snapped.

“Okay, ow,” she said quickly, hurt by the comment. “There’s…”

“After the conversation we just had to have?” he interrupted.

“Draco would you…”

“And considering all the time we lost?” he asked. Draco was determined to continue berating her, as if he were a wrecking ball that had been unleashed upon her.

“I simply…”

“And that we have no idea where to go from here? I mean...”

“Draco!” she yelled. He stopped, eyes wide as he stared at her as if she truly had lost her mind. “Enough. Look at yourself. You truly believe we are in any shape to keep working right now? We need food. Water. To remember what it’s like to breathe.”

He opened his mouth but Hermione followed his earlier lead and steam rolled over his attempt.

“We could stay here, yes. But we won’t get a moment to think without the pressure of the situation weighing us down. We’re exhausted. We’ve worked all night. We have to get out of here for a few hours.”

“But…but it just…”

Now that Hermione was going to let him speak, he appeared at a loss for words.

She waited.

“But time is precious.” He seemed so very small when he spoke, and Hermione physically felt a pang in her chest.

“I know time is precious,” she assured him. “But we won’t be any good to Astoria if we run ourselves dry. We physically can’t maintain this, Draco, and you know it.”

Draco’s eyes, which were usually so guarded, were unusually vulnerable as he stared at her. She could feel him searching her face as he hesitated.

She reached for him again. “It’s okay to rest sometimes. It’s okay.”

Her hand stayed outstretched between them.

Slowly, so slowly, he took it.

–

“They’re different from what you may be accustomed to.”

“I gathered that would be likely,” he replied with a smirk.

Draco looked around him. The shop was busy to be so early in the morning, but Hermione had rarely ever seen it in any state short of packed. It had honestly been a miracle they didn’t have a longer wait when they arrived.

Tucked in a vinyl booth at the back of the shop, Draco sat across from Hermione with a bent and torn menu in front of them both, surrounded by the conversations of other patrons and shouts of the waiting staff, a cacophony of random assorted noises filling the room.

Hermione wondered if he had ever been anywhere like this, if he had ever been to a muggle establishment that wasn’t strictly fine dining.

“So not the thin, flat things then?” he asked, nose upturned.

Snotty as ever.

Nevertheless, Hermione still made a mental note of a street cart she would need to take Draco to one day, one that sold the best British pancakes.

“No, these are fluffy and sweet and wonderful. They’re more...American.”

He scoffed. “You had me until American.”

Why did I bring him here?

Why did I think he could ever appreciate it?

“I’m just showing you the finer things.” Suddenly, she felt quite defensive of the shop. After all, she had loved it here. She had grown up here.

“Finer things?” he laughed. “Nothing on this menu is over what… the equivalence of a few galleons.”

“You assume price automatically means substance and quality?”

“Typically.”

Oh, shove it.

Hermione paused from perusing the menu when she felt Draco’s eyes on her. His brow was raised and the corner of his mouth was upturned into an amused smirk.

She flushed as she realized she must have spoken the words aloud.

“Just pick out what you want.”

After glancing briefly at the menu, which she hadn’t truly needed to do since they hadn’t changed the menu since she had been alive, she settled into the booth and sipped on her coffee.

“It’s good,” she assured him as he warily stared at his own.

“I’ve had coffee before, Granger… Hermione.” He corrected himself quickly before taking a sip, grimacing at the taste as he swallowed. Still, they were both exhausted, and he eagerly turned up the mug and drank it greedily.

“Why did you order it if you don’t like it?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Following your lead, here, I suppose.”

Draco hadn’t finished speaking before he was looking at the menu once more. His brows were knit in concentration, and she watched as he seemed to agonize over the words printed before him. She’d never seen someone look quite so distraught while looking at a menu.

It was Hermione’s turn to be amused. “Do you need help?”

“Of course not,” he replied quickly. Too quickly.

Though his face was neutral, his eyes gave him away as he furiously scanned the menu. Her eyes swept over him again, and that’s when she noticed just how rigidly he sat, the tight grip of his fingers on the menu, and the overly stiff posture. Even for Draco’s standards, he appeared stuffy.

Hermione understood then that one of his defense mechanisms was control: show no physical signs of discomfort, speak snarkily so no one will even notice the fragility, keep the walls up and don’t let the real feelings show.

It was human and vulnerable, and it surprised her.

“Would it go against your Pureblood etiquette? Having me to assist?” Hermione asked, smiling as she did.

It was a peace offering. An offered hand to ease the tension and anxiety.

He looked up from the menu with his brows knitted together and scowling, but he softened upon seeing her smile.

“Believe me, my etiquette instructor was rolling in her grave long ago,” he assured her.

When the waitress returned, Hermione promptly ordered for them both: the salted caramel blondie stack for herself, the PBC stack for him, another coffee for them both.

Once again surprising Hermione, Draco relaxed when the steaming cups of coffee came. As he fixed this one, adding a heaping spoonful of sugar and a smidge of cream instead of simply chugging it down, he revealed his childhood violin instructor had been American. His father was troubled by it, but no one could deny she had been the best.

It seemed to be the only connection he could make between this American inspired establishment and his own life. Hermione appreciated he was making an effort, meager as it was.

More than that, she was actually excited to learn something, anything, about him. Personal information was rarely if ever offered up by him, so this was a unique opportunity.

Draco smiled sweetly as he spoke of mornings spent in the garden with his violin instructor. They would sip on coffee and sometimes eat biscuits for breakfast, if Draco could steal some from the cupboards. It was a fond memory from his childhood, and it had Hermione wondering just how many of those he had.

As if an internal alarm sounded and his body was recognizing his mental shields had been down for too long, he slid the neutral mask back in position. Hermione swore she could see it clicking into place behind his eyes.

She briefly wondered if this was what occlumency looked like. And why he felt he had to use it now, with her.

“Do you always do that?” she asked, fixing her own cup of coffee with cream and honey.

“Do what?”

“Put the walls up.”

He eyed her but didn’t respond.

“It’s okay to feel, Draco.”

He scoffed. “Just because you can’t perform occlumency on yourself doesn’t mean you don’t have walls of your own.”

Hermione leaned forward, intrigued. She rested her elbows on the table as she cradled the mug in her hands, letting the calming scent of the coffee waft over her.

“See any now?” she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “You likely haven’t shown all of them, and people certainly don’t show them all the time.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, I would say overworking would qualify.”

Hermione bit her cheek but couldn’t keep the retort in. “Rich coming from you.”

The very edge of his mouth turned up. Like a little smile he couldn’t hide.

“People use all sorts of distractions. Alcohol, drugs…” he continued. “Perhaps pleasurable activities.”

Hermione raised her brows, drawing out a smirk from him.

“Hobbies,” he explained. “Writing, cooking, creating. Merlin, Hermione, is your mind always in the gutter?”

Without thinking, she reached out and shoved his arm lightly, but he simply smirked in response.

“But, isn’t that what being alive is?” she asked. “Choosing to do the things that we love? The things that are fun or that let us forget about the pain, for a little while. The things that make us feel good. Choosing to do all those things as often as we can?

“Sure,” he nodded. “But couldn’t you argue that the things you love can be misused? Overused? At times sought out with such ferocity and obligation it isn’t even helpful anymore?”

“Where’s the line between escapism and enjoyment?” she asked.

“It’s a fine one.”

Hermione studied him for a moment, confused, not at the conversation but rather who she was having it with and how much she was enjoying it.

“You know, you’ve changed,” Hermione said, before deciding if she should.

“Aren’t we supposed to?” he asked innocently but genuinely.

“I’m finding you to be quite surprising,”

“Is that good or bad?”

It’s perplexing.

I’m not supposed to enjoy spending time with you like this, am I?

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Draco smiled lightly again, seeming to be amused by her answer. He opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it when the waitress reappeared and set their food in front of them. The plates were stacked high with large, fluffy pancakes. His were coated in peanut butter and chocolate, hers dripping caramel sauce.

Draco gently unfolded his paper napkin and placed it in his lap, but once the fork was in his hand, he hesitated.

“Go on,” she urged.

Ever dramatic, he carefully and very slowly cut a bite. His eyes went wide as he chewed. He quickly ate another bite. And another.

“Is it good?” she asked. He nodded as he took another bite and smiled.

It abruptly struck Hermione that it was the closest thing she’d seen to a real smile from him. It wasn’t the faint, light excuses for a smirk she had been getting all morning. It wasn’t the guarded smiles he gave around people. No, it was a real smile.

And it was here. In this tiny shop, a muggle shop, with her. He looked exhausted and disheveled as he sat across from her wearing yesterday’s very wrinkled button-up, but he was now licking chocolate from his fingers and taking big enough bites to make his cheeks bulge.

It all felt surreal.

“This is remarkable.” He smiled at her and eagerly cut another bite. “Like the little chocolate hats.”

She couldn’t hold in her giggle at the memory of Draco discovering peanut butter cups. They had fallen from her overturned purse one afternoon while they were trying to organize the chaos of their notes from the day. Spilling all over the floor, the resulting discussion of course ended in her daring him to try one. He had been reluctant at first, but of course he ultimately had followed through once his pride appeared on the line.

Once he tried one, he was gone.

When Hermione went to grab another the next day, she noticed the bag was gone and a few galleons were in its place.

“Just like the chocolate hats,” she repeated, smiling at him.

A moan of appreciation slipped out of her upon tasting her own pancakes. She flushed and covered her mouth in embarrassment when she realized Draco was openly gaping at her.

“They’re good,” she defended. With a gentle push, she slid the plate closer to him. “Want to try?”

Hermione asked before she thought about it. The familiar setting and her favorite pancakes and the ease of their conversation had lulled her into comfort. She didn’t think before she offered. She had just done it. As if they were close friends who did things like this.

She started to pull the plate back and make a joke when his fork made its way to her plate. His eyes were on the pancakes as he quickly cut a bite and tried it.

Hermione knew her mouth was open as she watched him eat after her. He had cut from the very spot she had just eaten from. Her, born from non-magical parents. And him, Draco Malfoy, a pureblood.

And they were just...simply...sharing pancakes now? Laughing and joking, conversing in a small shop over breakfast as if it was something they always did? As if it was old hat?

His previous words about him changing and being a different person with different beliefs echoed in her head, and for the first time Hermione felt truth to them first hand.

Draco let out a little moan himself upon tasting her food, and Hermione smiled at how entirely un-Draco the sound was. The last few hours had shown more emotion out of the man than the last few weeks combined.

“Bloody hell. Where has this place been my whole life?” He eagerly piled his fork high with more of his own pancakes and ate quickly, etiquette falling by the wayside. He met her eyes and smiled, chocolate still in the corner of his mouth.

Hermione smiled back as she sipped her coffee and shrugged. “The finer things.”

Chapter Text

It turned out pancakes and too many hours of sleep were quite soul healing, and a new plan was created.

The creator of the faulty potion was credited in the text, and Draco wrote to the bookseller to try and obtain any lead on how to reach them.

In the meantime, the deemed second favorite potion from the text would be brewed. Neither Pansy nor Draco had originally jumped at it because of its more narrow scope; it was still highly complex and only offered a potential cure to dark magic curses with 3 of the 5 known curse undertone types.

Draco was particularly reluctant to put so much hope in such a narrow scope, but it was the best lead they had, and Pansy insisted they would still learn vital information from it either way. Draco scoffed at her optimism.

Hermione worried it was closer to denial. But that was a conversation for a different day.

As potions and tonics used against dark magic tended to be, the ingredients were volatile, and the brewing was meticulously complex. But it was a plan.

It was the best plan they had right now.

And though Hermione couldn’t find it in herself to be hopeful, like Pansy, she was able to acknowledge it was their best option.

And that would just have to be enough.

–

“Good morning Her-Ms. Granger,” Ariana smiled, flushing at her almost slip-up.

“You know, Ariana, you can just call me Hermione if you’d like.”

“I don’t mean to overstep, ma’am.”

“Oh, bloody hell, go back to Ms. Granger. Or Hermione. Either one, but not ma’am. Never ma’am,” Hermione begged, making Ariana laugh.

“Alright, Hermione,” Ariana agreed.

Hermione smiled lightly at her assistant. “I have the floo meeting with Madame Blanchet this morning, so hold everything else until I’m out?” Hermione headed towards her office, but Ariana called out to stop her.

Turning, she found Ariana was levitating a sealed parchment to Hermione, who reached out and plucked it from the air. “Came bright and early this morning, in the personal pile.”

Hermione was instantly intrigued. With the uproar she had caused by altering her timelines, it was rare these days anything came through that was sorted anywhere but the work pile, in a bin, seated and permanently fixed atop her desk. So for a mystery parchment to come when it wasn’t even a holiday...

“Thank you, Ariana.”

Heading off to her office to privately open it, Hermione placed the mystery envelope on her desk and eagerly examined the parcel. At the close was a silver wax seal, a constellation stamped within it.

She opened it quickly.

Hermione,

There has been an unforeseen alteration in our plans for this weekend. I will attempt the re-brewing of the potion this upcoming week instead.

It’s my birthday this weekend, and while I do not know that such a thing qualifies as postponing our work, Astoria has forced my hand. Pansy has sworn all celebrations will be mild mannered, so it will surely be a weekend of ghastly festivities. If you feel brave enough to weather it, you’re welcome to join us.

-Draco

Of course Draco’s penmanship was perfection, and the mention of Pansy made her laugh. She actually found herself excited for the weekend.

Though she was also concerned for his well-being with this modified plan. While his potion skills were excellent, she had felt much better with their previous plan, which would allow them to work on it together. With both of them there during the entirety of the brewing time, it would ensure mistakes would be minimized and someone would always be there in case of emergency. Working on it alone...

Before she could pen a response, her floo alarm was sounding for her meeting. Placing the letter safely in her top drawer, she made final touches to her appearance before strolling over to the floo to discuss next steps for Beauxbatons.

Unfortunately, Madame Blanchet had found a problem with the Muggle Studies revision, and it was glaring enough that it would put the entire project on hold.

Madame Blanchet offered to personally arrange a portkey for Hermione to travel to Beaubaxton that weekend, review the documentation with and help train her staff, and see that everything was in order for her revisions to begin at the start of the term. An entire term early. And her department would be compensated for time and a half.

In exchange, Hermione wouldn’t bring up the information Madame Blanchet had withheld regarding her staff, which would have been pivotal in preventing the error in the first place.

With a sigh and a quick dose of Muggle pain relief pills, because honestly sometimes Muggle inventions were far superior, she pulled out her parchment to pen a response to Draco.

Draco,

I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out the volatility of the ingredients for the potion. Perhaps it isn’t safe to have you single-handedly working on it? If you don’t see your next birthday because you worked on the potion alone, I fear Pansy would ensure I fail to see mine as well.

Thank you for the invitation, but I unfortunately must decline. I just received a work request for this weekend that will require my presence at Beaubaxtons. I’m sure whatever Pansy has planned will be excessive enough without me.

-Hermione

As the owl took off with the parchment clasped in its claw, Hermione was surprised at how disappointed she felt.

It had been an invitation to spend the weeknd with the Slytherin group by choice, not to work, but to have fun, and Hermione found herself actually wanting to go.

While surprising, she had spent enough time amongst them to feel comfortable enough, and she had certainly worked enough over the last few weeks to earn her some time off.

Which she would no longer get.

Forcing the party from her mind, Hermione returned to her work. But within the hour, an owl was eagerly knocking at her window. Exchanging a treat for the parchment, the owl took off, not waiting for a response. Hermione returned to her desk to open it.

Hermione,

The concern is noted and appreciated but unnecessary.

Your presence will be missed. Particularly by Theo. He’s been asking when you would come out to the pub with us. Perhaps next time?

-Draco

Hermione found herself smiling as laid the parchment down. But she also felt like crying, and none of the emotions whirling through her made any sense.

Quickly shoving them all as deep down as they would go, she tossed the parchment aside to focus back in on work. But after re-reading the same sentence several times, she paid attention to the reminder floating on repeat in the back of her mind.

It’s okay to feel.

The much needed thought floated through her over and over, and with a sigh she let herself pull the parchment back out.

Actively trying to follow her mum’s advice, she let herself feel excited that this new group of people were extending a friendly invitation to her. She let herself feel disappointed she couldn’t attend. She didn’t judge herself for wanting to be friends with the Slytherins or for getting along with Draco Malfoy.

She just let the feelings be. And while it was very uncomfortable, by the end, she thought it perhaps helped a little, too.

Pulling her desk drawer open, she fished out the unopened bag of peanut butter cups, realizing she’d never get to eat the candy again now that she was befriending Draco Malfoy, and placed them in a small, decorative bag.

Next, she ripped off a square of paper and penned a quick I Owe You that was redeemable for one trip to the pancake shop.

Pulling another parchment, she quickly penned another note.

Draco,

Happy Birthday.

It isn’t much, but perhaps the finer things don’t always have to be costly, eh?

-Hermione

P.S. Please don’t eat them all at once.

–

Ariana led Oscar Jones into Hermione’s office the following Tuesday morning, where a cup of black coffee and a vial of calming draught was waiting for him. Settling into the chair beside them, he nodded in thanks before indulging in both. She never judged him. If she had to run St. Mungo’s, she knew she’d be quite on edge as well.

“Thank you, Ariana.”

With a nod, Ariana retreated back towards the door. Her heels clicked against the floor, filling the otherwise silent room, making Hermione smile. She had gifted Ariana a pair of the wizarding world’s finest heels as a thank you for all her hard work recently. For the life of her, Hermione couldn’t remember who the designer was or why they were groundbreaking shoes, but she did know Ariana had drooled over them for months now.

And she hadn’t worn anything else to work since.

Hermione turned her attention to the man before her, who was still combing his fingers through his greasy moustache. “Hello, Mr. Jones.”

“Ms. Granger.”

His foot was bouncing on the ground quick and hard, and his entire body seemed to be humming with energy. And that was after the calming draught.

“I must say,” he said, interrupting the silence that had settled, “I was quite surprised when you put in a meeting inquiry with my secretary.”

Blunt as always.

“You see, Mr. Jones, I am working on creating a team for the Magical Spectrum Department.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“And I think it’s vital to have a position filled by a healer. We are receiving requests with increased frequency from various healer training programs and medical sites across Europe. I need someone to head the efforts.”

“And you thought it best to poach from my people?”

She scoffed.

The audacity.

Sitting a little taller in her office throne, she clarified. “I thought it best to discuss this idea with you. Collaborate. Perhaps you would know who to direct me to.”

“Oh.”

Yes, oh, you wanker.

“To be frank,” he said, as if he was ever anything else, “I’m surprised you didn’t immediately seek out Mr. Malfoy.”

“Draco? Why would I ask him?”

“I’ve heard of your efforts to help the Greengrass girl. I know you work with him already.”

Bloody hell, of course he has.

There’s more gossip in politics than I could have ever been involved in at Hogwarts.

“Perhaps I should have,” she replied, with too much bite. She was not only frustrated with the man’s previous assumptions, but Draco’s job as a Brewer for the healers at Mungo’s had thoroughly pissed her off since she first heard of it. “He is incredibly talented. Anyone who doesn’t utilize him properly truly has their priorities backwards.”

He smirked at her brashness. “Believe me, Ms. Granger, I’m aware. I’m not proud to have my best trained healer working in the basement.”

Best trained healer?

“He was top of his class,” he elaborated. Hermione was unsure if it was spontaneous information being offered up to her or if she had actually voiced her thoughts. “Paired with his knowledge of combating dark magic related injuries… It’s a rare find.”

She was shocked. She had assumed Draco was there because of his past as a Death Eater.

“Then why isn’t he on your main healing staff?”

“Ask him,” he said with a shrug.

Hermione almost dropped her glass of water. “You offered him a healing position?”

“Of course. You think I’m that daft?” he scoffed.

“But he turned it down?”

He nodded.

“Why?” she asked incredulously.

“Said the schedule wouldn’t work.”

“When was this, Mr. Jones?”

“I don’t know, Ms. Granger. Maybe… a few years ago.”

Hermione nodded. She understood then exactly why Draco had turned the job down, why he had given up a prestigious position that he had rightfully earned, complete with better pay and benefits.

Astoria.

He turned it down for Astoria.

“Now, this collaboration effort… What exactly would be in it for me?”

“We would be compensating whoever partners with us for any and all work they perform for us.”

He eyed her, not needing to voice that that wasn’t what he meant. It wasn’t about Mungos. He meant quite literally what would be in it for him personally.

“Is it not enough to advertise your noble and generous efforts to contribute to the mission of this department?”

“Ms. Granger,” he sighed.

“Besides, Mr. Jones, we would require little to no effort or work from you personally beyond say…a handful of meetings a year.”

“I can be noble and generous all I want, but it isn’t exactly worth much. I’m a business man, Ms. Granger. You’re a department head, surely you understand, dear.”

“I do,” she assured him. “I truly do.”

With a flick of her wand, the door to her office opened. Ariana appeared almost immediately, though certainly looking unsure and flustered.

“Mr. Jones, get out of my office.”

–

Hermione didn’t know what to do with the information she had obtained. All this time, she believed Draco was being discriminated against at Mungos for being a former Death Eater, but to find out he had turned down prestige and money for one of his loved ones…

“Is it fun wherever you are?” Theo asked, pulling Hermione from her thoughts.

She had floo’d in to the pub straight from work, meeting Theo there. They were the first to arrive. Draco came a few minutes later, and he now stood at the bar waiting for his drink.

“Just lost in thought,” Hermione hummed, trying to focus on anything else.

“Care to share?” Theo asked.

Should I?

Hermione didn’t know if she should even ask Draco about any of it, let alone mention it to Theo.

“What happened with you and Draco?” Theo asked her, breaking her thoughts. But the question he posed was not what she expected, confusing her.

“What?” Hermione looked to Theo for the first time, wondering if maybe she misheard him.

“What happened?” he repeated.

“Nothing happened,” she insisted. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been staring at him since he arrived.”

Bollocks.

Turning back towards Draco, she tried to guess as to the right thing to do. To tell Theo or to not tell Theo? Would he believe her? Was it even hers to tell?

“He’s just...hard to read is all,” she finally said, still internally debating.

Hermione could feel Theo’s gaze on her without looking. “What do you know?” he asked.

Perceptive bastard.

She turned to look at him, deciding to stare him down just the same. “What do you know?”

Amusement consumed his face. “I likely know whatever it is you found out. He tells me almost everything.”

Almost was key, and she feared perhaps this fell outside those parameters. But they were best friends after all, and Hermione did concede Theo likely knew. But just in case…

“I had a meeting with the Director of St. Mungos,” she said, trying to be as vague as possible, just in case.

“Ah, so you know about that.”

“Yes…” Needing to fully confirm it, she voiced her discovery. “He was offered the healer position, and he turned it down.”

Theo took a drink. And another. His hand flexed, drawing Hermione’s eyes down to the rings adorning his fingers. “The position meant less flexibility with scheduling. More hours. He wouldn’t have had the ability to do so much work outside of...well, work.”

Hermione nodded in understanding. “He turned it down for Astoria.”

Theo nodded.

“Does she know?” Hermione asked.

Theo scoffed. “Of course not. No one does.”

“Besides you.”

“And you,” he quickly added. “He only told me because I happened to floo over the day he was offered the position. Drunk off his arse, let me tell you. Torn up, not knowing what to do. I talked him through it. He made the decision and turned it down the following day.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Theo shrugged. “I doubt he would have told me if I hadn't accidentally stumbled upon him.”

“You really think he would have kept it to himself?”

“Absolutely,” Theo confirmed, without missing a beat. “If Astoria ever found out, she would make him take it. But taking that position for himself instead of helping her… There aren’t enough occlumency walls to hold back the guilt of that.”

Hermione looked back towards Draco, trying to understand how the boy she knew at Hogwarts had become the man she now was getting to know. The one who spoke kindly and gently. Who went out of his way to be considerate towards Hermione since they began working together. Someone who was so self-sacrificing for his loved ones.

Draco turned, drink finally in hand, and caught her staring at him. She blushed and went to glance away quickly. She tried to make herself appear very busy as he came up to their booth.

“What, no chips?” Theo pouted.

“You didn’t mention you wanted any,” Draco replied.

Theo rolled his eyes. “You should know me better than that by now, mate.” Reluctantly, and quite dramatically, he rose from the table and headed to the bar, muttering the entire way there.

Draco joined her across the booth. “You came.”

“I did.” She nodded.

“I wanted to say thank you for the birthday present. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Like I said, it wasn’t much.”

“What happened to the Hermione Granger who sat across from me and told me price did not equate to quality?”

“She sent a measly bag of chocolate hats via owl as a present and felt ashamed.”

“I must tell you, it was the best gift I received this year.”

Hermione smiled at the words, thinking he was surely toying with her. Or perhaps he was just utilizing that Pureblood etiquette so she didn’t feel bad about her present. But the way he looked at her… No, she decided he appeared quite serious.

But it couldn’t be true. Surely not, with his very rich friends who knew about his birthday with plenty of time to spare and more cash to throw at the present than Hermione could ever dream up.

He was certainly being polite. That had to be it.

“But don’t tell Pansy,” he quickly added.

“Never,” she assured him. “I’ll have you know, I value my life.”

Her words made him chuckle. He actually chuckled.

Whatever shift had occurred between them, whatever this was, it was so much better than before. To be able to joke and mock and play. To see the smallest glimpse of him beyond the collected exterior. She hoped whatever awkward and uncomfortable atmosphere they had been stuck in for weeks was finally behind them.

“How did the festivities go?” Hermione asked.

“They were…”

“Brilliant,” Theo interrupted, sliding beside her in the booth, speaking at the same time Draco said “overwhelming”.

Apparently Pansy had planned quite the extraordinary weekend, despite Draco’s protests otherwise. She kept it low-key by Pansy standards, which apparently meant the fancy dinners out were in private rooms, and the party held at her place only had half the guest count she had originally wanted. And though Draco smiled, he also looked exhausted.

Their chips levitated over then, and Theo eagerly began to eat. Draco tried to take one, but Theo quickly grabbed the basket and pulled it closer to him.

“Didn’t mention you wanted any,” Theo mocked sassily, sliding the chips between himself and Hermione.

“Neither did she.”

Theo shrugged. “But I actually like her.”

They continued snacking as they updated Hermione on the weekend. She quickly found out, though it wasn't really much of a surprise, that Theo was an avid story teller, making everything from the interesting to the mundane sound exciting. He was just about to tell Hermione a story involving Draco, too much firewhisky, and a public fountain when Blaise came sliding into the booth. He barely acknowledged anyone before he rested his head on his hands and sighed loudly.

“Zabini, is something the matter?” Theo asked cheekily. Blaise glared, but Theo feigned innocence.

“Someone tell me how to be a good father,” he muttered.

“That is a simple problem to fix,” Theo nodded, checking his wrist watch dramatically. “Should be able to cover that tonight.”

“And luckily we have an abundance of experience on the matter,” Draco added dryly.

“Merlin,” Blaise sighed, starting to stand.

“You absolute wankers.” Hermione swatted at Theo and glared at Draco before turning to Blaise. “Come now, what’s wrong?”

Though he seemed skeptical, Blaise eventually settled back in the booth. “I know fuck all about being a parent.”

“It might be a bad time to tell you, but you do have a seven year old,” Theo joked.

“I didn’t know you had a child,” Hermione jumped in, interrupting before Blaise could hex Theo or attempt another escape. “Tell me about them.”

Blaise thankfully ignored Theo and focused entirely on Hermione, who elbowed Theo hard in the side, and smiled encouragingly at Blaise as he explained. “His name is Bellamy. And from what I know, he’s quite an extraordinary kid.”

Hermione noted his interesting phrasing. “From what you know?”

“Well, it’s a right mess, if I’m being frank. His mother, Tracey, well you knew Tracey Davis at Hogwarts, yes?” Blaise asked. But he continued without waiting for a response. “Well she and I were together a while back. We had Bellamy, though we never married-”

“Quite the Pureblood Society scandal,” Theo interrupted. Hermione could see Draco nodding in her periphery vision.

“Would you shove it?” Blaise seethed. With a sigh, he turned back to Hermione. “Anyway, she had primary custody of Bellamy. I only saw him one afternoon a month, so it didn’t really give us time to bond very much. Hell, he still calls me Blaise.”

Hermione winced.

“Circe, Granger,” Draco muttered.

“Sorry,” she whispered, but Blaise paid her little mind. Draco smirked.

“Well she passed away a few months ago.”

Hermione’s hand clutched her heart. She couldn’t imagine that sort of loss. “Blaise, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” Hermione reached for him out of instinct. They were a tad far away, and her fingers barely grazed his hand with her awkward reach, but he still gave her the faintest of smiles. “It was a while ago, and we had been separated far longer than that. But I still cared for her, y’know?”

Hermione nodded, but Blaise didn’t appear to truly be seeking an answer.

“And after that, Bellamy came to live with me. Today he said to me, and I quote, ‘It wasn’t my choice to live with a stranger’ and then proceeded to give me the silent treatment until his best mate and their mum floo’d in to pick him up for a stay at their place tonight.”

“Brutal,” Theo nodded, scooting his untouched firewhisky Blaise’s way. He accepted the drink with a nod and knocked it back, grimacing at the afterburn.

“I hate this bullshite, Theo. You have enough galleons. Get the good stuff,” Blaise complained. Draco wordlessly scooted his own drink across the table, which Blaise immediately took. He grimaced as he slammed the glass on the table.

“That was the most expensive fire whiskey they have,” Draco complained.

Blaise was still making a face. Theo rolled his eyes at him. “The good stuff still burns. Less so, but it is a firewhiskey after all.”

“Why don’t you come back to mine?” Theo suggested. “Get cleaned up. We’ll go out.”

“Can’t. Daph went to check on Astoria, then she’s going to come over to mine tonight. Going to try and make the flat more welcoming for Bellamy.”

“That’s a brilliant idea, Blaise!” Hermione applauded. “See, you can do this.”

“It was her idea,” he groaned, covering his eyes with his hands.

“It’s okay to accept help from others!” Hermione said quickly. Draco excused himself and headed to the bar. “You’re doing the best you can. You’re showing up. Putting forth effort. Actively trying to be better for him. Blaise, that is all you can do.”

He nodded, but it seemed to belong more to a resigned man than a hopeful one.

“Come on, mate. Cheer up,” Theo said. “I know fuck all about being a parent. But I’ll help however I can. I’ll even buy one of those books on it. We’ll figure this out.”

“Of course we will. Together,” Hermione agreed.

“No, you,” Blaise replied, pointing to Hermione, “have your hands full with helping Astoria. You and Drake both end up with the most work of us all. That is your focus.”

“And I'll remain focused,” she promised as Draco returned to the booth and slid in on his side. “But I can assure you I have double the natural parental instincts of these two.” She gestured to Theo and Draco. “Combined,” she added playfully. Theo elbowed her.

“Just tell us how we can help,” Draco requested, even as he kicked Hermione under the table for her comment. He slid the glass in his hand over to Blaise, who downed it without question.

“I will,” he agreed, still grimacing, voice deep and cracking.

Once he appeared to have settled from the drink, he took time to eye everyone around him. Then his gaze found his hands as he sighed loudly, exhaustingly.

“I can’t thank you lot enough,” he said, seemingly with great effort.

Hermione was honored to be part of such a moment. For as much love as they all clearly showed Astoria, they appeared to have a great deal of trouble expressing it to each other most of the time.”

“Truly,” Blaise added, taking the time to meet each of their gazes, as sincere and serious as Hermione had ever seen him.

“Don’t mention it.” Draco waved it off before his attention was grabbed by two levitating paper bags maneuvering their way to the table. Turning to receive them, he held them out to a confused Blaise. “Dinner for you and Daph. Just your usuals.”

“Drake…”

Draco waved off Blaise’s comment once more. “We both know if we send you back half-pissed and unfed, she’ll murder us all.”

Blaise gave him a small smile, a nod, and then upon Draco’s insistence eventually took the bags.

“Thanks, mate.” Standing, Blaise stalled for a moment, stepping oddly and mind seeming to turn. “Thank you lot,” he finally managed before hastily making his exit.

Hermione was biting back tears as she watched Blaise leave, and it took her a moment to understand why.

To realize this display of love and care, as painful and stunted as it was at times, showed how much this group truly adored one another. How they looked after each other.

To understand this group of Slytherins, whom she once couldn’t imagine ever knowing and were deemed impossibly different from herself and those in her own life, had such similarities. Small gestures and supportive actions. Even challenges embracing their own emotions.

For the first time in a long time, she thought about what they had been like during the war. She wondered if they were always like this or if they had become this way. Had she ever truly known them? Was she finally starting to or was she just observing change?

“What?” Draco barked at Hermione.

“Wha-what?” she asked, shaking herself from her thought induced trance. The sounds of the bar around them came rushing back, and she realized just how lost she had become amongst her ponderings.

“You’re looking at me strangely.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“She’s discovered our tin man has a heart,” Theo mused.

“I’m so impressed with that non-magical reference,” Hermione sighed, unable to keep the awe out of her voice.

“I’m cultured,” he replied quickly, feigning hurt.

Hermione gave him the biggest eye roll she could muster. “I need a drink.”

“Bloody hell,” Draco sighed, seeming to only then remember he had once again given his own to Blaise and exasperatedly rose from the booth for the third time. “As do I.”

They made their way to the bar and waited for the bartender to finish with another customer. “That was just…really kind. What you did for Blaise.”

“Look a little less shocked, Granger.” The name slip made her smirk. He was truly this flustered discussing this with her. “Hermione,” he corrected, blushing bright, “I am capable of being nice upon occasion.”

“I’ve noticed.”

A sharp pain suddenly flashed through her, starting at her right thigh and radiating outward. It was brief, but the the kiss of discomfort was jarring nonetheless. She’d recognize a stinging jinx anywhere.

“Ow!” she complained loudly, glaring at Draco, who was putting his wand away. After a brief debate on seeking retribution, she put away her own, unsure when she even drew it in the first place.

Apparently some reflexes would never die.

“Much better,” he nodded. “I prefer scowling and glaring.” The bartender turned to him then, and pristine as ever, he straightened his posture and ordered politely.

And Hermione tried to understand the dissonance of a man before her.

Chapter Text

“...And we have fuck all to show for it!” Pansy’s voice screeched. “Do. Better!”

The howler promptly ripped itself to shreds, raining crimson confetti on Hermione’s desk. She watched it fall as she sipped her tea, a bubble of laughter escaping at how impossible Pansy could be. After all, Hermione hadn’t even had anything to do with Pansy and Draco’s failed potion. And yet.

“Not failed really,” Hermione mused to herself, and possibly to the remannets of Pansy’s spirit that still haunted the room, as she used her wand to collect the shreds and send them to the bin.

It had been Pansy herself who said there would still be useful information obtained, no matter the outcome of the potion. They now knew the curse was one of the 2 lesser known undertones. Truly, that itself explained why there was not only such limited usage of it historically but why there was no known cure.

Of course therein lies Pansy’s reason for being royally pissed.

Back to the drawing board it was.

Draco had already written to Hermione that morning. They were returning to a previously tossed around idea: Could they alter Hermione’s potion, enhance it enough that it could be of use for Astoria? Her potion was still the most promising lead they had, and perhaps spending efforts returning to it would be of more use than searching further for something completely new.

Just as Hermione finished attaching the letter to her work owl and sending it on its way, she heard the mumblings of Ariana conversing with someone in the front office. Retreating to her desk, she hastily grabbed for her wand and pulled up the schedule.

She had reluctantly agreed to another meeting with Mr. Jones in fifteen minutes, but surely he wouldn’t come this early? The man was notorious for arriving late after all.

Sitting back with a sigh, Hermione smiled. After skipping lunch in order to catch up on work, she could use the pick me up that would come with an unscheduled meeting fee. She could almost taste the chai when the voices from the front office raised just enough for a few words to slip through her door.

“-I just…moment with her.”

The voice was familiar. She’d know it anywhere, any time, even if Ariana’s own clipped voice hadn’t followed up with “I’m sorry, Mr. Potter, no.”

Hermione’s eyes had almost bugged out of her head. Much to Harry’s disgust, his fame and history made almost everyone submissive towards him immediately. And for Ariana to be one of the few who stood her ground?

The woman truly was remarkable.

Ariana was just lecturing about the unscheduled meeting policy when Hermione stood from her chair and walked towards the office door she had magically flicked open.

“He’s on The List,” she called to Ariana, right before both her assistant and Harry finally came into view. She redirected to him. “You’re on The List. Allowed back any time you want.”

“Please,” he whined, pouting. “I’ve had enough special treatment for more than one lifetime, thank you.”

“Says the man trying to see me without scheduling first.”

Harry blushed. “Well just this once. I don’t need allowances made forever.”

She rolled her eyes and gestured towards her office. He followed wordlessly. “Harry, you’re on it because you’re one of my best friends. Not because you were some chosen one.” She slumped into her chair, apparently more tired than she realized.

“One of your best friends? I have competition?” he asked. With a flick of his own wand, he transfigured the chair in front of him to a replica of his own downstairs and sat. “Such as?”

“Your wife.”

“I have dirt on her. Would it help me rise in the rankings?”

She smirked and threw a nearby packet of parchment squares at him.

“Hey!” he barked. But his voice lacked any true anger, and he was still laughing as he grabbed the packet off the ground.

“I didn’t use magic!”

“Which is honestly worse.” He seemed to debate tossing the parchment packet back on her desk then decided against it and set it on the nearby side table instead. There was hesitation and unease radiating from Harry as he clumsily asked, “How are you?”

“Peachy,” Hermione replied automatically. She eyed Harry, wondering of his motives for the office visit. “Why?”

“Just checking. Work is okay?”

“Sure,” she shrugged. “I think the retaliation phase is finally starting to die out around here.”

“Enough time off? I can speak to Kingsley if needed.”

His offer caught her off guard. It wasn’t the offer itself that surprised her. After all this was Harry Potter. He’d throw himself into the sun if it would help someone else. But this particular offer, this line of questioning, it was all…off.

“That’s really not necessary,” she insisted.

Harry nodded, though he didn’t seem to really be listening or comprehending what she was saying. She could almost see the wheels turning as he thought of his next words.

“How have you been sleeping?”

“Fine,” Hermione huffed. “Would you like to ask about my eating habits as well?”

“Well actually-“

“Harry,” she scolded. He at least had the decency to look ashamed, but she threw another packet of parchment at him anyway. This one he managed to dodge but only barely.

“Blimey, how many of those do you have?”

“I’m all out,” she reassured him. “But fear not, I’ll move along to the paperweights next.”

“Bloody hell,” he gasped, eyeing the various metal and glass pieces along her desk.

“Is everything okay?” Hermione finally asked. It was clear Harry was on edge. Something was bothering him. “You and Gin and-”

“Everything’s fine!” he said quickly. Too quickly. “Well, I mean as fine as we can be. The whole magical treatments bit is sort of a mess really, but we are fine. Health wise, fine... Well- you know what I’m trying to say. We’re-”

“I got it, Harry.”

He finally took a breath and made a terrible attempt at looking casual and calm. No, Harry had always been transparent. Never able to hide his feelings.

“Is this visit not okay? Are you busy today? … You’re busy.” He nodded, answering himself and already standing.

“Harry,” Hermione pleaded, reaching out towards him.

He sat back down.

“We’re here. Gin and I, I mean. If you need anything. Anything at all, really! You know that right?”

“What is this? What is happening right now?”

“I just-” Harry grasped for the words, physically appearing to be in pain as he thought. “I want you to know we’re not going anywhere. Not again.”

Oh.

Hermione’s heart dropped.

“Harry, we’ve talked about this-”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know, but I’m just… I’m sorry it happened and that we weren’t there like we should have been and-”

“And you’ve already apologized a hundred times.”

“And I’ll gladly do it a hundred more.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, hoping it would keep the building headache at bay. “Please don’t.”

“Hermione…”

“Har-ry,” she pleaded. “Stop. I forgave you long ago. You and Gin both, okay? Let it go.”

“I can’t,” he gasped, eyes wide and wild. “The guilt just eats at me until I… I just…I should have been there.”

When his eyes finally managed to meet hers, she found his were glassy. His lighthearted airiness and warmth were long gone, only the shell remained. Hermione’s throat tightened, and she dug her nails into her palms.

“You had your reasons. I was not the only person dealing with things.”

“Stop making excuses for me, Hermione.” It wasn’t a plea but a demand.

“I didn’t exactly check in with you either, amidst everything.”

“Yes, well, I wasn’t dying.”

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t-

Fuck all.

“No, you had already done that,” she said, despite her internal debate.

“Hermione,” he sighed exasperatedly.

“Harry,” she copied, unwilling to do this again.

“Please. I just…”

He looked from her to his hands and back again. The weight of unspoken words was building within him. Hermione could see it bright as day from where she sat. And knowing Harry, it wouldn’t be long before-

“Hermione, you don’t know how many times I have had to stop myself from taking a time turner and going back myself.”

“Oh yes, let’s consider the nightmare of a butterfly effect that would produce,” Hermione snorted.

But Harry didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk or smile. He was completely, all-consumingly serious.

“That’s illegal.” Her voice was a ghost of its usual self.

“I’m aware. But you’re one of my dearest friends. The only person in this entire world who has been there for me, unwavering, through it all. And knowing there’s magic right there, right at my fingertips, that could let me go back and fix it…”

“Ms. Granger,” Ariana called from the other side of the door.

“Ju- Just a minute,” Hermione managed to call out, even as her throat itched and mouth dried up.

“I’m not daft enough to believe it’s a good idea, Hermione. I may not understand the mechanics of time travel like you do, but I’ve got a good enough grasp. I know the devastation something like that could cause. But sometimes, I don’t care.”

“It’s Mr. Jones,” Ariana continued. “He’s rather insistent.”

“Just a minute, Ariana!” Hermione yelled, more harshly than she meant to. But she couldn’t breathe, and the weight of the moment was threatening to crush her.

Harry still looked at her intensely. “I would go back for you.”

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, anything, back to him, but a small squeak was the only sound she managed. He wrapped her in his arms, clutching her tight against his chest as she gasped for air. He whispered it against her ear as his hand gently stroked her back.

I would go back for you.

She felt loved. Valued. Cared for not because of her name or knowledge or power but because of who she was. She felt precious, even.

And amidst it all, very overwhelmed.

–

Hermione awoke with a jolt, gasping for air.

As she looked around her, taking in a dim and unfamiliar room, she realized she had been asleep and dreaming. The content of her nightmares had drifted out of reach, leaving her feeling panicked and exposed without understanding why. She clutched the blanket that covered her body tighter against her chest as she waited for the anxiety to ease and real world memories to filter back.

She had worked the day prior. Harry had stopped by. The conversation had left her jumpy and unfocused. Ariana had basically kicked her out of the office that afternoon. And she had wound up here.

Oliver’s. She was at Oliver’s place.

No wonder it had seemed so unfamiliar. Usually he floo’d over to her, and she had only seen his place a handful of times. Even then, they had spent most of their time in his bedroom. Seems they hadn’t quite made it there last night. Standing, she started gathering her clothes.

“Knickers, knickers… I had knickers,” she whispered to herself. When she caught sight of the periwinkle cotton, she grimaced. As she grabbed them and hastily pulled them on, she was thankful they had haphazardly rushed through getting undressed the night prior. These weren’t exactly her sexiest pair. She grabbed her trousers next.

“Can I convince you to stay?”

Hermione jumped at the sudden sound of Oliver’s voice. At some point, he had developed the ability to move throughout the house without making a sound, and he was always scaring the hell out of Hermione because of it.

Bloody Quidditch skills.

Still frozen, trousers stilled half-way up her thighs, Hermione eyed Oliver from where he stood leaning in the doorway. She was thoroughly confused. They never, ever extended their arrangement like he was suggesting.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” he said automatically. The excuse was tired, and judging by the guilty look on his face, he knew it as well. “Just a lot on my mind recently. I’m truly fine.”

“Want to talk about it?” Hermione asked as she returned to her trousers, hopping in place to get them pulled up over her hips and arse.

“Absolutely not,” he said immediately. “Talking is not exactly what I had in mind.”

“I’m aware,” she smirked, pulling her shirt on next. “Just wanted to offer.”

“I ‘ppreciate it, but I’ll be fine. Here.” A to-go cup of coffee was pulled from behind his back.

She studied him. “You knew I would say no?”

“I know you, ‘Ermione. You’ve got people to help, a world to save out there. No time to lay about.”

Hermione offered a small, fake smile in response.

Of course he had no idea his words wrapped themselves around her throat and gave a sharp tug. The weight of who she was, the assumptions that came with her name, was too heavy.

It was a reminder that he didn’t know her, not really. Which made sense, given their arrangement. And yet, it bothered her. They may not have been romantically involved, but he was still a friend.

“You’ll be okay?” she asked, pulling her cardigan on.

“I think I’ll go fly a bit. Helps, sometimes.”

With a nod, she accepted the coffee, bid him farewell, and floo’d home.

Silence greeted her.

Her feet felt heavy, stuck to the floor. She knew she needed to move. After all, Pansy had insisted that she stay with Astoria that afternoon while she was out of town gathering potion ingredients. There would surely be hell to pay if she was late.

But not even the wrath of Pansy Parkinson was enough to make her feel.

She stared at the coffee cup in her hand. Watching the steam rise from the cup, she felt the warmth against her palm, but it did little to thaw the rest of her. Tears eventually muddled her vision, slipping from her eyes and down her cheeks. All too soon, she melted into the floor beneath her, curling in on herself.

And she cried.

And cried and cried and cried.

When her sobs finally slowed and she could breathe again, she forced her balled up hands to open, to meet the grain of the wooden floor and press up so she could sit. Next was her knees and feet, reminding her legs they could move, and eventually standing. She picked the coffee cup she had managed to place on the floor onto the counter and made her way to the bathroom. There weren’t enough cleansing charms in the world, and she couldn’t go anywhere without a proper shower.

She splashed cool water on her face, letting it drip into the porcelain sink below. A few drops managed to slip down her neck, and she let them fall where they may. In the mirror, she watched the tracks left in their wake.

Then she let herself take in the entirety of the reflection broadcast from the mirror in front of her. She studied the woman who looked back. Swollen and tired eyes, red blotchy skin, remnants of yesterday’s makeup trailing down her cheeks. And most startling of all were the deep, purple bags under her eyes, likely from all the restless nights.

The vision in front of her sparked panic in her chest.

A dull aching anxiety followed, nausea and overwhelming pain.

Adrenaline and emotions she didn’t dare examine coursed through her. It was too much. Overwhelming. Threatening to bring her to her knees. And that would never do. No, there was far too much to do today. And truthfully, she didn’t know she’d survive such a thorough self-examination.

To hell with what her friends or the mind healers or even her mum would have said to her at that moment, she couldn’t deal with any of it. She was too tired. Too weak. No, she could be strong tomorrow.

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she shoved at the emotions, either trying to push them down or get them out of her. It was barely working. She shook her head, trying to physically get them out.

Force.

It.

All.

Out.

And when she finally gathered enough control, she started moving. Staying still wasn’t an option.

She undressed, taking her shirt and draping it over the mirror so as to avoid making the same mistake twice. Then she walked into the shower, scrubbing under the scorching water, hoping it could wash some of it all away.

When her skin felt raw and she finally began to feel numb once more, she stepped out of the shower. Everything was broken up into small steps in her mind, and she forced herself to focus on them and only them.

Walk to the bathroom closet… Check.

Remove towel from shelf... Check.

Dry off with a towel... Check.

She didn’t dare stray from the list developing in her mind. And with a deep breath, she began to get ready for the day.

–

This is wrong.

Very, very wrong.

Hermione stood one step away from the floo, completely transfixed by her surroundings. A bold, cherry-red patterned wall to her right. Bright tangerine furniture and mismatched fluffy pillows filled the room. There were frames in every color and colorful curtains at the windows. A checkered rug led the way out a door on her right, and the edge of the hallway wall across from Hermione appeared to have a rainbow mural.

There was color everywhere.

Everywhere.

There was the sudden pop of apparition, and Hermione plastered on a smile and greeted the house elf now standing before her.

“Ms. Granger!” Large, icy eyes examined her. “Welcome. Poppy has been expecting you.”

Hermione smiled brightly. “Hello, Poppy.” The elf gave her a nod and dramatic bow, sweeping the grey robes she wore theatrically. “So, you’re Pansy and Astoria’s house elf?”

“No,” the elf replied abruptly, filling Hermione with panic.

Fuck, this actually is the wrong place.

“Poppy is Mr. Malfoy’s house elf.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Hermione asked, needing clarification. As confused as she was, she was positive this wasn’t Draco’s flat.

“Mr. Malfoy assigned Poppy to help out while Lolly, Mrs. Greengrass and Mrs. Parkinson’s house elf, healed. She just had a baby.”

Hermione nodded, trying to absorb the news.

“Poppy still checks in on Mr. Malfoy upon occasion, helps out, but Poppy is primarily here for now.”

Though Poppy smiled, it didn’t appear entirely genuine. The elf before her was as composed as Draco. She was dressed in an exquisite robe set, ears adorned with golden rings and baubles. The way she spoke, her mannerisms, it all screamed Malfoy family. She was as aristocratic and proper as any of them.

“Seems like a fun place to be.”

Poppy was unamused, but the smile remained on her face anyway. “Yes, it is… special. Poppy understands it to be Mrs. Greengrass’ design.”

“Of course it is,” Hermione sighed, with a true smile. Because of course Astoria would love a home with this much life. And if there was anything Pansy loved, it was Astoria.

“Mrs. Greengrass is this way.” With a dramatic turn that would have Snape rolling in his grave, Poppy turned towards the far hallway.

Hermione followed Poppy out of the living room, trying to keep her composure as she passed room after room of bright colors and wild patterns. The house was modern and sophisticated but fun and lively. It was not what Hermione had expected by any means, but she adored it and longed to see the rest of it.

Finally, they reached their destination. A room small in size but large in feeling with natural light pouring in from the walls of windows. In the center of it all was Astoria, in paint covered overalls with her hair piled high on her head, working on a canvas resting on an easel. With a bow, Poppy retreated.

Astoria glanced up briefly before returning her gaze to her work, brush in hand, painting the canvas gently as she smiled and said, “Hello, Hermione.” Astoria cleansed her brush and dried it before setting it down. “Can I help you with something?”

“Delivery.” She held up the pain potion vials clasped in her grip.

Astoria eyed them but made no move to come closer and retrieve them. She hummed but said nothing further. Instead, she waved her wand at the grey water in front of her, pulling the paint from it, cleansing it transparent once again.

“Do you like to paint, Hermione?” she finally asked.

“It’s alright, I suppose.”

“Not much of a creative?” Astoria asked curiously, tone devoid of snark or mockery.

“More of a consumer, really.”

Astoria just nodded. She was quieter than usual, and it left Hermione grasping for something, anything, to say. Typical Astoria brightened conversations. But now she only gave small responses. Her focus was clearly still on her work, and she had not yet shifted entirely to Hermione, even as she began to pack up her supplies.

She seemed well enough. There was nothing observable about her behavior to suggest otherwise. If anything, she looked better rested than when Hermione had first seen the woman in her office at the Ministry. And yet, something was off.

“Would you like some lunch?”

“That’s okay,” Hermione insisted. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your work.”

“I’m at a sufficient enough stopping point.” Astoria was already turning from the room, leaving Hermione scrambling to keep up.

“No, really, I couldn’t…”

“Hermione,” Astoria interrupted. “If you’re going to babysit me today, you need to eat something.”

Hermione stopped in her tracks. “Was the vial bit that obvious?”

“Yes. We both know I haven’t made it through the last batch you brought me.” Astoria smirked, in true Slytherin fashion. Hermione finally remembered how to walk and followed Astoria outside. They came to a decent sized gazebo in the backyard, a large table already set-up with tea and snacks. “But I also know my wife. She… worries.”

“She loves you.”

That earned a true, all-consuming smile that seemed to warm Astoria from the inside out. Her cheeks brightened at the thought. “I know… I am thankful for them, each of them. And Circe knows I’m thankful for Pansy. It’s just… suffocating, at times. You know?”

Hermione nodded even though she didn’t and took a seat across from Astoria.

“We all lost so much, and I think it’s hard sometimes to let go. To be able to stop clutching something tightly, because you’re terrified it’ll be the next loss. To get out of that mindset.”

Hermione looked at her questioningly.

“That darkness is inevitable,” Astoria elaborated.

“Is that how you feel?” Hermione asked.

“Sometimes,” Astoria admitted. “Make no mistake, we were all on the wrong side of the war, whether we chose it or otherwise. So maybe loss is what we deserve.”

“I don’t think you deserve it. Any of you.”

“I know you don’t, Hermione.”

Astoria looked at her with a piercing gaze. It was different from the others. Harry’s was sharper and Draco’s more precise. Theo’s was alight with whimsy. Astoria’s was gentler, as if she was slowly unraveling and extracting the truths from whoever her gaze was trained on. It didn’t feel judgemental, but it was still uncomfortable.

She finally broke her stare, focusing now on the food table before her and filling a plate. “I wanted to say thank you.”

“For babysitting you?”

Astoria threw a grape at her.

“Those were your words!” Hermione laughed.

“For giving us hope.”

“Astoria, I didn’t…I haven’t…”

“You have,” she assured her. “Every day, you give a little more life to our group. Pansy looks at me without dread and Daphne finally lets herself take a day off from visiting and Draco seems like he can actually breathe again…”

This has been Draco in a more relaxed state?

Hermione must have made a face because Astoria quickly added, “Sometimes, at least…” She smiled fondly before becoming serious once more. “No matter what happens, Hermione, you’ve brought hope back, even if just for a little while.”

“We’re going to figure it out, Astoria. I promise.”

Astoria took a bite of the biscuit in her hand. She chewed slowly, seeming to think over Hermione’s words. When she spoke again, it was quieter. “Promises are dangerous. You shouldn’t make ones you don’t know you can keep.”

And it was true, wasn’t it?

Hermione didn’t truly know if she could keep that promise. No matter how much she may want to.

“Then I promise to do absolutely everything I can to figure it out,” she amended. “And I think we will.”

Astoria was a flash of movement. Her plate clattered as she hastily set it on the table, and she hurried over to the settee Hermione rested on, plopping down next to her and throwing her arms around her. Astoria smelled like citrus and sunshine, and her embrace seemed to warm Hermione from the inside out.

“You have the biggest heart,” she whispered. The words made Hermione melt. Coming from Astoria of all people, the seemingly kindest of them all, it was the highest of praise.

She was still trying to fully compose herself when Astoria leaned away. There were, luckily, no more tears left for Hermione to cry, but that didn’t mean she was capable of forming words yet. As silence descended, she made herself tea.

Astoria grabbed for another of the light colored biscuits, plate forgotten as she took a bite and crumbs fell onto her lap. “You should try these. They are quite good.”

Hermione reached out and collected a biscuit. Light yellow in color with a simple swirling pattern stamped atop. Her first bite brought out a moan she couldn’t hold in. Each crunch gave a pop of citrus, not too sweet, just tangy enough.

“These are delightful,” Hermione gushed, completely forgetting her manners and spraying crumbs. Astoria giggled as Hermione tried to compose herself once again. After swallowing- twice just to make sure- she asked, “Poppy?”

“Of course,” Astoria nodded. “Elf is a goddess at baking. She promised to teach me how to make tangerine scrolls in the morning. To celebrate.”

“What are we celebrating?”

“Living.” Astoria smiled brightly. Her hand reached for Hermione’s. “Join us if you’d like.”

Hermione squeezed Astoria’s hand. “I’d love to. And… will you show me your work sometime? I swear to come as a visitor instead of a babysitter.”

Astoria perked up at that. “I would love to… if you come as a friend.”

Hermione smiled. “Deal.”

“Now, as for today, I think I know how you can make up for babysitting.”

“But it was Pansy’s idea, not mine.”

“Yes, and believe me when I say she’ll pay. But, may I remind you that you agreed to it.”

“Fine,” Hermione sighed. “What is it?”

“Let me pick out what you wear tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Did Pansy not invite you?” Astoria was sitting on the literal edge of her seat, fight flaring in her instantly. “If she asked you to come over here and babysit and didn’t mention going out this evening then I’m going to-”

“She told me,” Hermione interjected quickly. “It slipped my mind, but she mentioned you two were going dancing tonight.”

“It’s expanded now. Draco and Theo are coming. And I think Blaise and maybe even Daphne, too, if they can get off work early enough. You have to come.”

“I don’t know…”

Astoria’s mouth dropped. “Hermione Jean Granger, don’t you dare! I am finally getting to go out, finally getting to get dressed up and drink and dance and you’re telling me you’re even considering not going. How could you-”

“Okay!” Hermione surrendered quickly, hands in the air. An angry Astoria was a scary Astoria. “Okay, okay, I’ll go.”

“And you’ll let me dress you?”

“And I’ll…” Hermione stopped speaking as she realized exactly what Astoria had said, exactly what she had almost agreed to. Astoria just smiled brightly and took a bite of another biscuit, almost daring Hermione to fight back. She sighed. “You can dress me.”

“Good.” Astoria sat back smugly. Hermione sighed, hating that this woman already had her so wrapped around her finger. It appeared that was Astoria’s true power. No one was safe.

Fucking Slytherins.

“Nothing too elaborate.”

Astoria shrugged, non committedly. “We’ll see.”

“You’re impossible,” Hermione laughed. “Fine, fine. Just please no pink.”

–

There was pink.

An ungodly amount of pink.

It had taken thirty seconds of Astoria magically sifting through her closet before she paused, a devious expression consuming her face. And the next thing Hermione knew, she was being zipped up, tossed matching shoes, and marched towards the floo.

It had been a tulle dress. A cotton candy colored monstrosity. One of those that looked like the designer had wrapped her in yards of folded tulle sheets, cinched it at the waist, and called it a day. And sure, it would have looked like Heaven on Astoria or someone else, anyone else, but tonight it was firmly wrapped around Hermione.

She sighed. Theo snickered into his drink from across the booth, prompting a harsh elbow in the side from Astoria. “I think she looks wonderful.”

“Oh no, I think you look quite fetching, to be honest,” Theo assured her before downing the rest of his drink. “I just know how miserable you are in it.”

That wicked smile was back on Theo’s lips, the one that made Hermione want to rip them off with her bare hands. Or maybe spell off.

Was there a spell to remove one’s lips? Was it easily reversed?

Merlin, calm down.

“Tell me, Hermione, would this qualify under the Ministry dress code?” Theo asked. “Because I think this look might help get you and your latest bill some…attention.”

Theo laughed, setting the glass on the table. Hermione mentally decided to read up on body modification spells later.

“If looks could kill. Maybe you should get another drink, mate,” Blaise advised.

“Maybe,” Theo agreed, eyes roaming the bars. He abruptly stopped and shifted back, smiling at something of interest. “Besides, I spy with my little eye something yummy. I might be back.”

With that, he stalked off to the bar and towards a redhead. The man was a mess of hair wrapped up in a transparent white shirt and leather pants. He looked at Theo as if he wanted to devour the man whole.

“And we’ve lost him. Who had…” Blaise studied his watch, “...twenty minutes?”

“Me!” Daphne shrieked excitedly.

“Rubbish,” Draco muttered as he tossed a galleon across the table.

“Sore loser,” she mocked, collecting Draco’s coin from where it had slid to a stop on the table as well as a loose coin from Theo.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Seriously? You lot should be ashamed,”

“We aren’t. Not even a little,” Daphne smiled.

“Another round?” Draco asked. He surveyed the table, and after being met with declines, he headed towards the bar.

Daphne followed him with her eyes. “Should we be worried?”

“No more than usual, I don’t think,” Blaise replied. “And with it being today…” Daphne nodded in response.

“Today?” Hermione asked. Blaise and Daphne turned to her, both seeming to realize only then that she was in fact still there.

“Just a rough day for our boy,” Blaise waved off. “He’ll be fine. Nothing some firewhisky can’t fix.”

“And we have plenty of that,” Daphne sighed, taking another drink of her own.

A follow-up question was on the tip of her tongue, but Draco returned then. She tried to discreetly study him. He didn’t appear any worse for wear than usual. Perhaps a touch more rumpled than usual, but he was drinking, and didn’t everyone get that way when they drank?

But perhaps this was what ruffled looked like for someone like Draco. Wondering if he had drank more than the rest of them, she looked at the empty glasses on the table, trying to account for whose was whose.

Looking back towards him, she found his eyes was already on her. His gaze was unsteady, pinky tapping repeatedly against the table in the least Draco of ways, and he looked around desperately as if searching for something. Or no… Checking for something? Or someone? He was on edge, for whatever reason.

Astoria appeared then, Pansy right behind her. Astoria was pouring sweat and panting as she gulped at water, but she also had the biggest smile on her face. She was lit up from the inside tonight, animatedly talking about the music and the drinks, dancing in her seat at the booth during breaks and laughing loudly.

It wasn’t the first time Hermione was in awe at the way Astoria lived so very fully.

“Is that Theo at the bar?” Pansy asked.

Daphne nodded proudly. “Twenty.”

“Fuck.” Pansy pulled a galleon from…somewhere. Hermione had no idea where she could have kept it seeing as the witch’s black shorts didn’t appear to have pockets. Daphne accepted it with a squeal.

“Give her two,” Astoria muttered shyly.

“Astoria!” Hermione gasped, laughing.

The witch just shrugged as Pansy handed over another galleon. “Now will you come dance with us?”

“Let me finish this drink,” Hermione replied.

“Must I beg? Because I will.” Astoria clasped her hands tightly together. “Please please please-”

“After this drink,” Hermione laughed.

Astoria pouted at the response, but it didn’t take long for her to turn towards her sister, her sights set on someone new.

“Daph…”

“Stor-y,” Daphne whined.

“You swore,” Astoria said quickly. “Come on. Do I really have to pull the I’m sick card?”

Daphne finished off her drink and stood. “You’re the worst.” But before following Astoria back to the dance floor, she grabbed Blaise’s arm and gave a sharp tug. “If I’m going, so are you.”

“I expect nothing less,” Blaise replied, rising, already having accepted his fate.

Draco finished his drink just in time to grab the cup Blaise left behind and drag it over towards himself. Hermione wracked her brain for what to do. After all, she had just started learning how to talk to Draco when he was fine. How was she supposed to talk to him when he apparently wasn’t? And when she didn’t even know why…

She looked around trying to find someone, anyone, who could handle this better.

Draco broke the silence instead. “Not much of a dancer?”

“Usually I am. I just… Tired today, I guess.” It felt like a flimsy excuse, even to herself, but Draco accepted it regardless.

“Fair enough.” Draco started undoing the buttons on his shirt sleeves, pulling at the fabric to roll it up. “Besides, I imagine the dress may hinder your movements.”

Hermione gasped, unable to hold the smile off her face even if the comment was at her expense. “Don’t you start with me.”

He smiled but didn’t push it further. “Can’t say I’m much of a dancer, myself. I-”

Draco stopped. His right sleeve had been rolled up past his elbow, left sleeve clasped in his opposite hand, but he seemed stuck. Unwilling or unable to move further. Too far gone to play off his motions as anything else but what they were.

“Hermione, I-”

A fish out of water, he was lost for words. And Hermione couldn’t understand the sudden hesitation. What had changed? Is he-

His mark.

It must still be there.

It was only then Hermione realized she had not actually ever seen it. He was always so carefully put together, only ever wearing long sleeves or some form of covering when he was around her. She imagined that must be intentional. But now, curiosity burned within her.

‘It’s okay, Draco. Go ahead.”

A deep breath. An overly ambitious drink from her glass. She had braced herself as much as she could.

He carefully, so carefully, rolled the cuff up. His fingers moved precisely as they fixed the cuff until it just sat above his elbow. Though she caught glimpses of black, it wasn’t until he finished and made the choice to turn his arm over that she truly saw the dark mark.

Or the remnants of it, at least. Though it appeared to be slightly faded, with edges that clearly used to be more crisp and spots that were darker than others, it still stood out in stark contrast to the tone of his skin.

There it was. The skull, the snake. Right in front of her and she was…underwhelmed? It was really rather anticlimactic looking at it now. She had expected seeing it to be this emotionally fueled, pivotal moment. And yet, she felt nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

But Draco watched her as if she should feel everything.

His eyes were downcast in shame, every now and then glancing up at her as if to read her and catch any glimpse into his fate, and then they were back on the table. His shoulders were tense and high near his ears, posture too rigid yet somehow sinking in on himself at the same time.

It was as if he were trying to make himself small, if not disappear completely into the booth below him. If he knew a spell that could make it happen, she imagined he would conjure about anything that could swallow him up whole, right here, right now.

Without thinking she had begun to reach out towards it, but she stopped herself. “Can I?”

He studied her, nodding though he seemed horrified judging by the slight widening of his eyes and quick rise and fall of his chest.

“Are you sure? I don’t have to-”

He moved his arm closer, within reach. Slowly, so he could change his mind, she brought her fingertips to the mark. Initially, Draco flinched at her touch, and she stopped moving, but then he actually brought his arm closer, urging her on. She ran her finger across it, marveling at the feeling of the raised skin. Even dormant, she could feel the faintest traces of magic.

Wide silver eyes were watching her too closely, and she withdrew her hands. He immediately shifted so the mark was turned towards the table and drained the remainder of his drink.

“Did you want the mark?” she asked, because fuck it if she wasn’t already pushing boundaries anyway. Apparently she was all in tonight.

He sighed.. “What answer do you want?”

“An honest one.”

The pulsing music around her, filled her ears, ran away with her now racing heartbeat. It was too intense a question, too intense a moment to have with him. And here? But she wanted to know. She needed to know.

“Yes and no.”

Silver eyes looked up for judgement that wouldn’t come. Hermione waited.

“I-” His fingers played with glass in front of him as he searched for words. “I wanted to keep my mother safe. I would have done anything to keep her safe. And-”

The words were hard. He was forcing them out through a clenched jaw, body slightly shaking.

“And I wanted to make my father proud, if you can believe it.” He smirked to himself, though his expression held more hatred than humor. “I wanted him to love me.”

“That makes sense to want that... I can understand that.”

“You shouldn’t. It’s no excuse,” he murmured. Then a scoff, seemingly at himself. “Besides, the only things I received from my father were sharp criticisms and indoctrination.”

The alcohol had clearly loosened Draco’s lips. After all their time working together, he rarely revealed much about himself, especially unprompted. But now that he started it was like he couldn’t stop. The words were desperate to escape.

“You know, I hated him. The D- Voldemort. I hated him long before he moved into our home, started threatening and killing anyone inside who dared cross him. And what he was preaching… I was so conflicted for so long on what was right.”

“Why?”

Silver eyes finally met hers. Slightly shaky from the drinks but piercing as ever. “Because the brightest person I had ever met was a muggle born. And I didn’t know what to think of that.”

Me?

He’s talking about me?

“My entire world, every belief, every ideal I was raised on… And one witch, one insufferable swot of a witch, was defying everything. Shifting my entire world on its axis.”

“Draco,” she gasped. “I didn’t… You never said…” The words were falling over each other in her mind. She could barely wrap her mind around what he said, and with the alcohol slowing down her thoughts, there was no hope of finding everything she truly wanted to say. “I had no idea.”

“Of course not,” he scoffed.

He smiled painfully, as if it took everything from him to confront this. When he looked at her, she could see the anguish.

“I hated you, Hermione. I hated you with every part of my being. Because you were everything you weren’t supposed to be.”

There were no words.

Nothing.

Hermione couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

She watched as Draco’s chest rose and fell too quickly, her own mouth falling open just to be closed back. Emotion threatened to choke her as she met his gaze.

“You finished that drink!”

Hermione was ripped from the moment.

It was disorienting looking for the voice that had spoken to her. The music, which had so easily slipped into the background, was now blaring in her ears again. The lights were too bright and there was laughter and clinking glasses and too much of everything.

And Hermione’s mind was still far away, trying to understand.

She looked towards Draco but found an empty seat.

“Are you okay?” Daphne studied her as she reached out to steady her, the touch bringing awareness to the goosebumps that had covered her skin. Astoria, who stood next to her sister, looked at Hermione with concern.

Hermione nodded, voiceless, only able to mumble out a “yes” with effort and time. She looked for Draco, scanning the crowd furiously.

A flash of bright blonde hair caught her eye, and she found him at the bar leaning up to speak to Theo. For the briefest of moments, Theo’s eyes glanced over towards her, then away again, and then he and Draco were headed out towards the back patio, the redhead left at the bar.

“Hermione?” Daphne asked again, made entirely of concern and worry now as she eyed her. She looked for them again but they were gone. “What is it?”

Everything.

“Nothing,” Hermione managed to mumble. “Nothing at all.”

Chapter Text

“Happy birth-day dear hus-band,” Ginny screeched, holding the note out until it long ago left the proper key and went everywhere else. “Happy birthday to you!”

Harry chuckled at his wife, who was now cheering loudly beside him, and kissed the top of her head. He smiled at Hermione, too, even though she hadn’t joined in on the rendition.

“That non-magical tradition we could have left to the muggle world,” Hermione complained.

“And miss this look?” Ginny asked, sweeping a thumb across Harry’s cheek. His eyes were still bright and shining, looking at his wife with some mixture of awe and amusement. “Never.”

“Not even to save our eardrums,” he confirmed, earning a shove to his shoulder.

“Alright, alright. Poke fun. I’m not above smashing your face into it,” Ginny threatened.

“And ruin a perfectly good treacle tart?” Harry gasped.

“Ruin? Who said anything about ruining it?” Ginny asked, leaning forward. Her eyes dropped to his lips. “I’d just have to lick it off.”

Hermione’s face flushed. Harry had become a brother of sorts, and she refused to let those images consume her mind. Quickly searching for some reason, any reason, to leave the room, Hermione abruptly stood. “We forgot serving utensils.”

“Look what you’ve done,” Harry laughed.

“Mione, come back,” Ginny whined. But Hermione ignored her and continued on to the kitchen. She could hear Ginny still yelling from the dining room. “I promise to be good!”

“Right, like that isn’t an empty promise,” Hermione replied, walking back into the room.

Ginny eyed the metal in her hands. “You realize we can use magic, no?”

Hermione sighed, exasperated. “Shove off.”

“So, how is Astoria?” Harry asked as Hermione started slicing.

“Okay. Thankfully no big changes as of late. It’s just beyond frustrating…I wish…” Hermione had stopped, knife mid-cut, and Ginny stood and relieved her of it. With a sigh, Hermione sat back down. “I just wish we could do more.”

“No breakthroughs yet?”

“Definitely not. We’re trying to strengthen the ingredients in my potion since we know it is effective against the curse, but they’re already finicky enough as is. Haven’t found anything else to do yet.”

“At least you’re trying.”

“Yeah…” The topic was a mood dampener in the worst way, and Hermione searched her brain for any subject change. “Your present!” she gasped suddenly. “Oh Harry, I forgot your present in my office.”

“That’s okay.” He smiled that goofy Harry smile that was too big and showed off all his teeth. “Gives me an excuse to stop by. We could have lunch?”

Hermione nodded as Ginny slid her a piece of tarte. She was smiling mischievously when she said, “You can still have mine tonight. I got you the best present this year. Really outdid myself with this one, I believe.”

“Humble as ever,” Hermione mocked.

“Is it an excuse to get me out of the fundraiser tomorrow?” Harry asked hopefully.

“No.” Ginny deflated. “We are doomed to that one. And the event is a birthday party not a fundraiser.”

“Please don’t call it that.”

“Harry,” Ginny sighed.

“I don’t want the entire department throwing me a huge thing when all the other blokes get a shared cake once a month. It’s…” he searched for words but apparently didn’t find many when he settled for a simple, “gross.”

“It is,” Ginny agreed. “But it’s meant to be their own present to you, of sorts, as miserable as it will be. So we’ll go for thirty minutes, chat everyone up, and then we’ll make up some excuse to leave.”

“Yeah, well the greatest gift that lot could offer me is to leave me alone. I have enough to do as is without adding parties,” he shivered at the word, “to the list.”

Harry huffed, harshly cutting into his piece of treacle tart and taking a large bite.

Of course Harry Potter was busy. He likely always would be, being the savior of the wizarding world and everything. And the Hogwarts dance would just be another thing to add to his never ending list.

Just like tonight.

Guilt flooded her. “Harry, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked, mouth full, crumbs spraying everywhere. Ginny made a face of disgust and threw a napkin at him.

“If it wasn’t for things with Ron and me, we could have all just had your birthday at The Burrow. You wouldn’t have had to add another thing to do to your list and go out of your way. And on your birthday nonetheless. It’s selfish and awful and absolutely…”

“Wonderful,” he interrupted, cutting her off. After setting his fork down, he took Ginny’s hand in his own and placed a kiss to her temple. Turning to Hermione, he placed his other hand on hers and smiled lightly. “Right here, at home, having a quiet night in with my two favorite people… This is exactly where I want to be.”

Hermione felt her throat tighten at the words. She had to bite back tears as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“Now,” Harry said, taking his hands back and using it to push a piece of treacle tart at Hermione. “Please eat some of this. Gin’ll murder me if I eat the whole thing again like last year.”

“You got the shakes from all the sugar!” Ginny sighed exasperatedly, as if they’d had this discussion multiple times. “I found you in the living room wrapped in a blanket, pacing the floor, physically vibrating.”

“You defeat Voldemort, you get as much treacle tart on your birthday as you want,” Harry shrugged, scooping up a second piece.

“You-”

“I haven’t used that card yet this year,” Harry interrupted. He smiled brightly at his wife. “Saved it just for this.”

Ginny was pouting but mumbled something akin to fine and perhaps tossed in a you insufferable wanker. And Harry smiled brightly at her, bright enough that she couldn’t help but smile back at him.

Hermione tried a bite of the tart, and sure enough, Harry was right. It was delicious. Possibly worth getting the shakes for, not that she’d put that to the test.

And as she sat there eating her tart and watching her two best friends bicker and fight and steal glances at each other and smile until their cheeks had to hurt, she knew this was it.

This moment was mundane and extraordinary.

This was life, and it was good.

–

“It’s just like usual,” Hermione repeated to herself, for the umpteenth time, even though she knew it was a lie.

Draco has too much pureblood etiquette in those bones for this to be anything but fine.

Fine, fine, fine.

After floo’ing to his place, she found Draco standing over a cutting board, wand out and magically cutting an ingredient that looked to be Thimbleweed. A cauldron nearby had a stirring wooden spoon inside. Based off the disheveled look of his hair, which had certainly had his hands running through it over and over again as he did when he was frustrated, and the large bags under his eyes, he had been working for a long time.

“Morning.”

Silver eyes flicked up to her once. A small incline of his head. Then he looked away.

"Did you sleep?” Hermione asked, trying again.

A grunt was the only response.

So much for pureblood etiquette.

Hermione couldn’t hold in her exasperation and decided to rip off the bandage. “Are we going to talk about it?”

When Draco finally stopped his work and looked up, Hermione found his stare was unusually vacant. Mirth, playfulness, even irritation and guilt. It was all gone. His usual masks were firmly tucked away.

He was occluding.

And it wasn’t the tiny glimpses of occlusion Hermione caught every now and then. No, this was a full-force, near impenetrable, wall of mental steel.

“Very well then,” she sighed. “What can I do?”

That actually earned Hermione a real response. Draco monotonously listed off the next steps for the refining process occurring in front of him, which he had apparently spent all night and most of the prior evening working diligently on, and assigned Hermione tasks.

They worked silently, side by side, at their respective stations. The lab was silent beyond the sound of whispered spells and crunching against the cutting boards and the bubbling of the brew. But refining ingredients was highly meticulous work, and Hermione welcomed the lack of distraction.

It was hours later and only after they were stuck in a waiting period that Draco finally spoke. “This has to work.”

Exhaustion must have really eaten at him by then because the occlusion walls had started to crack.

“It will,” Hermione replied, her words no longer seeming to hold the weight they did the first few handful of times she spoke them.

“It has to,” he said to himself, nodding. It was quite evident based on his expression, the way he held himself just right, muscles taught and jaw clenched that he was carrying the weight of a heavy expectation.

Hermione accio’d over the bag of peanut butter filled chocolate from her purse. They had tried a new brand, and Draco had been beside himself that she had dared deviate from the precious chocolate hats he favored. Dramatically, he scoffed upon seeing the bag, but he still took one out and unwrapped it.

“You’re the only person I know who can look that unhappy eating candy.”

She was rewarded with a small lift of his lips on the right side. The smallest and briefest of smirks. But it was there, even if he tried to shove it away it just as quick as it had come.

“You know, her wellbeing doesn’t rest entirely upon your shoulders.”

“No, just primarily.” He sighed, dropping the candy wrapper on the table, watching it bounce lightly before rolling to a stop. “She’s stopped going regularly to Mungo’s.”

“They weren’t helping her anyway.”

“But it was another source of possible help. Another set of eyes… More. And now it’s just…” He looked at Hermione, unable to give voice to the rest of the sentence. That it felt it was all coming down to him.

“And now it’s just a truly devoted, truly brilliant friend helping her,” Hermione supplied, nudging him slightly with her shoulder.

It was true, all of it, and she just wanted him to believe it. She hoped for a smile, a hint of life behind his eyes. Instead, all she was given was another look of deep, desperate sadness.

“You are exactly what she needs.”

He sighed. “What she needs is a real healer.”

“Stop.” Hermione begged, grabbing a chocolate candy herself and unwrapping it as she spoke. Being frustrated at him wasn’t going to help, and she needed to shove it down. “You’re the best at Mungo’s anyway and you know it. Besides, you could have been…”

Draco’s head shot up quickly, making Hermione stop in her tracks.

Her hesitation was a moment too long, and she could tell by his narrowed eyes that he caught her slip. It didn’t matter if she now tried to cover it up by finishing the sentence differently. It was too late. He knew.

Showed how dangerous healthy doses of vigilance and intelligence could be.

“Finish your statement,” he dared her.

“I’d rather not.”

“Finish. Your. Statement.”

“Why? What good will that do us if you already know it?”

Draco had gone completely rigid. Still as a statue with the tension holding him taut. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you known?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione sighed. She briefly debated lying, but what good would it even do? Settling on the truth, she followed with, “A few weeks. A month, give or take.”

“A month?” he gasped incredulously. “Bloody hell.”

“It’s not that big of a deal, Draco.”

“Not that big of a deal?” His face was reddening with anger.

“No,” she replied immediately. “It’s not as if I’m going to tell anyone. It’s nothing of consequence.”

It didn’t surprise her that he was upset, but it did surprise her the depths of his anger.

“Nothing of consequence? Merlin, what right do you have to that kind of personal information?” he asked.

“We’re friends!” she gasped. “Of course I’m going to know things about you, Draco, things that may be uncomfortable for you or personal. That’s just how friends…”

“Friends?” he scoffed. “I’d hardly call us acquaintances, Granger. Certainly nothing more than that.”

Hermione stopped. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Or what she was seeing. The man who stood in front of her now was icy. Gone was the smiling joy of the Draco who licked chocolate from his fingertips at the diner or the gentle Draco who brought her crumpets or the unrefined Draco who got drunk at the bar with them.

This Draco was different. He more closely resembled the defensive boy from their youth who lashed out any time he felt too vulnerable. This Draco she didn’t much care for.

“Granger? So we’re back to that again?” she asked, even knowing it wasn’t likely to be productive.

Before her eyes, she watched the rage pass over Draco’s face until it quickly dissolved into nothing. His occlumency walls went into place once again, sealing his face into an aloof, apathetic mask.

“Evidently we shouldn’t have ever left it.”

–

Hermione didn’t go to the Manor the following day. Instead, she sent an owl explaining she would be brewing from her own home. She didn’t bother instructing the owl to stay for a reply. She knew there wouldn’t be one.

The week passed by quick enough. Hermione found herself falling into a routine of sorts. Get up, go to work, come home to continue working on the potion, fall asleep reading whatever text she had stumbled upon that day.

Later in the week when she didn’t have to go into work, she put all her focus into brewing. This extended into the weekend. And when she still had heard nothing from Draco, she sent another owl. This time, the owl was instructed to stay until there was a response.

But the owl arrived home empty handed and clearly annoyed, despite the treat still clutched in her beak.

She spent the rest of the weekend at home, no social plans or open floo access. No, the weekend would be spent brewing, reading, and catching up on paperwork for work. And when she finally emerged Monday morning, she had three different variations of the elixir, a fresh batch of her daily potions, and a stack of finished texts, none of which had anything helpful between their covers.

A knock sounded at her door, and she waved a hand to open it and let Ariana in.

“Granger,” a familiar voice drawled. ‘I must admit, you’ve looked better.”

Bolting up from her slouched position over her desk, she tried to look more put together. But it was too late.

“You’re not Ariana,” she observed.

“Well spotted,” Theo acknowledged as he crossed the room, moving papers and texts haphazardly to the side, and setting takeaway containers on her desk.

“What is this?”

“Lunch. I know I’ve introduced you to the concept before,” Theo continued. “Though I am terribly sorry I seemed to have interrupted your…nap.”

“Didn’t sleep well,” she replied quickly. Possibly too quickly.

“Mhmm,” Theo hummed, clearly in disbelief. He opened up a container of curry and slid it to her. It appeared to be her favorite, the one from the small shop down the street, on the edge of the non-magical world.

She eyed it but didn’t yet take it. “Am I being bribed for something?”

He shrugged. “Only if necessary. But I don’t believe it will be.”

“Reassuring as ever,” she smirked, taking the curry anyway. It was too tempting. She eagerly scooped up the golden liquid and poured some over the fluffy white rice.

“I need you to reach out to Draco.”

The words had her stopping with the bite halfway to her mouth. Settling the spoon back in the container, she pushed it back towards Theo. The curry suddenly seemed too costly.

“Come on, please” Theo begged, scooting it back. But she didn’t touch the container.

“I already tried.”

“An owled letter…”

“Two owled letters,” she corrected.

“Alright, two owled letters,” he said, imitating her voice, “is not going to be enough. He’s a right stubborn git, and it can be quite difficult to get through it all.”

“I assure you, that I have noticed.” He smirked but it didn’t meet his eyes. “Did he even read them?”

Theo reached into his robes and pulled out two folded up parchments, blackened on the edges. “They may have fallen into the fire.”

“Theo!” Hermione gasped.

“Stubborn. Git,” he reiterated, with emphasis.

Hermione took a bite of the curry, letting the warm spices breathe life into her. It was everything she didn’t know she needed. Theo opened his own container across from her, but he made no move to take a bite. He seemed to be waiting, insistent.

“I accidentally let it slip that I know about the job he turned down at Mungo’s. That’s it.”

“That’s it?”

“Oh don’t you start. That is small, Theo.”

“Believe me, I know, but that is not small for Draco.”

She rolled her eyes. “That would be small to anyone. I don’t understand.”

“You have power over him, Hermione.”

Scoffing, she put her spoon down. The audacity of that claim left her shaking. She didn’t have any power over him, and she certainly didn’t want any.

“You know something about him now,” Theo elaborated. “Something he has put a great deal of effort into hiding.”

“I’m not going to do anything with it!”

“That doesn’t matter,” Theo sighed exasperatedly. “Don’t you get it you daft, brilliant witch? You got a glimpse behind the barriers he is always so carefully constructing, and he wasn’t the one to share it with you. Not to mention after whatever conversation happened at the club… He’s feeling vulnerable and scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of everything. Control is important to him, Hermione, and if it feels like it's slipping, it scares the living hell out of him.” Theo picked up his spoon and stirred his curry.

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Yes, spending years abused, living under threat of death, trying desperately to keep his family alive only for them to die anyway. I can’t imagine why he might be this way,” Theo said sarcastically, now digging into his curry as he berates her with his sarcastic commentary.

“It’s absurd to think we can ever control everything in our lives. That we could ever decide exactly what information goes where or who is allowed in. There aren’t barriers high enough for that.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t try to make them anyway.”

“If you keep defending him, you’re getting hexed.”

“I’m not defending him!”

Hermione eyed him.

“Alright, well I’m not meaning to,” he conceded. “I’m just trying to help.”

Theo dug into his lunch, but Hermione suddenly couldn’t stomach hers. Everything Theo said made sense. It brought her clarity and the slightest of understandings of this otherwise impossible man. But his words, the look he gave her, it all still made her ache.

“What’d he say?” Theo asked, as if he could read her mind. Hermione must have shown how shocked she felt because he added, “Has a history of lashing out, that one.”

“He said…” Hermione felt stupid, but she persisted nonetheless. “He said we weren’t even friends.”

“And you believed him?”

She shrugged. Of course she believed him. Why wouldn’t she?

“Hermione,” Theo sighed, setting his own container down on the desk and leaning forward. “He didn’t mean it. I swear it. He’s had a rough go of things, and it’s left him rather…unsteady.”

“But that isn’t fair. It shouldn’t fall on my shoulders just because he has a rough past. We all have that, Theo. I shouldn’t have to be the one to approach him.”

Theo scooted his lunch away, apparently not able to stomach his anymore either. He looked guilty. Not the delightful, joking guilt Theo playfully expressed but rather true, undiluted guilt. “I agree.”

“But you said...”

“I know what I said, but you’re right in that my request isn’t fair to ask of you. None of this is fair to place on you. And I’m sorry if it seemed I wasn’t being considerate of your side.”

“Thank you,” she replied, deciding to take pity on the man. “Did that take more than you thought it would to admit?”

Theo smirked. “Considerably. But you’ll find, Hermione Granger, I’m willing to do a great deal for my friends.” He winked at her then, a quick, signature Theo wink. “Just at least offer me this: don’t give up on him. Not entirely. You don’t have to reach out to him, but don’t write him off, either. Yeah?”

Though reluctant, she couldn’t resist the wide-eyed pout he was giving her, and she eventually relented with a nod. “You’ll find, Theodore Nott, I’m willing to do a great deal for my friends.”

He smiled a ridiculous smile at her.

–

“Hermione!”

She had only made it five steps inside the pub when Astoria was wrapping her arms around her. Impossible to resist, Hermione hugged her tight.

“Astoria,” she greeted.

Pulling away, she found Pansy standing next to her wife. Though she spoke to Pansy, she didn’t dare hug her. They weren’t there yet. If they ever would be.

“Thanks for the invite,” Hermione smiled.

Eyes widening a fraction, Pansy looked off to the side, a piece of hair twisting round her finger. “Don’t thank us yet.”

Pansy’s voice was quiet but not quite enough. Hermione heard. And before she could question what was meant by that statement, Astoria was turning and grabbing for…Draco. With a tug, Astoria pulled him over to their small circle, Draco reluctantly following.

“Look who is here, Drake, it’s Hermione!”

He glared at Astoria. “Subtle.”

“Don’t let him fool you, Hermione. This one’s actually all sunshine and rainbows deep down.” Astoria smiled conspiratorially. “He just needs a little push sometimes. Temperamental, stubborn little thing.”

“Story,” Draco sighed.

She winked in response and left them standing there.

Alone.

“Not exactly the most cunning,” Draco observed.

“Isn’t that supposed to be a Slytherin trait?”

He scoffed. “Well we do let an article of clothing make house decisions. Surely infallible.”

“Dra-co,” Hermione scolded, smirking despite herself. When she realized what she was doing, she quickly put the smile away. “Stop it. I’m mad at you.”

“I’m aware.”

“And you ignored, no, burned every single letter…”

“Theo,” he sighed.

“Don’t you blame him.”

“I’m j-”

“There is no one to blame but yourself here, you know. You were the one who did it. You,” she emphasized, pushing her finger into his chest, “are the one who was rude and obnoxious and shut me out for over a week.”

“Finished?”

Hermione huffed. “I haven’t decided.”

“Well I’ve had my fill of this place. Come along. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Do you like pancakes?” Draco shrugged, a hesitant little grin on his face that was more of a question than anything else.

She shouldn’t forgive him. Not so easily, not when he hadn’t technically even apologized. But it had been sort of close and she was peckish if she was being honest with herself.

“Come on,” he prompted, elbowing her lightly. He was occluding, but only barely, and Hermione thought she saw a tad of hope behind those eyes. “I know a place, Hermione.”

She smiled.

Chapter Text

“I still don’t understand why we need to go by Malfoy’s place.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry was being difficult. She had explained to him multiple times, and yet...

“We just started a new potion. I need to check on Astoria before we go,” she called from her bedroom. He grumbled something she couldn’t hear.

Sliding on her black heels, she layered extra cushioning charms and a sticking charm. The one thing she refused to do tonight was fall on her arse in front of a mostly Pureblood audience.

Looking at the mirror, she couldn’t help but smile. She looked sexy. Hell, she felt sexy, and that wasn’t always easy for her to come by.

While there was no formal dress code, the Purebloods always stuck to tradition; the closest they ever came to a statement was wearing a more modern wizarding robe. Most attendees who weren’t in this majority followed suit.

But Hermione found she was painfully bored of wearing wizarding robes, and she was tired of being forced into dresses. She wanted to wear dresses when she actually wanted to wear them, not because custom told her it was proper.

So tonight she wasn’t.

Tonight she was wearing a custom tailored black suit, sans button up. The fit was impeccable and her arse looked glorious and the choice to forgo anything underneath the jacket left her feeling daring.

It was flying too close to the sun, and she loved it.

“Hermione, we’re going to be…”

“Late,” she finished for him, walking into the living room. “Yes, yes, I know. You’re already my unnecessary auror bodyguard for the night. I don’t need an unnecessary alarm as well.”

He didn’t respond. Rather, he was eyeing her, mouth slightly agape. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

Tactful as ever, Harry.

“Yes.” She dared him to speak further. Looking up he met her gaze, and she saw the internal war occurring in his mind.

To say something. To not say something.

To say something. To not say something.

“Hermione,” he sighed.

“Harry,” she copied, sternly.

“Seriously? You were hexed last year by no less than three Purebloods. And now you’re showing up in this very Muggle outfit?”

Hermione was livid. She had to take deep breaths and remind herself this was her well intentioned if not slightly clueless friend in front of her.

“Harry James Potter,” she reprimanded, voice sharp. “I know you didn’t just use a form of the she was asking for it wearing that argument on me.”

He stopped everything for a moment.

“I did, didn’t I?” he asked, genuinely. Understanding dawned in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded and turned towards the floo. He followed her, stepping inside and hooking her arm. Then she was throwing the powder, and they swirled away, leaving the conversation behind them.

Stepping through the floo once more, Hermione expected to find an empty room. After all, everyone had discussed their plans earlier. The only ones who should be there were Astoria and Pansy.

But Hermione found herself greeted with too many eyes. And too many words all at once that she couldn’t make out. Astoria was whistling and Pansy was screeching her name and Blaise was applauding. Daphne pretended to pass out.

“Bloody hell!”

“Granger, who knew you could look that hot!”

“Be still my heart. Hermione, take it easy on me!”

“Okay, okay,” Hermione called out, but it had little effect. Standing before Astoria, she looked at her. “How do you feel?”

“Better now that you’re here.” Astoria winked.

“Astoria!” Hermione squeaked, but she couldn’t hold in her smile. Even Astoria was playing.

“Come on, Hermione!” she replied. “Let us ooh and ahh a little longer. I can’t go after all.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to go,” Hermione assured her. “These ministry events are boring.”

“That’s not what Theo says. Every year Draco is stumbling through the floo with a very drunk, very happy Theo,” Astoria replied.

Of course Theo would be going since he worked at the ministry, but she forgot about Draco. St. Mungos was partnered with the Ministry after all, but it was easily forgotten when Hermione had such a low opinion of the place.

“Astoria, I would let you go in my place if I could,” Hermione assured her.

“Fine. But you’re no fun, even if you do look delectable,” Astoria muttered, whining.

“Delectable? What a compliment,” Hermione laughed, amused by this suddenly feisty Astoria.

She must be feeling good.

“And you’ve stolen your best friend’s husband as your date. You’re going to be the scandal of the century,” Pansy smirked.

“As honored as I would be, I am but a lowly bodyguard tonight,” Harry replied.

“Bodyguard? Do all ministry department heads have bodyguards at these events?” Blaise asked.

“No, not all. There were some...incidents in the past that necessitated it for Hermione,” Harry answered.

All five heads turned to Hermione.

“I’m not exactly well liked by the crowd there,” Hermione explained.

“Why?” Daphne asked.

“Not everyone is…thrilled a Muggle born is head of any Ministry department,” Hermione replied, squatting down in front of Astoria to turn the focus anywhere else.

“Hermione…” Daphne started. Her eyes were wide with concern.

But Hermione cut her off. She didn’t want to have this conversation now. “You took the potion on time?”

“Yes,” Astoria confirmed.

“The exact measurement, too?” Hermione continued.

“Bloody hell, you know I am competent with these kinds of things,” Draco said, entering the room from somewhere behind them. She rolled her eyes.

“How do you feel?” she asked, ignoring him.

“Fine. The same, really,” Astoria replied.

“Good,” Hermione nodded, standing up. “If there was going to be an adverse reaction, it would have happened by now.”

“As I said,” Draco agreed. She turned to face him, finding Draco styled in a tailored slate grey suit. It fit him like perfection, so she knew it must be expensive, likely custom made.

Theo stumbled in behind Draco, still fixing the button on his shirt sleeve, when he saw Hermione.

“Merlin, remind me to thank the Muggles for creating that.” After looking her over, his eyes landed on Harry. He greedily drank up the vision before him. “So, how many times do I need to be cursed to get a savior escort?” Theo asked, not so innocently. Harry flushed scarlet immediately.

“Theo,” Hermione scolded, but she couldn’t hold in the laugh.

“Are you still with the Weasley girl?” Theo asked.

Harry was still trying to recover from Theo’s very brazen advances, but he managed to say, “That’s my wife.”

“So… yes?” Theo asked. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to hold in her laughter. Harry visibly stumbled next to her. He clearly hadn’t been around Theo enough.

“Merlin,” Draco sighed. His fingers were pinching the bridge of his nose.

Pansy was cackling from her place on the couch, adding, “Down, Theo.”

“Tough room.” Theo sighed, putting his hands up in surrender. “I’m just checking. Bloody hell, can’t blame a bloke for trying.”

Daphne rolled her eyes at him but laughed despite herself. “Behave yourself.”

“No promises.” Theo smiled, stepped into the fireplace. “This will be fun.”

The last thing Hermione saw before Theo disappeared in the green floo flames was a mischievous smile.

--

The gala was fine.

It was almost always fine.

The first year Hermione worked with the Ministry, she had been thrilled to receive the invitation. She had debated for hours on exactly which outfit to wear, giddy at the idea of making her debut arrival at an important, black-tie event with such powerful people in attendance.

She had been so naive.

The gala was just an excuse for her co-workers and peers to kiss the arse of anyone above them. It was full of too many members from the media taking pictures and the food was never very good. And everyone there glared at her, the Muggle born witch who didn’t belong.

Not a soul outside her department, aside from Kingsley, spoke to her that first year. She remembered getting completely pissed, throwing up in a potted plant on the patio, and flooing home to soak in a bath while she cried and ate chocolate.

In sharp contrast, she certainly received an abundance of attention this year.

The Muggle born in the gaudy Muggle outfit was the scandal of the event. Hermione would smile sweetly at any Pureblood caught staring, occasionally offering a raise of her glass or wink, when she felt daring. And the media...the media ate it up.

By the time they made it outside, Harry was thoroughly tense and exhausted. The attention had put him on edge all night, and if Hermione had any regrets about anything, it would be that she had made her friend feel that.

Harry was summoned inside to speak with Kingsley, and it was only after Hermione swore she would be on her very best behavior that Harry left her alone on the balcony with her thoughts.

Standing at the railing, she looked out at the gardens below her. Even in the darkness, it was beautiful. Elaborate designs perfectly executed.

She wondered what her life would be like if she hadn’t spent so many years fighting to live. Would she have pursued something else? Would she be the person designing such outrageous gardens? Would she be anywhere near this Ministry gala? Would she be off on an adventure now or maybe even cuddled up with a partner and some kids?

It hurt to think about all the possibilities. So Hermione tried to shut it out.

“So you’re really doing it then?”

Hermione sighed. She knew the voice without even needing to turn around. But, she found herself turning anyway. Perhaps she needed to confirm with her own eyes what her ears already knew.

Ron stood on the balcony just outside the doorway, gently swirling the drink in his hand around inside the glass.

She turned back around. “Doing what?”

“Helping the snakes.”

Unbelievable.

“The snakes? Really? Are we back at Hogwarts now?”

He didn’t answer. She didn’t think he would. Instead, she saw him in her periphery as he came up to the railing near her. Not close enough to touch, but closer than she wanted him.

They hadn’t spoken since the night she took her things from their shared space and left, and even then it had only been a few words whispered amongst the silence. Before that, it had been the night he left her.

“How did you even find out about it, Ronald?”

“Does it matter?”

Her head whipped to look at him. “It does to me. Are you asking around about me?”

“You’re Hermione Granger. As if anyone has to actually ask to learn all about you.”

Hermione hated the way he had said her name. The way it rolled off his tongue; slightly acidic, a hint of mockery, but kind enough he could claim nothing else was there. She took another drink, letting his words stew in the air.

“But no, I haven’t been asking about you,” he continued. “You’ve upended things at the Ministry.”

“If one person changing their schedule upends the entire Ministry, and that person isn't the Minister themself, maybe that’s a sign of needed policy and structural change.”

Ron sighed. “That’s beside the point.”

She took another drink, wondering if her glass was full enough for this conversation. Even though she had made a fair enough comment, it was beside his point. Apparently.

“What you’re doing is dangerous, Hermione.”

“How would you know?”

“I know plenty. I saw plenty.”

Anger pulsed through her. The audacity. The audacity to stand here beside her after everything and to use that time against her?

“You didn’t see it all,” she spat.

He let out a dramatic sigh. “Hermione…”

“You really don’t get it do you? I have to do this.”

“You’re going to get yourself hurt. You have to stop,” Ron insisted.

“I would like to think that this is coming from a good place, one of concern and love. But you have no right to be saying these things to me. To make requests or demands or any of it.”

“Like hell. I...I still care about you.”

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Hermione.” Ron’s voice was stern now. He had turned to look at her long ago, but this was the first time she let herself turn and look back.

The blue eyes she had once thought were light and clear and unending were now hard and finite. He bit the inside of his cheek, something she knew he only did when he was furious.

Good. Let him be.

“I already decided,” she insisted.

“Well un-decide.”

“No. You weren’t there, Ronald. You weren’t there back then. You certainly aren’t here now. You don’t have a say in my choices.”

“I was there enough.”

Enough?

Hermione wanted to throw up. Enough. He had said it as if it had been a box to check. As if the requirement had been to be there a certain amount of time, to complete a requirement and then check, done with Hermione.

And he was too fucking daft to realize the idiocy of his own words.

Ron took a breath. He seemed on the verge of saying something, biting his lip to hold it in, taking a drink to calm the anger she could see pulsing through him. Hermione knew immediately whatever he was holding back would be worse. Far worse.

The dam broke.

“Hermione, I was the one who took your unconscious, bloody body to St. Mungos time and time again. I was the one who cleaned you up after your tests. I was the one who…”

“That’s enough,” she said, cringing. She hated the tone he used, the way he spoke about her tests. The condescending language. The guilt.

She hated it all.

“I am the one,” he continued, ignoring her, “who came home every day hoping you were still alive. That you hadn’t accidentally killed yourself while I was at work and I’d come home to find your body.”

“That’s enough!”

Even standing outside, she couldn’t breathe. The world had found walls and they were all closing on her.

“Don’t tell me I don’t know, Hermione. I know. I was there.”

“And then you weren’t!” she yelled, overwhelmed with too much of everything to hold in her own words. “Then you left me. And tell me who would have discovered my fucking dead body then, huh?”

Hermione didn’t know when she had stepped so close to him. Or when he had stepped so close to her. She could see the tiny green flecks in his ocean eyes, could hear each breath as it fell quickly from his panting chest.

She didn’t want to be this close. She didn’t want to be here, listening to this. She certainly didn’t want the images his words were conjuring up. And she wanted to be with almost anyone but him.

Turning, she stepped back towards the doorway.

“Why are you doing this, Hermione? What could you possibly owe them?”

“I’m done with this conversation.”

A sharp tug pulled on her wrist. It forced her to stop, to turn. His hand was clasped around her wrist tight enough to make her gasp. “Well I’m not. I want to talk.”

She didn’t look away from his shaking hand, knuckles white from grasping her so hard. “No. Let me go.”

“Not until we’ve had a chance to…”

“She said no, Weasley.”

The voice caught her off guard. Turning, she found Draco standing in the doorway.

He edged closer to them, eyes trained on where they met. Hermione felt the grip weaken and then drop away completely. She quickly took a step back and pulled her hand into herself.

Distance, she needed distance.

“I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink, mate. “ Draco stepped forward until he was next to Hermione, slightly in front of her so he was now partially between them. While she was still tense, Hermione realized she felt better now that Draco was out here with them.

She could and would absolutely protect herself. She wouldn’t hesitate to use her wand on Ron, if needed. And though she didn’t think he would do anything else, she couldn’t deny the feeling of safety at having Draco here standing with her.

She felt safer now that someone who had once been her enemy stood between her and someone who had once been her lover and best friend.

And she didn’t know what to make of that.

Ron raised his eyebrows, watching her. “Isn’t this rich? A Death Eater, Hermione, really?”

“Former.” Draco’s voice caught Ron’s attention, pulling it away from Hermione.

“Call it what you want, you’re still the snake who bullied her for years. Who watched her be tortured by your own family. Who fought on the side to eradicate people like her. And now you’re suddenly the man to stand up for her?”

“At least I know what no means.”

Ron’s eyes slid to Draco’s left forearm slowly before flickering back to meet Draco’s eyes. “Do you?”

Turning back towards the door, Ron made to go back inside. Draco didn’t move as he watched Ron, and he tensed slightly when Ron turned back around.

“Have it your way Hermione. You always have, anyway.” With a smile and a shrug, he was gone.

She watched him leave. It still stung after all this time, even knowing this was the very thing he was best at. Even after she had scrubbed and cut and torn away any lingering pieces of him within her life until she was sure nothing was left. It still hurt too much.

Hermione realized she was crying. She was bloody crying over Ron Weasley, again. And in front of Draco...

Fucking hell.

“Sorry,” she muttered, embarrassed.

“You don’t have to apologize to me for feeling,” he assured her.

It’s okay to feel.

“Besides, if I had dated Weasel, I’d likely be upset about it, too.” Hermione laughed, instantly feeling a little bit lighter. Draco smiled at her. It was the guarded kind, but it was genuine nonetheless.

“How much did you hear?”

“Not much. Likely still more than you would have preferred.”

“Thank you for stepping in.”

“Of course. I-”

“Hermione?” Harry asked as he stepped out, cutting Draco off. He took one look at her wiping the tears from her face and quickly became defensive. He sized Draco up.

“Ron,” she blurted out, needing him to know it was not Draco. “It was Ron.”

“He spoke to you?” Harry asked, faltering. Hermione nodded. “He wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight. He told Ginny he wouldn’t be.”

“Well he certainly is,” Hermione sighed.

“Rubbish,” Harry spat. It wasn’t the first time Harry had become angered by Ron on Hermione’s behalf, but it was certainly the most quick to anger he’d been in a long time. “And he of course waited until I was away from you.”

“It’s expected Harry.”

“It shouldn’t be,” he quickly replied, hands running through his hair angrily. “I should have ignored Kingsley. I shouldn’t have left you.”

“Ignore the minister? Don’t be daft, Potter. You did the right thing.”

Harry looked caught off guard by Draco’s words, but he quickly swallowed it back and nodded. “Thank you for watching out for her.”

“As if Hermione actually needed me.”

Hermione didn’t miss Harry’s curious expression at Draco saying her name.

“Of course,” Harry agreed, nodding, still quite perplexed. He finally turned to Hermione. “You are okay, though?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. He watched her carefully but eventually nodded, seeming to believe her. “But, you know what would make me even better…”

“Don’t say it,” he begged her.

“What do you mean don’t say it?”

“I can’t tonight, Hermione.”

“Oh, come on, Harry. I had a nightmare round with my ex on the balcony, I’m not near pissed enough to tolerate the Purebloods, and the food here is utter rubbish. I need pizza.”

“Hermione,” Harry sighed.

“Pizza heals, Harry. Pizza always heals.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” And he truly did appear to genuinely be apologetic. “Kingsley needs me tonight. If I could, I’d-”

“I’ll go.”

Hermione and Harry both turned to Draco then. Hands in his pockets, he feigned casual, but she could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“If you would like my company, that is,” he quickly corrected.

“Sure.”

Chapter Text

*****Draco’s POV*****

“Not here. I know a spot. Come along.”

Where would she take him?

When she had requested pizza, he had assumed they would be dining at a restaurant or even stopping in a small shop or cafe. But no, Hermione Granger had dragged him to some small cart off the corner of Wallace Avenue. And now she was taking him somewhere else, without even trying it first?

“Aren’t we supposed to eat it while it’s still warm?” he asked.

“We aren’t going far. Besides, believe me when I say if you try and eat it now, the cheese will stick to the roof of your mouth and burn your gums. You’ll have trouble eating for days.”

“Sounds as if you’re familiar with that particular experience.”

“Unfortunately.”

Draco nodded and gestured for her to lead the way, following behind her until they eventually settled with him walking beside her. She led them around a few corners, pointing and giving brief directions, but otherwise silent.

“Here we are.”

Finally walking around a final corner, she stopped beside a short brick wall. It came up to their thighs, acting as a small barricade for the cobbled road they had come down. In front of them lay the bay, bright and shining, like a pool of onyx with only the city lights reflecting off the water.

Hermione threw a leg over the wall and sat down. The pizza rested on the brick between her legs. Draco tried to mimic the motion, only slightly stumbling in the process. She was smirking at him as she effortlessly perched from her seat across from him.

“Are you having a laugh then?”

“I would never,” she assured him, but she was quite literally laughing as she spoke. His face must have given away his unspoken question, because she quickly followed up with “Tonight is just unexpected.”

Draco nodded. It certainly was. Everything about his life recently had become quite unexpected, leaving him simultaneously on edge and excited for more.

“Alright, Draco Malfoy, your first ever slice of pizza.” Hermione tapped her fingers on the corner of her plate to create a soft till.

“What is that?” he smirked.

“A drum roll,” she shrugged, as if it should be obvious. “This is a big moment for you. It deserves to be built up.”

His eyes scanned from her own to her fingers and back again. He apparently didn’t have to say anything aloud for her to understand his taunt loud and clear.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh quit looking so damn condescending and just try it you git.”

Draco wanted to respond. After all, he loved quality banter, and Hermione was always so prepared for the task. A response had even been preparing itself on his tongue. But then he tried the pizza.

And instead, he groaned. “This is...immaculate.”

“And you thought the drum roll was too much. Posh purebloods,” she said playfully before taking her own bite. She hummed as she chewed.

“Just as I remembered,” she smiled, eyes shut as she reveled in the taste. “And this is just one style of pizza.”

“Style? Like the different pieces on top?”

She smirked. “Well, yes different pieces on top, but I meant kinds of pizza. As in there’s different ways to make it. You know...ones where the bread is thicker or thinner, how you cook it, what it’s made of. All sorts of variations.”

“I had no idea pizza could be so diverse.”

“You really should be quite grateful. I am opening your world up, here.”

“I would be so uncultured without your lessons on Muggle foods.”

“How is it you can say something that simultaneously sounds like genuine gratitude and casual condescension?”

“It’s an art, honestly.”

They settled into silence, eating beside each other and looking out at the water before them.

“I’m sorry,” she said abruptly.

Draco stopped chewing at her words, unsure what she could possibly need to apologize for.

“I’m sorry for what happened, with Ron,” she continued. He forced himself to finish the bite of pizza and swallow.

“You have no obligation to apologize for him.”

“Like he ever will for himself,” she scoffed. “He had no right to say those things to you.”

“Many people say many things to me that are far more heinous.”

It was Hermione’s turn to pause, pizza half-way to her mouth when she stopped and returned it to the plate. Draco could swear he saw realization settle on her, and his casual comment suddenly became something far more serious.

“I’m sure. You don’t deserve that.”

But I do.

Oh how I do.

And it didn’t matter that this was Hermione Granger and that she had been one of the people he had personally snubbed and hurt the most. It didn’t matter that she had somehow found a way to forgive him and move on.

Because he could never move on from everything he had done. And he deserved far worse than what he received now.

“And from Ron,” she added, “who has skeletons of his own… I mean, he doesn’t even know you now.”

He found he liked the way she said that; the implied statement that unlike Ron she did know Draco now. Even if only barely.

“I didn’t even realize he’d be there tonight. Last time we spoke he was working with George at the shop. But he must have some job at the Ministry now, I guess.”

Draco had wondered before tonight how friendly she was with Ron Weasley. If they talked after their break-up. If they were friends at all. After hearing their conversation earlier, it was clear they weren’t particularly close and the break-up itself must have been far from amicable.

“It’s not exactly as black and white as it may appear. To be fair, I was not a good girlfriend at the time.”

“You were dying, Hermione.”

“I mean yes there was that, but I still didn’t handle it well.”

“Would anyone?”

She was at a loss for words, mouth hanging open like one of the fish on display at the market, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m not trying to fight you on this, I just wonder if you sometimes carry the burden of someone else’s choices.”

Hermione couldn’t hold in her frustrated laugh. “Are you the pot or the kettle?”

“What?”

She brushed it off with a wave of her hand. “Muggle saying… The point is we both made terrible partners for one another. He was grieving for his brother, and I was dying, either by my scar or the experiments or likely both, and we both were just trying to live with everything.”

Hermione paused, looking lost in her memories, and Draco didn’t dare interrupt.

“Perhaps in another life if the timing had been different we would have worked. Or perhaps not. I guess it’s unimportant really.”

“Did you love him?” Draco asked. Truthfully he hadn’t meant to voice that particular question, but it had escaped him before he could hold it in.

“I thought I did, once, long ago. But it was flimsy and fleeting and… I don’t know, I don’t think that’s what love is. Or what it should be... At least I hope it isn’t. I guess I’ve never really been in love. But I’m not daft enough to believe it’s like the movies.”

Movies?

She must have seen the confusion on his face. “Like muggle moving pictures but with sounds, too,” she explained before continuing. “I’m sure it’s ugly at times, love…probably quite difficult, and requires effort to be sustainable. But I don’t know. I’d like to think love has...substance. What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, honestly.

“Your past relationships. What was it like then?”

Draco considered that.

Where to start?

But as faces and names passed through his mind, he knew he had never had anything like the love Hermione had described. There had been love of sorts, but not like that.

Which was perhaps for the best. After all, he didn’t know if he even truly deserved such love.

“They were different.”

She took a bite of pizza, cheese pulling between her lips and the slice, as she waited for him to elaborate.

“I don’t think it was that kind of love.” Draco quickly took another bite of pizza, intent on leaving this conversation behind.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.”

He knit his brows in question.

“You’re so careful not to reveal too much information. You ask questions but don’t offer the same information yourself. It’s like I have to drag anything personal out of you.”

“I became quite good at it I guess. During the war, I mean.”

“I know. I get that now. But, you don’t have to be like that with me, you know? I wouldn’t use any of it against you.”

“Hard habit to break.”

“It kept you alive for years, I’d imagine it is.

She was so considerate. So bloody considerate, even after everything he had done to her. Even after everything he had said, including recently. She was this positive light, even after everything she had faced.

And Draco felt the easily identifiable signs of shame blossoming within him.

“I never actually told you I was sorry, which I am.” Her brows knit as she took in his words, but she was mid-chew and unable to respond. Swallowing down every impulse to shut the hell up, he continued. “I’m sorry for what I said, Hermione. We’re friends.”

Hermione smiled bright. “Oh, are we friends now?”

He would have given her a soft shove if he had been close enough to. Though he did manage a kick to her foot, which only made her laugh.

“Even if you are insufferable.”

Her mouth dropped in fake appall. “Knob head.”

Caught off guard, Draco sputtered in the least polite way. “I despise you.”

Hermione only smiled in return. “No you don’t.”

Chapter Text

“Yes, coming here on a Saturday was-” Hermione squeezed through the too tight gap in front of her, “a bright idea.” She finally made it through the main crowd of the Leaky Cauldron, pushing towards the back rooms. It was only thanks to their glamours they had made it through Diagon without an audience, but the weekend crowd still made it difficult to maneuver.

“I apologize greatly for the minor inconvenience,” Draco said snarkily. “But if someone had apparated with me from my home, we could have avoided this.”

“For the last time I had errands,” Hermione huffed.

She cast a quick stinging jinx before Draco could step around the corner, and he jumped, hand grabbing at his side where it had landed. She smiled innocently at him and shrugged.

“Then this,” Draco indicated to the crowd behind them, “is on you. The version of your potion we brewed there needs to be bottled today or it loses efficiency.”

“Yes, I heard you the first two times. As well as when you explained Pansy assisted with it at her place.”

Pansy’s shop had a reputation that preceded it.

It resided on the corner of Knockturn Alley, half past Diagon, in a very large suite. Hermione had yet to see it in person, but she had heard earfuls for years. The media had a field day with the entirety of it; everyone was aghast at who had opened it and what it was filled with.

Unlike the apothecary down the way, Pansy’s store not only sold potions and their ingredients, but she sold knowledge and skill. For the right price, and if Pansy was feeling charitable enough, she would offer her personal services in analyzing failed potions.

While Draco was the superior brewer, Pansy was better with theory. Which meant Pansy was pivotal in every planning session regarding Astoria’s care. Not that either Hermione or Draco moved forward with an idea without approval from Astoria, Pansy, and Daphne first.

“What I don’t understand,” Hermione continued, following him towards the exit of the Leaky, “is why I need to be here.”

“Because I have to be.”

“Seriously?” she asked. He didn’t respond. Rather he stepped on through the entrance to Knockturn, not bothering to hold it for her and thus resulting in it almost closing on her. “Hey!” she squeaked.

She had only made it a step through before she felt Draco’s magic ripping the glamour sharply from her face.

Hermione huffed. “Would you calm down?”

“I hate the feeling,” he complained. “Itchy.”

Digging through her purse, she searched. It was only when she was elbow-deep that she remembered she could summon it with magic and quickly did so.

“You’re grumpy and uncharacteristically short, even for you. Here.” She chucked the fruit at him, which he barely caught in time.

“What is this?” he asked, scowling.

“It’s called a pear.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Thank you for enlightening me. What I meant was why are you giving it to me?”

“You get grouchy when you’re hungry.”

“Are you implying I get hangry?”

“I’m directly stating, not implying,” Hermione corrected. He started walking down the street, and she quickly joined. “And since when do you know the concept of hangry?”

“I don’t live under a rock.”

“Just eat it,” Hermione sighed.

“Aren’t I the one always getting you to eat?”

“Yes and who is doing so for you?”

Though they had been walking side by side, he suddenly disappeared from her peripheral, and she realized she was walking alone. Stopping, she turned to find him standing a ways back. He stared at the pear in his hands as if it were a mystery he were trying to unravel.

“What?” she asked.

Draco suddenly came to, as if shaken from a trance. He looked surprised. Maybe a tad in awe, possibly even something akin to thankful.

Then he very quickly expressed nothing, painful indifference, and haughtily replied, “I prefer apples.”

With a roll of her eyes, she pulled her wand and transfigured the yellow pear into a bright red apple.

“Green apples,” he clarified.

Another eye roll, another motion, and the red apple became green. He studied it before taking a bite, nodding afterwards at the taste.

“Not bad,” he replied. “What else can I get you to conjure for me?”

She flipped him off, smiled, and transfigured the apple back to a pear.

“Hey!” he barked, though he continued to eat it as they walked.

He didn’t have to tell her when they rounded the corner and the shop came into sight. Hermione immediately knew this was Pansy.

The gold details were freshly painted on the ink colored building, windows full of leather and velvet, tomes and scrolls. Bright bottles sat tucked away inside vintage shelves. As they edged closer, she could make out the white and black checkered floors.

A crash echoed from somewhere inside.

Pansy.

Both Draco and Hermione pulled their wands immediately, ready before Draco’s pear had finished bouncing against the ground. Hermione could hear her heart pounding in her ears.

She tried to fight back the panic-induced images filling her mind.

An intruder in the shop. A battle in the front room. Pansy, hurt and bleeding on the floor.

Draco looked to her. A question. Hermione shoved the thoughts as far away as they could go, making herself focus for Pansy’s sake. He waited for a nod before breaching the door.

The shop was destroyed.

Overturned tables and broken bookshelves. Fractured walls and crumbling overhead beams. The remnants of the main potion station smashed apart. Glass fragments and unknown liquids seeped freely on the floor. Hermione took a step, causing shards to crunch and crack beneath her weight. Draco muttered a spell, and Hermione felt the tingle of magic on her feet. Her next step was silent.

Draco took the lead as they headed for the backroom; the sounds of something splintering slipping through the cracked doorway. Then silence. Hermione looked to Draco, and as if he could read her mind, he got into place and stood ready.

Hermione pushed open the door in time to see Pansy clutching a large mirror in her hands, which were extended up over her head. With an animalistic screech, she brought it down to the ground, effectively smashing it.

Draco, who had recovered more quickly than Hermione at the sight before them had cast a shielding spell to try and contain the mirror shards, but some slipped through. Hermione felt the sting of one brushing across her ankle.

Many more had slipped through on Pansy’s side, and riverlets of blood began streaking down her shins and across her ankles. Taking in her entirety, she looked of hell. Her shirt was torn, hair disheveled, and she wore a singular shoe.

Without hesitation, Draco wrapped his arms tight around Pansy, restraining her as he leaned in and whispered to her. Pansy thrashed about in his grasp, fighting him off, but he held strong. Hermione tore her eyes from the sight to look ‘round for intruders. In the panic to get to Pansy she had forgotten about detection charms and quickly cast one now. But there was no one else to be found.

It was Pansy and Pansy alone in this shop.

Draco stayed with her, holding her tight even as her yells turned to screams and eventually anguished cries. Even as sobs wracked her body. Even as they fell to the floor, glass be damned.

Hermione cast cushioning charms from where she stood, hoping it would help defend against the worst of it. Pansy eventually spoke briefly to Draco, and once she had seemed to calm enough to lay against his chest, Hermione approached. She dropped down and cast healing charms on Pansy’s skin. Up close, Hermione could see the small cuts on her face. A large but shallow cut crossed her right shoulder and extended to her back. Deep purple bruising had settled in under her eyes.

Draco rubbed his hand along Pansy’s back and whispered soothing words to her, even as his eyes went unfocused. Shallow breaths and a slight tremble. For once, there were no occlumency walls in place, and every emotion was visible. A hollow man no longer hollow; an abundance of feelings overflowing. Drowning.

This was Draco afraid.

Hermione knew. And as Draco looked to her, vulnerable and desperate, he seemed to know he had been uncovered. Seen.

She had seen the group in many a state. Working so closely with Pansy and Draco while brewing, she had seen many sides of them in particular. But this was the first time she had seen them completely depleted.

Hopeless.

Eventually Hermione worked to slowly pull them to their feet. Movement seemed to prompt Draco to try and hide again, and she watched as his shields were slowly rebuilt. Pansy clung to him, whatever having devastated her so thoroughly still leaving her wrung dry.

They escorted her back home.

Once there, Pansy immediately sought out Daphne in the sun room, who placed a marker in her book and set it aside. Rising from her chair, she met Pansy and began speaking in hushed and hurried tones.

Draco leaned close to Hermione. “Story was at Mungo’s last night.”

Hermione’s heart dropped. “What happened?”

“Rough night, I suppose.” He shrugged. Hermione could feel when his eyes shifted over towards her. “Well, I guess you would know how that is.”

And she did. Hermione had her share of those. Pain and nausea strong enough she was left lying on the bathroom tile in the early hours of the morning, debating if it was truly bad enough to seek emergency help. Though, she had never progressed as far as Astoria had; she could only imagine how much worse it could be for her.

“Drake?” Daphne called. She gestured towards Pansy, who was already walking towards the hallway door. Without a word, he caught up with her.

Daphne sunk down into her chair, a withered woman.

“Are you okay?”

Before the words had finished leaving her mouth, Hermione wished she could summon them back. Of course Daphne wouldn’t be okay.

“Please forget I asked that. Let’s try again, what can I do to help?”

She gave her a small, pitiful smile in response. “It’s okay, Hermione. Don’t worry about it. You do plenty.”

Daphne Greengrass, like her sister, was light. They brightened every room they entered and drew people into their proximity. Though Astoria’s presence was that of warmth and comfort, Daphne’s was that of curiosity and levity.

And it was particularly dim today.

Hermione walked over and sat down next to her. She didn’t speak further. Instead of pressure to do anything, she would offer the one thing she could: a friendly presence, there for Daphne to do with as she needed.

Daphne looked towards the door Draco and Pansy had just exited. “I used to hate her, y’know?”

Hermione did know. Pansy had been a nightmare in school. She imagined she still likely could be a nightmare, if you were someone she looked upon poorly. And not being familiar with Astoria and Pansy’s story, there could have been innumerable problems.

“I don’t think you were alone with that one.”

Daphne’s brows knit together. “Who are you talking about?”

Hermione could feel her face heating. “Who are you talking about?”

“Astoria,” Daphne admitted.

Oh. Not Pansy.

Oh.

“You hated her?”

She nodded. “Perfect Astoria. It was all I ever heard. Your sister is so kind. Your sister is so brilliant. Your sister is so beautiful…” Daphne sighed loudly, smiling even as her eyes glazed over and her lip trembled. “Gods, she’s always been beautiful.”

Hermione’s mind whirled.

Daphne had been a Slytherin, and with that came some degree of being untouchable sure, but she had always been able to do that sufficiently herself. She had been perfection embodied. Silky blonde hair and large, doll-like ocean eyes. As she graced the hallways at Hogwarts, she had always felt so dreamy and unreal.

Ethereal, even.

After all, Daphne Greengrass was the name idolized in the girls dorms at Hogwarts. She was the effortless beauty everyone, Hermione sometimes included, felt they couldn’t ever measure up to. And all that time, she had felt…inadequate?

“I loved her, but I also hated her a fair bit of the time.”

“I never had siblings, but from what I gather, that seems to be a rather normal reaction to one.”

She thought of the bickering she had witnessed at the Weasley household throughout the years. The harsh words yelled through closed doors and threats made when Molly and Arthur left the room.

“But it wasn’t fair of me. She never really did anything to deserve it.

Hermione waited. She wondered if Daphne needed someone to listen rather than verbally volley with her, and she could be that for her.

“I think…” Daphne hesitated, as if questioning her words, but eventually continued, “I think I hated her because I really, really hated myself. And I made it really hard for anyone to love me. So Story and I… we had a rather strained relationship until recently and-”

Daphne’s breath hitched and she gasped for air as tears finally started to fall. Hermione had to force herself to hold Daphne’s gaze when those wide and watery eyes turned towards her.

“What if we don’t f-find a cure,” Daphne gasped between sobs. Her voice shook as she spoke, hands clawing at her chest as if trying to dig the words out with her bare hands. “What if w-we c-can’t help her? What if I w-wasted all our time together?”

The questions were coming too fast to give answers, not that Daphne seemed to actually be seeking any. Hermione was watching the woman spiral before her eyes. The guilt and panic she felt for her sister dragging her down

“What if-” Daphne was breathing too quickly; frequent short gasps for air that brought little relief. She tried speaking but no words came out.

“Come here.”

Hermione held her arms open, and Daphne all but fell into them. She wanted to say words of reassurance, that there would be more time, but it would have been a hollow promise.

“There’s still time, honey.” Hermione rubbed her back soothingly as Daphne cried into her chest. “We still have time.”

–

Hermione had stayed with Daphne for several hours.

It was only when she had stood to go in and check on Astoria, leaving Hermione alone in the sun room, that she felt the weight of her own presence in this house. After speaking with Poppy to ensure Astoria had every potion she would need, she retreated to the floo. And left.

Darkness had fallen outside. There was a hush over Knockturn as Hermione made her way back down the pathway. Though she once would have been afraid at the thought of walking here at this time of night alone, she now held her head high. The war had brought many things, but amongst them had been growth. And she could defend herself.

Not that anyone bothered to mess with her anymore.

When she made it to the store, she hesitated right inside the doorway. The moon had emerged from behind the clouds, casting light through the doorway and illuminating the ruined shop. She took in every bit of the destruction. Then with a sigh, she got to work.

Even with magic, it was labour intensive. Pansy had filled her shop not only with the finest selection of tomes but also rare ingredients and devastating potions. It had honestly been good fortune that she hadn’t accidentally killed herself the day prior as everything recklessly mixed together.

With great care, and excessive use of magic, Hermione worked to restore order.

Potion bottles were reconstructed. Elixirs that could be saved were carefully bottled, and those that were ruined were properly discarded. Debris was scrapped and shelving mended. After restoring the front counter, she levitated over potion soaked tomes and began the painstaking process of drawing the liquid from the pages. Then she re-sewed the damaged bindings.

It was only when the rays of sunlight filtered through the front windows and onto the checkered floor that she paused her work. Dripping with sweat and covered in soot and various sediments that clung to her sticky skin, she observed her progress.

It was far from complete.

The main brewing station had been cleaned but not restored, which was likely for the best. She didn’t know what it had originally looked of, so any effort she made would have likely had to be re-done by Pansy anyway. There were also two shelves in the front room and three in the back that were still fragmented, and there was an entire bookcase sitting in the corner she hadn’t yet touched.

No, it wasn’t complete, but it was enough.

On the way out, she patched up the protective warding outside. If Pansy didn’t like her magical signature on the place, she could fix it herself. But for now, everything would be safe.

Back at the floo, she finally returned home. Though her bones ached from working all night and her scar was throbbing in that annoying way it did from time to time, she opted for a shower rather than a bath. A scalding shower. Once coffee was made, she chugged two large mugfuls and dressed in her comfiest brewing outfit.

The one vital thing she hadn’t been able to recover was Draco’s potion. It had mixed with what Hermione guessed to be an elixir for dragons- based on the rainbow sheen reflecting in the light, it was likely for Opaleyes- thus rendering Astoria’s brew null.

Floo’ing to Draco’s, she was met by silence. Funnily enough, she didn’t feel out of place. Even without Poppy there to greet her or Draco ushering her in, she had been here enough to know the place, and it gave her the weirdest sensation of comfort and familiarity to be here anymore.

She almost laughed aloud at the absurdity.

Heading towards the kitchen, she made another mug of coffee and ate some breakfast. She could almost hear Draco nagging her to eat before she dared brew anything- especially for Astoria- which would require intense concentration. He would be right of course.

Afterwards, she made her way to the brewing room. Unluckily enough, it was devoid of the potion notes she would need, and the brew was too complicated to go without. Though she had never been inside the closed door, Hermione knew exactly where his favored study was located, and she sent a silent prayer to whatever deity may be listening that the notes would be inside.

Her shoes clicked noisily against the hardwood of the hallways here, and being closer to his bedroom now, she quickly cast a silencing charm. It was possible Draco was still with Astoria, but he also could be upstairs asleep, and she would let him rest.

She walked into the study where someone was waiting. Not draco but-

“Pansy?”

The witch turned to look at her. Dull eyes and a lifeless smile. She looked depleted. “Oh. Hello, Hermione.”

Her usual monochromatic black was gone, replaced by shades of cream and pink. The denim and leather had been traded for silk and tulle. Her smudged eyeliner was missing and blusher too bright.

She looked…frankly unnerving. The same sort of feeling one got when they looked at something that just didn’t look quite right.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re fine.”

“How is Astoria?”

“Fine. Better than last night.”

Hermione felt bad for inflicting the flash of pain that crossed the woman’s face. Pansy was particularly lifeless today. The fire that always seemed to fuel her was but embers.

“Right. Well,” Hermione dared to say, interrupting the unpleasant silence. “As I said, I don’t mean to interrupt. I was just looking for some of Draco’s brewing notes.”

“Don’t bother.” Pansy looked over her shoulder and levitated over a notebook. “I had an idea late last night, and Drake and I were working through it.”

The book landed in Hermione’s outstretched hands. Bound parchment full of scratches and scrawls. Some were the hurried but recognizable script Draco used, others a more messy printed writing. Diagrams and instructions. Debated directions.

It was a hell of an idea.

Hermione’s thoughts were stumbling over each other. “You want to create a mark?”

The center of potion research, a brewed mark was the concentrated essence of a desired substance that was then used to test any variety of remedies. It was how you ensured antidotes would actually work.

But marks were used with substances not curses.

“How?”

Pansy sighed. “I have a few ideas.”

“But that means… You have it, don’t you?”

Apathetic as ever, Pansy asked, “Would you like to see it?”

Did she?

Could she?

It didn’t matter. Hermione knew she needed to. If they pursued this route, it would require a great deal of time spent around the object. Best to get comfy with it now.

“Alright.”

Without a word, Pansy walked towards the back of the room and stopped in front of a painting. Tucked away near the corner of the back wall was an acid etched frame. Inside lay an eerie scene: A river flowing through a rotting forest, a hunched over figure with hidden features draped in a cloak.

When Pansy stopped in front of it, the figure slowly stood and turned, revealing themselves. It wasn’t a cloak they wore. Rather, the figure was covered entirely by a thin sheet which stretched taut against their face. You could make out the expression beneath- currently a silent scream- with the fabric running over it in riverlets.

A whispered password was exchanged, quiet enough Hermione couldn’t make it out.

Head bowed, the painting slid open.

There must have been wards around the painting as well, maybe additional layers of disillusionment charms, all of which Pansy had wordlessly removed. Because as she stood there now, hole in the wall exposed, she could feel powerful magic radiating.

Wand in hand, Pansy took her time removing protective barriers and shields. Hermione had no idea how long it took, but she swore the sun shone brighter by the time Pansy finally stepped back. A single barrier still wrapped around the item as it levitated inside the wall. Stepping back, she let Hermione take a step forward to investigate.

It was then and only then she got her first glimpse of the item. A small blade. Perhaps even a letter opener. Shiny despite its vintage appearance. Intricately carved runes covered the handle. She could also make out the sheen of glowing shields wrapped tightly around the object, underneath what she had previously thought was the last barrier.

They took no chances with the blade that had cut and cursed Astoria.

“That’s…” Hermione couldn’t bring herself to finish the question, as much as she needed to audibly hear confirmation, but Pansy understood nonetheless.

“That’s it in all its hellish glory.”

Hermione took a few steps closer, stepping right beside Pansy. She couldn’t bring herself to look away from the blade. This one item threatened to end a life, upended so many others. How many individuals had been brought to their knees because of it? And it was only half the size of the blade that Bellatrix had used on Hermione, if that.

“It’s so small.”

Pansy was studying Hermione with disgust when she realized she had said her musing aloud.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean… I just… I hadn’t seen it and I didn’t think-”

“No one told you?” Pansy interrupted.

She shook her head. Pansy turned back towards the blade.

“Hermione, do you know the expected role of a Pureblood woman?”

She had a guess, but she didn’t think Pansy was actually seeking one.

“To be obedient,” Pansy answered for herself. “To not be too loud. To be nice and dainty.” She spoke the word with disgust. “And to have lots and lots of babies to pass along the family name.”

It was a tired narrative, but of course the problematic Pureblood families still thought that way. It was traditional, after all, and the Parkinson family was amongst the purest of Purebloods.

“So,” Pansy continued. “You can imagine how thrilled my parents were to have their daughter, their only child, with another woman. And well… My parents were close to Bella, mother especially. They shared their various tools and toys.”

No.

“I can remember everything about it, to this day. They were so far away, and I was sitting there on the couch, having a real strop at their reaction, let me tell you and… and… I couldn’t get to my wand quick enough-”

No no no no

Pansy let out a shuddering breath. Hands shaking, body tense as she stared at the blade in front of her. A tear slipped from her eye and trailed down her cheek.

“I should have never taken Astoria there. I should have told them alone. If she hadn’t been there then maybe…”

“Pansy,” Hermione sighed.

She took a step closer to the woman, before she considered if it was a good idea. But Pansy made no comment at their closeness. She simply looked at Hermione with shining eyes, too many tears threatening to spill over.

“You can’t blame yourself. It isn’t your fault, neither of you,” Hermione emphasized. She wanted Pansy to really hear every word she spoke. “You love her, as she loves you, and you tried to share that with your family. You did nothing wrong.”

Pansy didn’t reply, not that she needed to, not that it appeared she could. With a nod, she hastily began to wipe the tears from her face. Hermione took the moment to gather her own self, try and calm her breathing, push down the ache in her throat.

“I just need this to work,” Pansy redirected.

“It will.” It truly was a good plan, after all, if they could manage the feat. “Coupled with all the information on the curse we’ve all compiled so far, I think we can do this.”

“I just wish we had more.”

“Your parents…” Hermione edged, “Sounds as if they knew what it was.”

It was a perilous topic, but Hermione needed to ask. If someone who better understood the curse itself helped guide them in the right direction, it could change everything. Hell, she’d go herself if needed.

“Could we…could they be…persuaded?”

Pansy humourlessly cackled. Shook her head no. Took a breath. “They’re dead. Bodies were found two days later, when father failed to show at work. The aurors on the case believed he brewed a potion, poisoned my mother and then himself.”

She spoke monotonously. Emotionless. As empty as the gaze now trained on Hermione.

“Tragic, really.”

Tension crackled in the silence.

Questions left unasked. Thoughts unspoken.

Hermione tried to remember how to breathe.

“Pansy, there you are, I think… Hermione!” Draco’s sudden exclamation ripped her from the moment. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“I just-” She cleared her throat, trying to remember how to speak, “I just came over. Thought I’d help with brewing.”

“I suppose you were informed of our new idea?” Draco eyed the notebook still clutched in Hermione’s hand.

“The gist.”

“Very well. Pans is going to work on concentrating the curse while we-”

“That will have to wait until this evening, dear,” Pansy interrupted. “I have a meeting with store investors.”

Draco allowed himself to openly look her over. “You do look a mess, but I wasn’t going to say anything…”

With a huff, Pansy swatted the back of Draco’s head. “Can’t have a reformed Slytherin looking anything short of a harmless bunny.”

“That is…one way to describe it.” The judgement dripping off Draco’s voice was painfully and purposefully obvious, and though Pansy tried to hide how easy it riled her, she was fairly transparent today.

“Piss off.” Draco gave her the smallest of smiles, which she returned briefly before quickly putting it away and rolling her eyes.

“Want us to work on the essence?” he offered.

Pansy quickly declined. “I have three different ideas I want to try first.”

“Alright.”

“You’ll-”

“I found one last vile of Bristle in the back. Might as well test it out,” he finished for her.

Hermione nodded in agreement.

There was no reason to re-make the version brewed at Pansy’s store when they now had pure Bristle to work with. As the last ingredient they had yet to distill, it would be the last attempt to strengthen Hermione’s potion overall by first strengthening its ingredients.

Depending on who was successful today, they could decide if they’d make another version of Hermione’s potion with the distilled Bristle, if they’d proceed with attempting to make a mark from the curse, or both.

With a few final parting words, Pansy left.

Draco wasted no time. A flurry of action, he immediately began explaining to Hermione everything he and Pansy had discussed the night prior as he created two stacks of books atop his desk. Once he had given brewing instructions as well as assigned reading material and handed her the corresponding shrunken texts, he began replacing each protective layer around the cursed letter opener.

Hermione followed his lead. She immediately sprung into action, beginning the potion in the brewing room, flipping through texts and jotting down notes during breaks. Draco wordlessly joined her, and they continued working through the late afternoon.

The weight of Astoria’s hospitalization clearly weighed heavy on Draco, who sat hunched over before her. He had cast a glamour on himself, Hermione could tell, but it had apparently been a piss poor attempt, and she was starting to see through the edges of it. His eyes were red and swollen from shed tears of his own.

The sight made something in Hermione’s chest catch. In the past twenty-four hours, Hermione had witnessed multiple breakdowns. She had held Daphne and tried to support Pansy, in whatever distant and timid attempts she could make when the woman was as vicious as a real life snake. But the idea of Draco crying, likely alone because the stubborn git didn’t seem to let anyone in, until he had to glamour away the evidence…

It was quite clear this group was family.

“I didn’t realize you and Astoria were so close.”

The comment came out harsher than she intended, and she quickly scrambled to say something else. Anything better.

“I mean, you both were in the same house. And from Pureblood families, so I guess that means you ran in the same social circle throughout your life… So I guess that makes sense.”

Hermione was itching to say more, but she held her tongue, knowing it would likely only make things worse.

They sat in the darkness of the evening, room lit with flickering candles, as they waited for the next potion timer. Draco closed his final book, added it to the completed stack on his left, and took a large gulp of water from the cup in front of him. He ran his finger along the rim of the glass.

“We used to be married, Astoria and I,” Draco finally said.

What?

Wait.

What?

“You...What?” There were no other words Hermione could find, but Draco didn’t elaborate. “You were married?” she finally forced herself to ask, needing to hear him say it again.

He simply nodded. “It was in all the papers.”

Of course it had been. But there was also the black hole that was finding the cure for her own cursed cut. Surely this had all happened during that. News as big as a Pureblood wedding between those two would have been front page.

“But now you’re… not married?”

“Yes, Hermione.” He gave the smallest smile. “Now we are not married, or divorced as some say. She is married to Pansy.”

Hermione nodded absentmindedly, reminding herself she did in fact know that. She also knew she was still gaping, but her brain had stalled.

“Sorry, I just… I have been coming here every weekend for months, interacting with both of you for months, and…I had no idea.”

“Never came up,” he shrugged, all too innocently.

She didn’t expect him to say more. After all, this was Draco. The same man you had to pry information out of. But he was lost in his thoughts as he rested his head against the wall behind him. Eyes trained on the ceiling, thumb still idly wandering around the glass in grasp.

And he continued, “It was soon after the war. Been arranged prior, and it was…expected, I guess, so we did. None of us really knew what else to do. It was a safe path to follow. Familiar.”

Draco shrugged, trying too hard to come across as nonchalant. Hermione had noticed he always became so tense when the war was brought up.

“I love her. I loved her then, and I do now.”

“But…the marriage ended?”

“Didn’t we already review this?” She didn’t respond to his lashing out. Instead, she waited. He was opening up, and she needed to be wary of shutting him back down. “I was never in love with her,” he eventually elaborated.

He said it as if it was simple or obvious.

Hermione nodded because she really, truly understood that sentiment.

The timer went off, and Hermione removed the brew from the heat. The concentrated Bristle needed to be stabilized now. She poured a stabilizing elixir into an empty glass and carefully levitated the Bristle inside.

“It was fine... Comfortable.” He mulled over each word as he spoke it, saying each with a slight nod to indicate he had apparently deemed it fit. “But it wasn’t…”

“Extraordinary?” Hermione offered.

He nodded to answer her question. “We were happy enough. It was far more happiness than I ever expected to have, but it wasn’t enough.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Draco.”

He shrugged, nodded. Another drink. “Towards the end, she fell for Pansy, and I couldn’t… They’re happy now. Extraordinarily happy… And someone has to keep Pansy in line.”

Hermione scoffed, trying to imagine anyone who would actually ever be able to bring order to Pansy Parkinson.

He smiled briefly but it quickly turned sad. “Worked out for the best.”

Draco didn’t elaborate, not that he needed to. What else needed to be said?

Trying to provide the escape from the conversation she believed Draco may want, she turned to gather a new cauldron and the ingredients to brew a tester batch. There was still time left in the day to test the safety of the Bristle brew tonight. They could report it all to Pansy in the morning, during their next planning meeting.

Hermione turned in time to see Draco unstopping the vial and turning it up, swallowing down the contents.

“What-”

He started an additional timer, took another drink of his water, and sat back. Wordlessly. Casually.

Hermione advanced on him. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Testing it, as we planned.”

“As we planned?” Hermione’s laughter was full of vitriol and devoid of amusement. “We planned to safety test it as we always do, with a tester potion. We have time-”

“I saved some.”

Hermione rounded the table. When words failed her, she smacked him in the arm. “Do. You. Have. No. Regard. For. Your. Self?”

“Bloody hell, you’re strong.” He swatted at her hand, but she tossed it aside.

“Shut up.” She placed her hand under his chin, forced his head up so she could look in his eyes and check his pupillary size. Going through the checklist in her head, she examined him. The timer eventually sounded, but she ignored it and continued on. When she pushed against his outstretched palm to check his strength there, he wavered. But the smirk on his face told her it was intentional.

Fuck all.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“You told me not to speak.”

The look she gave must have spoke of her fire, for he quickly added he felt fine.

Fine.

As if he hadn’t just turned himself into a human test subject.

“If there was going to be an intense reaction, it likely would have happened immediately.” He made a note on the paper in front of him. “Good news.”

“Good news,” she mocked, still spitting venom even as Theo stumbled into the potion room. He greeted them, but Hermione could barely make out the words over the pulsing in her ears. “Are you having a laugh?”

“Pardon?” Theo asked.

“Don’t,” Draco stated, more demand than request.

“Don’t tell me to don’t.”

“Come off it, Hermione, I’m fine.”

Theo looked back and forth between them. “Did I interrupt-”

“You,” Hermione pointed sharply at Draco, “do not get to do that. You do not get to be reckless with your own life.”

He started to speak, but Hermione kept on, unwilling to hear him. No, he needed to hear her. He needed to understand how serious she was.

“I know you want to help her, Draco. I get it. I do, too. We all do. But this, dangerously cutting corners, is not the way, and you bloody well know it. A lot of people give a fuck what happens to you, including me.”

The admission to him- and to herself- made her uncomfortable. She hated the vulnerability that came with caring for people. She despised this very feeling of fearing for someone else’s life. It was a feeling she hoped she had left behind with the war, but apparently habits die hard.

She needed to get out of there. To breathe. To escape. Draco looked to be in shock, as did Theo from where he stood beside her. Draco shouldn't be left alone, but Theo was there, and she wasn’t exactly in a state to care for him now.

Hermione could barely hear over her own gasping breaths when she spoke again. “Get your shit together.”

And when she turned to leave, she didn’t stop ‘til she had locked the floo behind her.

Chapter Text

Hermione dreaded seeing Draco the following morning. His behavior had been rash as hell, sure, but she also was still swallowing down her own embarrassment at her reaction. And feeling vulnerable was something she always had trouble shaking.

As if the universe had heard Hermione’s pleas, she was called into work bright and early.

While her job rarely required unscheduled call-ins, particularly on the weekend, there had been some sort of breach in the Magical Transportation department’s security, and thus each department was issued new warding parameters to follow. And she was the only one who could install such for her department.

She owled Pansy to inform her, lingering anger keeping her from bothering to inform Draco, and went to the office.

Between sorting through the overly complicated warding instructions issued out and the sporadic arrival of Pansy’s messages, it was nearing evening by the time Hermione was finally gathering her belongings to head home.

Tired as she was, the day had been a success. Her office was secure. A plan had been created for Astoria: they would continue the slow-going mark work while she took the Bristle infused potion. And though Hermione was questioning if this exhausting day had actually been a gift from the universe or more of a punishment, she felt comfort knowing all was well.

She was still dreaming of a steaming bath with a side of takeout when the patronus arrived.

A floating silvery figure swam into the room. The beaver stopped in front of her, seeming to bow its head in greeting. Then, it relayed the message in his voice: Can we talk?

Great.

Despite her exhaustion, she sent her patronus with a message of acceptance. And ten minutes later, she sat on her couch as Oliver Wood stepped through her floo.

He approached slowly, almost uncomfortably. Sitting next to her, he seemed to struggle to find words, not that he needed to. It was quite clear why he was here.

Oliver finally settled on, “You stopped calling.”

“So did you.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes as he nodded. He didn’t appear upset, and honestly neither was she. They used to meet often, usually multiple times throughout any single week. And now… Now their calls were sporadic, and quite frankly they had both seemed distracted when they did meet.

This, whatever this had been, felt like it had reached its end.

“Hey. It’s okay,” she assured him. “I think it’s time, too.”

Oliver visibly relaxed slightly at the words. “Oh. Good. That’s good then.”

“Is there someone…?” Hermione prompted, curious.

“Yeah, there’s someone.” Oliver smiled briefly at the thought. “I just haven’t done the whole relationship thing in a while. And I can’t get myself to make a move yet. Afraid I’ll muck it up before it’s even had a chance to be something.”

“I think you putting that much thought and intention into it already is a good sign.”

“I hope… What about you?”

Hermione shook her head no. “I think I need some time. To figure out more about myself and what I want. Not really looking to jump into anything.”

“Understandable,” he agreed, though there seemed to be more he wanted to say. He sat too tall and rigid, shoulders up against his ears in the way he always held himself when he was stressed. “Hermione, I… It’s just… You really are wonderful and-”

“Oliver, stop. You don’t have to do the whole break-up thing. We weren’t together.”

“No, but I respect you. And I enjoyed our arrangement.”

Arrangement. The way he said the word made Hermione smile. The formality of it when the images now flashing through her mind were anything but.

“Me too,” she agreed, enjoying the embarrassed flush that covered his face. She nudged his shoulder playfully with her own, making him flush harder. He always had been so much more reserved than she had been.

He still couldn’t look up at her when he admitted, “I just want to make sure the friends part of this comes out unscathed.”

“It will,” she assured him. And when he nodded half-assedly, she gently touched his elbow to get his attention. Waiting until he looked at her, she said once again, “It will. Promise.”

For the first time that evening, Oliver smiled a genuine Oliver Wood smile. He pulled her into his arms for a hug, and she collapsed into it. He had always been capable of melting every negative emotion away, as if his touch alone could pull them from her skin.

It was time to end this, yes, but damn she would really miss that.

“You’re so tense,” he whispered against her neck. The brush of his lips against her skin tickled, but the touch quickly became more as he kissed the sensitive skin there.

“Oliver!” she gasped, jumping away, still giggling as he pulled her back into him. She didn’t fight him. It really would feel nice to turn her mind off for a while.

“It’s like a goodbye…of sorts,” he reasoned between kisses.

“And do you tell all your friends goodbye like this?”

He pulled back, pondering this as he started undoing the buttons of her blouse. Eventually he shrugged and winked at her. “Just the ones I really like.”

–

The following work week was fresh hell.

The temporary mind-numbing bliss Hermione had found the night prior was long gone, replaced by hours-long meetings and stacks of paperwork. In a perfect storm, Hermione’s recent potential hire for the academic head of her department abruptly pulled their application without warning, three schools sent in detailed inquiry owls, and there was yet another breach with the Department of Transportation. Meaning all her work from the weekend was useless.

And, worst of all, Ariana was sick. Unquestionably, miserably sick. Aware of the chaos in the department she had come into the office anyway, but one look at her and Hermione had sent her home with pay. Ariana’s health came first, and Hermione would make do without.

Though that meant late days, everyday, all week.

Pansy updated her via owl, but she didn’t make it in-person to check on Astoria until Friday evening. Much to her surprise, she floo’d over to Draco’s to find the bright sounds of Astoria’s laugh echoing through the halls. Sitting next to Pansy, she sipped on a butterbeer, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever.

“Hermione!” she squealed, jumping out of her seat, throwing her arms around Hermione, almost sending them both toppling over. Thankfully Theo had quick reflexes, and he had put an arm around her back to stop them in time. She gave him a nod of gratitude as Astoria finally pulled away.

“Story, careful or you’ll send the poor girl to Mungo’s,” Pansy playfully warned.

Astoria sheepishly apologized but Hermione waved it off. It was so good to see her so full of life. She could tackle her any day, everyday even, if it meant she felt good enough to.

“I’m so glad you could make it tonight. Come sit! Sit!” Astoria pulled her along to a seat at the table beside her. “Someone get her a drink!”

“I can get it-”

“Oh no you don’t.” Astoria latched onto her tight, refusing to let her move. “You’re going to sit right here and rest. Honestly, Hermione. I haven’t seen you all week, and we were supposed to make a lemon lavender loaf with Poppy. And I just… I thought the changes you were making in your Department meant less work, not more.”

“I’m trying. Believe me.”

“You’re going to work yourself to death.”

“Would you stop? I’m fine. You are the one who needs fussed over.”

“Believe me when I say I’m fine. This lot did plenty of that last weekend.”

Hermione took time to really examine her. “You really do feel better?”

“I really do.”

A glass of amber colored liquid slid across the table, pulling her attention from Astoria. Draco settled back in his seat across the table, a fresh drink in front of him now as well. They had yet to talk since her verbal explosion, but she was too tired to deal with this right now.

“What is this?” Hermione asked.

“A peace offering.”

“It looks like a firewhisky.”

“That as well, and a strong one at that,” Draco agreed. She was still debating whether to relent so easily when he added, “I’m sorry. About before.”

Somewhere, in some dimension, somehow, hell must have frozen over. Because Draco had willingly -and without any tells of occlusion walls visible- apologized. To her. Freely.

“You’re getting better at this apologizing thing,” she observed.

“Maybe one day I won’t have to quite as often.”

Hermione smirked. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Not that disgusting whisky, Drake,” Astoria whined. “Get her a butterbeer.”

Before Hermione could insist this was perfectly fine, Draco replied, “She doesn’t like it as much. Too sweet.”

She hated to admit it but he was right. Her taste for butterbeer had evaporated with her youth. And he knew it based on the smug expression on his face as he took a sip of his own drink.

Observant bastard.

“Blaise, come along,” Pansy whined. “You were just getting to the good part.”

“I don’t know if I would call a week- one single week- without a screaming match good,” he rebutted.

“Oh honey, it is,” Astoria assured him. “It’s real progress. You deserve to brag a little.”

Pansy agreed. “Besides, I want to hear how you managed it.”

“Kind as ever, Pans.” He sighed, took another drink, before continuing. “To be honest I was nervous after Monday when-”

“Her-mi-o-ne!”

The shriek was loud, angry, and seemingly unending as it bounced around and echoed throughout the house.

It was a familiar shriek.

Ginny?

“Who has access to my floo?” Draco asked, wand ready.

“Bloody hell,” Blaise called out, clutching his chest and breathing hard from the sudden scare. “I didn’t even hear the floo activate.”

“Hermione mother fucking Granger, where are you?” Ginny yelled, loudly storming about.

She winced, trying to decide if she should call out or if maybe, just maybe, Ginny would give up and leave.

“I didn’t know that was your middle name, Granger. I rather like it,” Pansy commented, snarkily.

“Your mother really missed that opportunity, huh?” Theo asked Pansy, earning him an eye roll and the bird.

Ginny rounded the corner, looking all of the natural disaster she was. Eventually her eyes fell on Hermione and she quickly advanced on her. “You have missed so many weekly dinners, I can’t even keep track anymore.”

“Ginevra, how…”

“Not now,” Ginny snapped, cutting Draco off.

Hermione huffed, suddenly very embarrassed of her friend. “Ginny, you can’t just…”

Ginny’s mouth dropped and she took another step closer, practically on top of Hermione now. “Don’t you tell me what I can’t do. You’ve blown me off how many times now?”

“I insist, I really must know-”

“Draco, calm down, let the woman finish.” Pansy settled into her chair with her butterbeer clasped in her hands, prepared for the show.

Ginny opened her mouth to snap at Pansy but then uttered an unsure thank you once she realized Pansy was on her side.

“Weekly dinners?” Theo asked, too nosy for his own good.

“Hermione and I have plans. Long-standing plans. Every week. For years.” Ginny’s tone cut through the air.

“Hermione,” Astoria gasped. Hermione accidentally looked her way, and her big eyes were trained on her with hurt vividly inscribed there.

“Ginny,” Hermione warned. She had never wanted Astoria to know.

“Don’t,” Ginny snapped. “I understood when you needed to miss a couple. I know what you’re doing and how important it is.”

“There’s also been work-”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about work,” Ginny seethed. “I have barely heard from you these past few months. Harry sees you more than I do! And to make matters even worse, I had to learn from Wood, from Wood himself,” she said with extra emphasis, “that you ended things with him.”

“Oh fuck,” Theo whispered.

“Ginny!” Hermione gasped.

Astoria audibly gasped and turned on Hermione, as if she were Caesar himself. “You’re in a relationship and didn’t tell us?”

“It wasn’t that kind of relationship,” Ginny replied, glaring at Hermione.

“Hermione Granger!” Pansy cackled. “You and Wood were just shagging? For how long?”

“Off and on for months.” Ginny shrugged, seemingly uncaring she was divulging personal information to everyone.

“Oh fuck,” Theo gasped, sounding too delighted for his own damn good.

Hermione’s mouth physically dropped. She was internally seething. “Ginevra, if you don’t stop talking I’m either kicking your ass or hexing you hard enough that not even Harry Potter himself will be able to undo it.”

Now it was Ginny’s turn to gawk. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Hermione just glared back.

Ginny sighed. “Bollocks, I’m being a right bitch, aren’t I?”

“Oh, don’t give in that easily, Ginevra,” Pansy whined. Hermione turned her glare on Pansy, who immediately held up her hands with wide eyes.

Standing, Hermione hooked Ginny’s arm and dragged her out the dining room and down the hall towards the bathroom. After shutting the doors, she cast a particularly strong silencing ward, knowing full well Theo would have his ear pressed to the door outside trying to listen.

Hermione took a deep breath. “How did you even find out?”

“Honestly? Did you forget I’m part of the same Quidditch league? I saw him this morning at a brunch.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

Ginny recoiled, as if physically wounded. “Not that big a deal? We used to spend hours chatting about a bloke you just fancied, and now you can’t even find the spare time to tell me you stopped shagging one? Hermione, you used to talk to me about… well, everything. When did you stop? When did we stop? Because I’m here, Hermione. I’m trying to be here. Why won’t you let me?”

Hermione was flooded with guilt and shame. She had sworn to herself she wouldn’t let it be like this again. Not after last time.

“Gin… I’m sorry. I…” Hermione pressed her palms to her temples, partially hiding her face, partially willing it all to not be true.

She had promised herself, sworn on everything to every deity, that she would not push them away again. And yet here she was, isolating herself, doing the same shit. Again.

She sighed exasperatedly.

“Hey.” Ginny not-so-gently pried her hands from her face and forced her to look at her. “Enough. Stop whatever mental anguish you’re inflicting upon yourself.”

“But I-”

“I know. But I’m tired of yelling today, and you look like hell any way. I don’t think you need me to add to it.”

“Oh, gods,” Hermione sighed. She didn’t need to look in the mirror firmly kept behind her to know what it would show. “I do look of hell, don’t I?”

“Afraid so.”

“My natural state anymore I’m afraid.” She gave a timid smile to Ginny, who wasn’t having any of it and quickly grabbed her to pull her into a tight embrace. “I really am sorry, Gin. I’ll do better. I promise.”

Ginny somehow hugged her even tighter. “Forget it all. Just tell me you’re coming to dinner next week.”

“Of course,” Hermione assured her. She pulled away from Ginny but collected her hands within hers and held them gently. “Want me to cook?”

“No,” Ginny said quickly. Too quickly. Hermione glared, but that just made Ginny laugh. “What? You can bake any time, but cooking? No thank you.”

“Fine.” Hermione couldn’t help but laugh as well. She truly was a piss poor cook. “Harry cooking then?”

“If he’s home,” she sighed. “His schedule has been horrendous as well.”

Hermione nodded. “So, takeaway?”

“Takeaway,” Ginny agreed. At least what Hermione made was edible. Usually Ginny’s creations required spellwork to correct to a digestible state.

“I love you, Gin.”

“I know.” As they walked back towards the kitchen, Ginny bumped her hip into Hermione’s. “I love you, too.”

“Awh, leaving so soon, Ginevra?” Pansy inquired.

“Stay!” Astoria pat the seat beside her. “Have a drink with us.”

If Ginny was taken back by the offer it didn’t show as she declined.. The Harpies awaited. She wasn’t two steps out of the kitchen when Hermione turned to find every eye on her. Bright eyes and wide smiles partially hidden behind held up hands or turned up glasses.

“Alright. Get it over with.” Hermione motioned to the group. “Ask questions. Make jokes. All the comments about me and Oliver Wood. Get it all out of your system.”

They could do their worst. She had grown up at The Burrow, years spent getting hell from the Twins. Whatever teasing this group could muster would pale in comparison.

But Hermione was very, very wrong.

–

Astoria ultimately convinced them to go to the pub.

Not that it was hard. On a typical day, Astoria had enough pull to be able to persuade any of them to do about anything for her, and today she had the additional sick card to use. One comment about finally feeling better, and they were done. It had practically already been decided prior to Daphne floo’ing to Draco’s and joining in on the pleas for an evening out, but it helped nonetheless.

“Gra-nger!” Pansy called out, throwing her arms up in the air, clearly pissed out of her mind.

Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. She had only been gone long enough to retrieve a new drink, but it was apparently sufficient time for drunken Pansy to miss her. The woman threw her arms around Hermione, pulling her in tight for a hug.

Theo cackled. “I love drunk Pansy.”

She flicked him on the nose a little too hard. “You love me all the time.” Her eyes found Draco, and she jumped him. She wrapped him up in a hug he was unprepared for, practically in his lap and having to climb her way haphazardly off.

Theo assisted but laughed the entire time. “But I love you a little more like this.”

“Can’t wait to let you relive this one in the pensive tomorrow,” Draco muttered. He was flushed, likely from the personal contact. He didn’t seem to initiate much and certainly not in public.

“Please let me be there for that,” Theo begged.

“Gra-nger! Play with us!” Pansy bellowed as they made their way back to the table.

“What are we playing?” Hermione asked.

“We settled on Drink and Dare. Ever heard of it?” Theo asked from beside her. She shook her head. “Quite simple really. A statement is made. Disagree, you drink. After someone has to drink five times, they have to complete a dare.”

“What kind of statements?” Hermione asked hesitantly, trying to feel out the vibe.

“Whatever you want,” Astoria replied. “They can be silly or funny or scandalous.” She did a little dance in her seat at the word, making Hermione giggle.

“Alright. Who starts?”

“Me!” Pansy exclaimed. She rocked back and forth in her seat as she thought, took another drink, and finally said, “I have never stood anyone up.”

“You’ve never done that?”

Hermione didn’t mean to ask it aloud but thankfully Pansy didn’t seem offended at the implication. She just shrugged it all off. “No. I would just have told them I didn’t like them.”

Of course.

No one moved after the declaration. In fact, it had all but been chalked up to a null statement with Blaise already thinking of his to pose when Hermione finally got the nerve to take a drink.

“Hermione Granger!” Theo was gaping at her. Pansy turned, and once her alcohol soaked brain understood what was happening, she gasped and pointed.

“It was a dark time, alright?” Hermione tried to hide her face as Pansy continued to taunt her. “Can we move on? I can even go!” Blaise only nodded for her to continue, so she posed, “If I saw someone drop their money pouch, I would return it.”

Theo chuckled, whispering of course you would under his breath and earning an elbow to the side from Hermione. Of course Theo drank, but when Astoria drank as well, the entire table erupted.

“I have to live while I can,” Astoria shrugged, smiling.

Hermione knew the humor was a coping mechanism, and she was quite familiar with it herself, but it still was hard to swallow. She took a drink, as did everyone else, no question required.

Blaise was the first to speak. “Alright, I’ve got one. I have never lied about being sick so I can miss work.”

The entire table stilled.

“Truly?” Draco asked.

“That’s rubbish,” Theo muttered.

All eyes were on Blaise, who was having to defend himself. It was only when Daphne, who worked with him every day and would of course truly know such things, vouched for him.

“And I’m the one with the goody-good swot reputation?” Hermione rolled her eyes as she took a drink along with everyone else sans Blaise.

They continued on, round the table.

Eventually Theo was dared to dance on the table- which almost got them kicked out of the pub- and Astoria was dared to get the bartender to teach her how to mix a drink- which took minimal persuasion on Astoria’s part and she ultimately learned the recipe for the Golden Girl, much to Hermione’s discomfort. She despised anything named after her- a real shudder inducing thought- and she really really hated having the entire table encouraging it by drinking a round of them.

She also detested how good it tasted.

“Alright, alright. Enough about it.” Hermione spoke over Theo, who would not let it go. “I…would… Oh, I would never cheat on an exclusive partner.”

Hermione looked at Theo, without meaning to.

He gasped, clutching his heart. “I’ll have you know I’ve always been faithful. I’m hurt!” He made a face at her, but his playful shove showed he wasn’t too gutted.

To Hermione’s surprise, Astoria turned bright red. Her eyes slid over to Draco then back again, now boring a hole into the butterbeer in her hand. She quickly took a drink, unable to look up from the table afterwards. Hermione felt the weight of this realization settle upon her.

Astoria had cheated on Draco?

She had been the only one to drink. Pansy quickly took over, rambling on as she tried to think of the next question, filling the silence with anything she could think of as Daphne whispered something to Astoria. But Pansy was too drunk now, and as Blaise fished for a sobering potion from her purse, Daphne thankfully broke away from Astoria and took over for Pansy.

“I…” Daphne mulled it over, taking her time as she thought. Finally her eyes lit up. “I believe in soulmates.”

Hermione and Draco both immediately took a drink, earning whines from around the table.

“Granger, seriously? I knew this wanker would drink, but not even you, Golden Girl, believe in the romantic concept of soulmates?” Theo asked. “Color me shocked.”

Hermione just shrugged. She was not prepared to get into that debate tonight.

“Wait!” Pansy screeched. “That’s five for our sweet, sweet Her-mi-one!”

Blaise tried to quiet Pansy as he handed over the Sobering Potion. And though she took it, she chased it with alcohol.

“Dare time,” Theo said with a mischievous grin, rubbing his hands together.

“I’ve got one,” Daphne offered up. She nudged Astoria conspiratorially. And even though she was still colored with shame, she appeared to try and focus back in on the game. “I dare you to go hit on someone.”

“Ooh, I like this,” Theo nodded. “Bonus points if they come to you first.”

“Oh come on,” Hermione whined.

“Go, Hermione!” Daphne exclaimed. “Put yourself out there. You ended things with Wood. You need someone-”

“How did you even know about that?” Hermione interrupted. After all, Daphne hadn’t been there when Ginny stormed in and spilled Hermione’s secret, and it had quite literally been only a few hours prior.

“Oh, honey,” Astoria sighed.

“You’re with the Slytherins now,” Theo cackled. “Gossip travels fast, and you casually shagging Wood was gossip of the finest quality.”

“Go on then,” Daphne smirked.

“Da-phne!” Hermione whined, staring wide-eyed at the minx she once considered sweet. Her only response now was a shrug. No one else challenged the dare or posed another thus sealing her fate.

“Alright.” Theo leaned over close. “What’s the plan?”

Hermione considered this. “...Use my assets.”

Stepping out of the booth, she turned to the bar. Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she made her way over, subtly taking a deep, calming breath along the way. Her magic was tingling through her and across her skin as she walked.

Once there, she stopped in front of a drink menu. Her elbow rested against the countertop so she could appear to effortlessly rest there, but she made sure to pop her arse out as she did. She could tell out of the corner of her eye that the man at the bar on her left was certainly turned towards her now.

One hand weaved into her hair to run through it and toss the lot off to the side. It rained down in a curtain around her face on the right side, leaving her left more exposed.

As she pretended to read over the menu, movement caught in her periphery. The man edged closer.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Hermione couldn’t help the smirk that crossed her face. “I don’t accept drinks from strangers,” she replied, still looking down.

“I’m Andrew. Andrew Calloway,” he introduced. “Now I’m not a stranger.”

Hermione glanced to her left, finding a devious smile and glittering brown eyes looking at her. “Alright, Andrew.”

“What would you like?”

“You tell me,” she purred, sliding the menu across the bar top towards him.

Twin dimples appeared on either side of his bright smile. He really was quite handsome. “And what do I get if I choose correctly?”

“What do you want?”

“To take you out,” he answered, without hesitation.

She turned fully towards him then, partially sizing him up, partially making him wait for an answer. He stayed steady under her gaze and the passing time.

“Alright.”

“Do I get a name or am I buying a drink for a stranger?”

She leaned over to whisper to him, making sure to lean just enough to slowly and lightly rub against his arm, before abruptly turning and walking away. She threw a wink over her shoulder before sliding back into the booth.

“And…?” Daphne asked, a huge smile on her face.

“Give it a minute,” Hermione replied.

“Her-mi-one,” Pansy whined.

“Patience is a virtue,” Hermione sang.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “One I don’t have.”

Theo nudged her, face broken out into the widest grin. “Using your ass-ets, huh?”

“Arse-ets?” she corrected, unable to hold a straight face as she broke into laughter with Theo.

A short glass appeared in front of her then. It was filled with a translucent liquid with a thin layer of blue hovering at the top. As she watched, the blue clouded over until it was opaque, and tiny navy droplets slowly descended from the surface.

It was raining in her glass.

A small lightning bolt struck within it, hitting the bottom with a flash, and then the drink was swirling as it mixed together.

With a wave of her hand, she cast a silent and wandless detection charm she had learned long ago. When it indicated the drink had not been drugged, she took a sip.

It was crisp and light. Slightly sweet and tasting like berries. As she swallowed, a sour jolt shot through her tongue.

Impressive.

She was unable to keep the smile off her face, and when she looked up, he was smiling at her. He flicked his finger, and a napkin appeared in front of her with script written on it.

Sorello’s. Tomorrow, 7 pm.

Hermione was shocked to see the chosen restaurant. It was the latest craze in the wizarding world. Though she’d never been there, she had seen countless reviews raving about their unique pasta flavors and decadent desserts.

Harry had tried to get reservations there for an Anniversary celebration with Ginny. It had been booked for months, even for Harry Potter.

How had not-a-stranger Andrew pulled off reservations there?

Looking up, he shrugged at her. She nodded, making him smile. Andrew stood, placed a few galleons on the table in front of him, and then he was gone.

The door hadn’t yet shut behind him when Daphne squealed.

Hermione took another sip of the drink, honestly impressed. She mentally made a note to ask the bartender what it was called. She’d be ordering this one again.

“This is quite good. Anyone want to try?”

Astoria and Theo immediately both reached for it. Pulling it towards them, they took turns sampling and making comments to each other.

“Wow.” Draco sat up high, peering across the bar to look at the napkin in her hands. “Nice place for a bar date.”

As subtle as it was, she still didn’t miss the judgement in his tone.

Daphne squealed again. “Is it somewhere nice?”

“Where does he want to take you?” Pansy asked, leaning forward in an attempt to see for herself.

“Sorello’s,” Draco replied for her.

“No!” Daphne gasped. Pansy’s mouth fell open.

“Perhaps he’s trying to make up for something,” Draco suggested.

Hermione couldn’t hold in her laughter. “You expect me to believe you wouldn’t pick somewhere just as ostentatious?”

His mouth dropped ever so slightly at the question, and Hermione could have swore she saw his cheeks pinking lightly.

“Of course I would,” he finally said. A sip of firewhisky. “But I would at least choose a proper place. Somewhere that isn’t a media circus full of gimmicky food.”

“Draco’s just jealous,” Theo laughed, sliding the drink back to Hermione.

Now Hermione knew his cheeks were pinking.

But what could he have to be jealous of her about? Hermione was an honest enough woman to admit that he was quite fit. His face was objectively handsome, and his impeccable style had a way of playing up his frame. If he wanted a date, surely he could find one easily enough.

“He’s upset no one asked him to Sorello’s,” Theo went on. “Do you need us to dare you as well?”

Draco scoffed. “I don’t need a dare to get a date.”

He gestured to the drink in front of her. A request to try it. Hermione smiled, gave him the bird instead, and took a long drink herself.

“Boys, boys,” Astoria chided. “We have important business to discuss.”

“We do!” Daphne agreed quickly, tossing the napkin back to Hermione. “Are you going to go?”

“Yeah, Granger, are you going?” Pansy asked. She only ever used her last name when she was pissed.

Sure enough, looking down the table, Hermione could see Pansy biting the inside of her flushed cheeks, gaze lingering on Astoria too long, slightly unfocused gaze as she looked around.

Definitely pissed. Again.

“I told him my name was Daphne, so I better not.” She looked at the napkin, considering the script. “And I wandlessly, wordlessly charmed my face to look like yours,” Hermione added, sliding the napkin back across the table. “So I hope you like gimmicky food.”

“Hermione!” Daphne gasped, gawking.

Theo’s laughter roared from beside her. “Bloody hell, I fucking love you.”

Chapter Text

Adulthood was cruel.

Somewhere between the neverending bills and house chores, the overwhelming responsibilities and self-care of the not-fun variety, Hermione had surmised as much. But she was reminded of it again on Ginny’s birthday. When Ginny had to work.

But, regardless of unfortunate scheduling, Hermione had promised to be better for her friend and today was the chance to show she meant it.

Ginny would be rising with the sun, so under the light of the still high moon, Hermione made her way to Ginny’s favorite pastry shop for fresh chelsea buns and the muggle coffee shop that served the best caffè mocha. The floo was open for Hermione- thanks to Harry- and she left the lot on the counter under strong stasis charms.

She had spoken with Ariana and Draco to ensure she would be free for dinner that evening and corresponded with Harry regarding picking up takeaway. And though she had delivered treats once already, that didn’t stop Hermione from stepping through the floo clutching a bottle of Bumblebubble Elixir and a large chocolate tarte.

But when she arrived at Grimmauld, she was greeted by chaos.

“What was I supposed to do, Gin? I had no better choice!” Harry yelled. Neither he nor Ginny acknowledged Hermione, if they even noticed her at all.

“Don’t you raise your voice at me, Harry Potter.” Her tone was acidic as she spoke, face red and puffy, tears slipping down her face. The hand she held out was shaking.

Hermione suddenly felt quite foolish standing there; a fuck in a party hat. She quickly pulled it off her head and turned away from the argument on display, pretending to be very enthralled by the birthday banner hanging from the ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” Harry sighed. She could see him in her periphery, moving closer to his wife. “I’m just so frustrated. This has been going on for months! And Kingsley is doing fuck all about it.”

Hermione watched as Harry took Ginny’s shaking hands into his own. He leaned his forehead against hers, and she inhaled deeply and sighed in relief, as if breathing him in.

I shouldn’t be here.

Quickly but quietly, Hermione turned to the floo. She’d return to her apartment, give them a few moments together, and try again later. As she pulled out a handful of green floo powder, she debated if she should come back at all. If she should owl instead, perhaps. If…

“Hermione, you can stay.” Ginny’s voice was mild and very un-Ginny as she spoke. They had separated, Ginny pulling away and muttering something about ‘needing a moment’ before excusing herself.

“I can go,” Hermione protested.

“Nonsense.” Harry shook his head, but his eyes were still tear-filled, and he looked thoroughly exhausted.

Hermione clutched the floo powder tighter, debating whether to stay or leave.

“Please stay,” Harry pleaded. “I think I speak for both Gin and I when I say we need and welcome the distraction and comforting presence.”

Hermione was still unsure, but she put the floo powder back in its jar. She didn’t ask what the fight was about, but it seemed Harry was ready to fill her in regardless.

“A medic was killed in the field a while back,” Harry explained. “Good man, incredibly brilliant, but he was unfamiliar with the dark curse at the scene.”

Hermione vaguely remembered the newspaper article in the Prophet describing the situation. The moving picture on the cover: a woman clutching her child, both sobbing while Aurors shuffled around them at the site of the accident. It was an intimate picture the Prophet should never have published, but that was an entirely separate fight.

“I remember. I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“We’ve put in safeguards since,” Harry continued. “We’re doing everything we can to keep it from happening again, but now medics refuse to go anywhere near a case with dark magic involvement. And considering we’re still cleaning up after Voldemort…”

Dark magic would be everywhere.

“I had a close call on scene today...and thankfully I knew a counter curse, but it really upset Ginny.”

Hermione nodded, unable to speak as his words tumbled through her mind. The idea of Harry being hurt… “I can see why.”

“As can I,” Harry added quickly, nodding. “But, I don’t know what to do to reassure her I’ll be okay when…”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Hermione understood it would be empty assurances. Even if Harry wasn’t an auror putting his life on the line daily, no one could ever be entirely sure they were safe.

“Hermione…” Harry looked at her with tear filled eyes, his voice shaking. “I don’t want her to be another crying widow on the front of the Prophet because some wanker started dabbling in volatile dark magic.”

Hermione shuddered at the image. As quick as it came, she forced the thought away. She needed to remain focused on Harry, and images like that would do no good.

“I know the most about dark magic out of anyone on the team, but it’s still not enough. And I’m sure as hell not competent enough in medic healing.”

Hermione nodded, remembering the last time Harry had cast a healing spell on her. She had tripped and fell, dropping the glass of water in her hand, and landing on the shards. He only did as much magic as was needed to stop the bleeding before apparating them to Mungo’s, but the healers there actually had to undo some of Harry’s spells.

For someone who had literally saved the magical world from Voldemort, with more power in his veins than he knew what to do with, he sure was bollocks at healing. And if he was the best the aurors had…

Hermione mentally put on her problem solving hat. This was an area of comfort for her. Understand the problem, analyze needs and barriers, collaborate on the solution. She could do this.

“What about the healer academy? Are there any recruits you can bring on?”

Harry shook his head. “They’ve only recently even begun talking about adding that to the healer curriculum.”

“Even once they add it, we’re years out from sufficiently trained healers,” Hermione concluded, Harry just nodding in agreement. She switched thought paths. “Then what about those already trained? Have you spoken to Mungo’s?”

“No one there has the dark arts knowledge we need,” Harry sighed. “And the people who are familiar with dark magic don’t have the healer training we need for a medic.”

“Could you bring on multiple people? A healer and a dark arts specialist?” Hermione asked.

“Possibly,” Harry sighed, running his hands through his hair. “But I’m hesitant to do so because they would have no idea about interactions between the two. We’d be guessing, and I don’t feel comfortable sending a team out unless I feel confident they are as protected as possible.”

Silence consumed the room as they both thought. There seemed to be no simple answer to the problem.

Hermione leaned against the bar behind her, still thinking, as Ginny returned to the room. She walked over to Harry and kissed his cheek lightly, speaking to him softly with words Hermione couldn’t make out.

Giving them as much privacy as she could manage, Hermione made her way to the kitchen and mindlessly poured a glass of water.

As was the case with so many flaws in the magical community, systemic level barriers were gatekeeping important information. If the community armed its citizens with knowledge instead of instilling fear related to dark magic, they would be more properly prepared.

While such long-term thinking would be important, it would do little for them now, and she needed to focus on helping Harry find a short-term solution.

She wondered if maybe they could bring in someone from another country. If no one in England understood both healing and dark magic, then perhaps someone elsewhere would. They just needed to assess individuals working at hospitals who had sufficient exposure to dark magic.

A thought suddenly struck Hermione, one she was ashamed she hadn’t thought of before, and interrupted her musing. Bursting out of the kitchen, she rushed back to the living room where Harry and Ginny were talking.

“Harry,” Hermione interrupted. “I think I have an idea.”

--

The pub was more crowded than typical, particularly for a weeknight. Almost every booth was taken, there was standing room only at the bar, and from the looks of it they had called in another bartender.

Once they stepped through the privacy and silencing charms surrounding the booth, they easily heard Draco ask, “What is this?”

“Hello, Potter. How are you? Please join us,” Harry said, in his best and very terrible Draco impression as he slid into the booth next to him. “I’m well, Malfoy. Lovely to see you, too.”

Draco made a face. “Cute.”

The parchment Harry had carried inside the pub was already placed neatly in front of Draco, who was eyeing it skeptically. Hermione slid into the booth next to Theo, across from them.

“It doesn’t bite,” Harry assured him.

“Seeing as it is missing teeth, I gathered as much.” Draco still didn’t move to open it.

“Merlin, ignore this bloke and his lack of manners. Hair lightening charms must have gone and dissolved the Pureblood Etiquette right from his bright blonde head.” Theo ignored the glare from Draco, as well as his mutterings insisting he did not use such charms, and extended a hand in greeting. “Potter.”

“Knott.” Harry tried valiantly to mask his surprise at Theo, but being Harry Potter, it was clear as day on his face. Still, he clasped hands with the man and gave a hard shake, confusion disintegrating into a smile.

Draco started to ask something, but Theo cut him off. “Just on my way to the bar. Anyone fancy something?”

Hermione was about to request something strong when she was cut off.

“Can we talk?”

There, in the middle of the pub with his hands tucked in his pockets, stood Ron.

His presence ripped her out of the moment, as if she had grabbed a mental portkey and was swirling through space. It was always like this with Ron, ever since the break-up. Seeing him was disorienting.

“Ron-”

But Draco interrupted Harry. “Don’t know if that’s wise. Considering the last time.”

Ron started to respond to Draco but closed his mouth instead. With a heavy sigh, he turned to Hermione. “Just for a moment? Right over there, even.” When she hesitated, he added, “Please.”

Reluctantly, Hermione nodded and followed him to a corner of the pub. They stayed in sight of the table, even though she wasn’t afraid of Ron. She didn’t believe he would try to harm her.

“You look…well.” And he did. His khakis had been pressed and his hair was neat-ish. And Hermione always thought he looked best in this type of sweater. The bags under his eyes were fading and the color of his cheeks was coming back.

“Thanks.” He looked to his feet as he shuffled in place. “I uh…I looked into that program actually.”

“The one I sent-”

“Yeah, that one. Started going.” He appeared extremely uncomfortable in his own skin as he spoke. “I haven’t had a dose in seventeen days.”

Hermione’s heart clenched.

When the grief had been fresh, Ron had turned to potions. With time he turned into a shadow of the man he had been. Refusing help when it was offered, insisting his dependence wasn’t reliance.

They all had so many demons to fight after the war.

“Ron,” Hermione sighed. “That is really, really great. I’m so happy for you.”

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t smile. Just gave a nod, quick and curt. Hard on himself as ever.

“I didn’t know the best way to reach out. Though you’d burn any letters I sent, and I’d never just show up at your place. But the Prophet had photographed you lot at a few different places in the last few months, so I thought maybe this would be a good spot to try…” He looked around, taking in the pub for the first time.

“That was considerate,” Hermione acknowledged, though she felt uneasy.

Ron had gone to trouble to find her, and she worried that something had happened to someone. Maybe Molly? She had looked a fright a while back, but she was also coping with losing Fred, so no one had looked stellar. And surely Ginny would have said something if Molly was unwell. Or Harry, at least.

“What exactly was it you wanted to talk about?” she forced herself to ask.

“I just… I wanted to apologize.”

Of everything Hermione thought Ron would say, that was not it.

“For the way I acted at the Gala. I was out of line.” His ocean eyes finally looked to hers. They were overwhelming when they focused in this intensely. “I am truly sorry Hermione. For that night and everything before. For everything I failed to do. For leaving you like that. I’m sorry for all of it.”

Her throat constricted. She tried to breathe as she willed her eyeballs to just soak the welling tears back inside.

“Thank you,” she managed to choke out. Clearing her throat she added, “I’m sorry, too. For everything.”

“No need to apologize.” His smile was small but genuine. “I just… I love you, ‘Mione. I always will.”

Now she was smiling. He pulled her into a hug, one she deepend. “I love you, too.”

“I’m glad you’re helping them. They’re lucky to have you,” he whispered. “And they’re…they’re alright.”

The chuckle at those words escaped on its own. Ron didn’t know them, not really, and he was only being polite in saying so. But it brought Hermione joy to hear it nonetheless. With another smile, she turned to walk back to the bar.

“And Hermione-” Turning back, she waited. “You should come by The Burrow some time. I know everyone’s missed you.”

Hermione could only nod. If she spoke, who knows what would come out. A sob, a whine, maybe even choking. No, a nod would have to suffice.

Somehow, she managed to hold it in and make it back to their booth. Astoria and Pansy had arrived during the conversation, and all eyes were on her as she settled in. A drink magically appeared in front of Draco, who appeared confused. But Ron was looking towards them, and he gave Draco a nod, who only hesitated slightly before returning it.

It was an apology Draco would understand.

“Could have just gotten the table a round,” Theo muttered under his breath. Astoria and Pansy were immediately harping, and thankfully Ron had left the bar and thus out of earshot.

“You alright?” Harry asked her. Both he and Draco were still focused entirely on Hermione, and the scrutiny made her nervous.

“Fine, everything’s fine.” But she was jumping up from the booth. “I think I need a drink, too.”

“Bring me something?” Astoria called out.

“Bring her water,” Pansy corrected. And though Astoria was having a strop at the booth, Hermione only nodded. Astoria had become very, very sick after their last night out, likely from the Bristle potion interacting with the alcohol, and she was cut-off until they could finish their extensive interaction tests.

When Hermione made her way back to the booth, she levitated over a mocktail in front of Astoria. It was bright purple with glowing balls of light and swirling glitter, and Astoria was immediately enthralled. And though she assured Pansy it was alcohol-free, the witch still ran a diagnostic on the drink.

Astoria let her fuss. According to Blaise, Pansy always got like this after Astoria had a health scare.

Harry sighed loudly, pulling Hermione’s attention. They were apparently still debating. “For Circe’s sake, Malfoy. It’s an offer, okay?

“For?”

“Read it and find out.” Harry confiscated Draco’s apology drink and downed a large gulp before Draco could protest.

“Fine.”

Meticulous as ever, Draco opened the parchment and scanned the document. Hermione could feel Theo bouncing in his seat next to her, eager to know what it was.

“This can’t be,” Draco whispered.

“What? What is it?” Pansy was leaning up in her seat trying to peer over enough to read it, eager as ever.

“A position with the DMLE?... A… a medic position?” Draco looked up, lost, not believing his own words. Or eyes, apparently.

Harry nodded. “Not just any medic position. A dark arts informed medic.”

“Potter, no auror will want me for their medic.”

“With the amount of injuries and fatalities we could prevent by having someone out there who knows the dark arts, believe me when I say every auror will want you.”

“Potter...”

“Would you like to see all the scars I’ve racked up in the past few months on dark magic calls alone?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

But Harry was already lifting his sleeve. He showed off the slash across his elbow and the one over his bicep. The one that ran from his chin down to his collarbone. Draco tried to interrupt, but Harry continued persistently. Next was the slash in his earlobe, and he described the rebounded curse that caused a concussion and a week's stay in St. Mungo’s.

“Potter, enough,” Draco interrupted as Harry began lifting his jumper up over his side.

“Just consider it, Malfoy. Please. I can assure you I’d feel much safer with you out there with me.”

Draco stumbled. “Safer?” The words were an incredulous whisper leaving his lips.

“Yes.” Harry didn’t hesitate. “I’m sure Ginny would worry less as well. And the money-”

“I don’t care about the money,” Draco interrupted.

“If it’s fear for your own safety that has you hesitant, I understand. It is an increased risk to-”

“It’s not.”

“And if you’re worried about Kingsley or anyone else at the Ministry, don’t. They’ve already signed off and-”

“I’m not,” Draco interrupted, a new sort of finality in his tone as he spoke. “I just simply can’t accept this.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“It wouldn’t work out,” Draco offered up, as if that was any form of an explanation.

“It’s an on-call position, Malfoy,” Harry said. “Though it’s inconvenient to be called in, you’d actually likely have more available time to spend on other endeavors than you do with your current position at St. Mungo’s.”

The words Hermione had emphasized Harry needed to say rolled off his tongue a bit too precisely. It felt practiced, not to mention abrupt. Hermione had also emphasized the need to be tactful, which Harry had clearly forgotten as he spoke to Draco now. Draco’s eyes slid up to Hermione, who did her best to not look sheepish.

“Sounds like a good deal to me,” Theo said.

“You have to do it, Drake,” Pansy urged.

“But…”

“No buts,” Astoria interrupted. “He’ll take it.”

“Story-”

“You’ll take it,” Astoria told Draco. She didn’t say anything else, but the nonverbal communication spoke for them. After learning of their previous marriage, their ability to speak without speaking felt much more intimate now.

“Fine,” Draco said, turning back to Harry. “I’ll do it.”

“You’ll do it?” Harry gasped, eyes wide. Draco nodded. “Excellent! Let’s go over this contract. I can buy you another round if you’d like, or…”

Harry’s excited rambling continued on, but it faded out of Hermione’s focus. She was overcome with a sense of ease knowing Harry would be safer with Draco’s help and joy knowing Draco would be getting a job he actually deserved.

She watched as they leaned over the contract, Pansy inserting herself into the conversation to absorb the information, nosily. Astoria asked questions every now and then, which Harry answered dutifully. Draco’s lips crooked slightly, and he kept chewing on the inside of his cheek, making his mouth contort. She had seen the expression before and only now realized it was his form of excitement.

“You devious, brilliant minx,” Theo whispered, pulling Hermione from her thoughts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hermione answered innocently.

He smiled into his firewhisky. “Of course you don’t.”

Chapter Text

*****Draco’s POV*****

Draco despised these events.

Truthfully he hated any formal event - charity or otherwise- which always seemed to come with mind-numbing drivel and unnecessary schmoozing. Even as a young boy it had taken bribery from the house elves and the eventual threat to retrieve his father for him to relent.

At least those parties came with people who actually cared to speak with him. After all, he could graduate from healer clinics, get hired at Mungo’s serving the community, donate time and money to charities, hell, even open one himself, and it didn’t matter. No one ever thought any better of him for any of it. He was and always would be a soulless Death Eater and thus he wasn’t worth anyone’s time or focus.

Gods, if he could only skip it.

Not that his desires mattered. One missed event related to Hogwarts or the war, and he was front page news. Of course his was the tiny writing at the very bottom that continued onto a different page- because Harry Potter would always be the front page story- but he made it there nonetheless.

So Draco would get dressed in his finest, as he was now. The only mirror-esque surface he had in the Brewing Room was dingy, but it was still adequate enough to fix his bow tie. If he must go, he at least would be comforted knowing this new dinner jacket fit him impeccably and these trousers were unmatched.

He could be a delicious, soulless Death Eater this evening.

“There you are!” Hermione burst into the room from the doorway behind him. “I expected to find you in the study, but I should have known you’d try and finish this without me.”

He hadn’t invited her to help for he hadn’t required any. It was a simple brewing of
Astoria’s strengthened potion, one they had perfected by now, and he was more than capable of bottling the contents before the festivities. Apparently, Hermione thought otherwise.

“What are you-” Draco’s words fell away as he observed her outfit. If what she had worn to the Gala had necessitated a bodyguard, he wondered what precautions this outfit would require.

“Did you have a comment?” She seemed to be daring him to say anything out of line, and though it pleased him greatly to prod and poke until he got under her skin, he was feeling charitable.

He settled for, “I see you’ve forgone the muggle trousers this evening.”

The picture of nonchalance, Hermione tossed her curls off her shoulder and casually began to fill potion jars. “There’s more than one way to scandalize a Pureblood.”

Whatever material Hermione’s black dress was made of, it wrapped around her like a second skin. The neckline dipped well between her breasts, and a single slit along the left side was nearing her thigh.

Scandalize a Pureblood. Bit of an understatement.

Draco tried to busy himself with something, anything, and began tidying up. After all, it was Hermione- Hermione of all people- and he did not need to stare.

But bloody hell, Draco had eyes after all, and it was all rather distracting.

“Enlighten me,” Draco began, opting for verbal distraction. “It would appear you too are attempting to postpone the agony of attending tonight’s festivities as long as possible. It begs the question- why?”

“I just wanted to assist.”

“Uh-huh.” He very much doubted that to be true. But whatever reason she had for avoiding the evening was thus far kept close to chest. Another route then. “Figured you’d go with Wonder Boy and the She Weasel.”

Hermione could glare as much as she’d like; she wasn’t fooling anyone with the smirk on her face. “What did we decide on those nicknames?”

“It is unacceptable to keep using those nicknames if you’ll be formally working with him.” He mimicked her voice just as she had said it time and time again. He wondered if she had yet realized he only used the nicknames to frustrate her.

“I see the lesson really stuck. No wonder you were never top of the class.”

No, he hadn’t exactly been at the tip top, but he did well, even coming second to Pansy in Potions. Granted, he had also been second to Hermione in a couple other subjects, but that was beyond the point really. There was stiff competition in their year in particular, and he had excelled at Hogwarts, damn it.

“Besides,” Hermione mused, interrupting Draco’s internal rant. “I’d rather not arrive with the both of them anyway.”

“Why?”

“When they are together at events… It’s overwhelming. The media can’t get enough of the greatest love story of our time.” Hermione didn’t need to voice her opinion on those headlines. It was clear as day in her tone alone.

“Ah,” Draco nodded. “Not big on the whole soulmates of our generation rhetoric?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “I think there was a question hidden somewhere in there.”

Of course there was.

He hadn’t exactly feigned a quality social overture with that one. No he had dived right in at the first opportunity to present itself since the last evening at the pub. Truthfully, he wanted to understand her better. Every time he thought he had her pinned down something completely unexpected would happen.

And, Hermione Granger not believing in soulmates had his understanding of her tilted on its axis; a spinning top that was out of control.

“You don’t believe in soul mates?” he directly asked.

Hermione shook her head. “This again?”

“So, no?”

“No,” she confirmed.

“Why not?

“Why are you so curious?”

“I’m just…surprised.”

“Why?”

“I asked the question first.”

“Well I’ll answer if you do. Why does that surprise you so much?”

“Please, with the amount of romance novels you read at Hogwarts, I would expect you to be but a weeping heart and all that.”

The smile slid off her face as her brows knit together. “How did you know that?

Fuck all.

It had meant to be a casual prod, some levity even. Not this.

Because how was Draco supposed to explain to her that he saw her in the library and the Great Hall, either early in the morning or real late at night, when everyone else was elsewhere. Sometimes she would hide the book covers inside class texts, but at others she would get so engrossed in whatever story was happening that she’d lift the very thing from its shell and dive in. Her face would only be inches from the text as her eyes flew across the page.

He settled for, “You weren’t very good at hiding it.”

“Oh.” It was a dodgy explanation, but it apparently sufficed. “Well. It just…I’m not…”

She was struggling. Looking away, searching for words, head shaking no slightly as she thought. He waited as she finished bottling the potions and set it all aside.

“It just...just doesn’t fit. I would never...find that, I suppose.”

It wasn’t an answer. Not really.

But when her voice trailed off and she looked back at him in the briefest of glances, he could see how nervous she was. He wondered if the truth was too heavy for her to carry right now. Or maybe she just didn’t want to reveal it to him.

Either way, it was clear that was the best answer he would get.

Hermione was looking down, rubbing over the same spot on her hand over and over and over. She was somewhere else, and he hated it. He hadn’t meant to do this to her. To force unwelcome thoughts in her head. He had just been curious once again and now…

He needed to say something to bring the light back.

Say something. Anything.

“Well you lot did take your time finding a few bloody horcruxes. I’m sure finding a singular person in all the world would be much harder.”

Fuck all. I could have said anything and I said that?

She never talks about that.

Why why why why

“Having a laugh then?” she asked.

He held his breath. She would eviscerate him with her words, and he deserved it. Because apparently, apparently, he had forgotten how to hold a civil bloody conversation.

“Like you could have done better,” she smirked, joking.

Unsure of what was happening but unwilling to let the moment go, he ran with it. “Surely would have ended the war much sooner than you lot.”

“Surely,” she mocked. With a wave of her hand, she levitated over two glasses and a bottle of Ogsden’s, magically pouring amber liquid into both glasses, and explained, “Pre-event warm-up.”

Picking up one of the glasses, she took a long sip as she stayed deep in thought. He briefly worried if he had already lost her to her memories again, but then she was setting the cup down and smiling. “We were shite at that weren’t we?”

Draco couldn’t hold off his own smile, and he felt her eyes shoot to his face. She studied him, even after the smile had faded, even as the moment had as well. He picked up his own glass and took a drink.

“Why don’t you?” she asked suddenly.

But the horcruxes had long ago been found, and the war was over, and there was nothing for him to look for. Confused, he set the glass back down. “Why don’t I do what?”

“Believe in them. Soulmates.”

“Oh. I don’t know” he said automatically, even though he did.

He hadn’t considered soulmates much, but he had considered love, especially after his divorce.

Draco knew he was blessed with love. All he needed to do was be around his friends, visit Astoria and Pansy or grab drinks with Theo and Blaise, and he knew he was loved.

But romantic love? The kind of love he and Astoria had hoped to have but just never quite made it to? The love people wrote about?

No, that wasn’t in the cards for him. Because he was still him. All it took was a glance at his left forearm or his scarred chest, and he’d be reminded of exactly the kind of person he had been. Someone who didn’t deserve that kind of love.

Someone who didn’t deserve a soulmate.

And no one could possibly deserve him as theirs.

He took a breath. “I guess I don’t because I can’t. I can’t imagine someone being stuck with…well with me, if I’m being frank.”

“Draco…”

He regretting elaborating. The last thing he needed was a rousing there’s still time or you’ll find them one day speech. Hermione was just so damn easy to talk to, never judging, and it was too easy to slip up around her.

“I don’t need your encouragement,” he interrupted.

“I wasn’t offering any.”

A short-lived relief that was. Because there was something far worse than encouragement or reassurance.

“I don’t need your pity either,” he quickly added.

She just looked at him, close enough now he could see the maple color of her eyes with the flecks of honey colored specks.

“I don’t pity you, Draco,” she replied. “I understand you.”

Did she? Could she?

Was that what she had left unsaid?

He didn’t know. It was Hermione Granger after all. How could she ever believe she wasn’t worthy of a soulmate?

But she looked at him with such seriousness in her eyes. She meant the words she spoke.

“We’re a right mess, aren’t we?” he asked.

“Afraid so.” A pause for a long drink. A loud exhale. “Broken beyond repair.”

Draco didn’t believe that. Though they had just re-entered each other’s lives a few months prior, he already could tell Hermione Granger was anything but broken beyond repair. But it didn’t matter what he believed or how he felt. It mattered that she believed that.

It was a feeling he understood quite well. Because unlike Hermione, Draco actually was broken beyond fixing.

Hermione finished her glass. “At least there’s this.”

With a flick of her wand, she refilled her glass. A glance at his almost empty one, and then she was refilling his as well.

He gave a nod of gratitude. “Perhaps I understand you, too.”

It was a simple response, one that he didn’t want to elaborate on, and she didn’t ask for anything more.

Draco raised his glass, but he stopped when he saw hers held up and out towards him. She was waiting, watching him, offering.

He clinked his own lightly against hers.

Perhaps after everything, even with their differences, parts of them were the same. Or simply similar enough. Whatever the case, it felt good to have someone else. Like a hint of cool air after tolerating relentless heat.

It felt a lot like relief.

“Seriously?”

The booming voice was jarring but immediately recognizable.

“I knew if I didn’t come check on you both that neither of you were likely to show your face. Honestly, I-” Theo stopped in his tracks. “You’re…drinking. What are you drinking?”

“Don’t judge us,” Hermione sighed. “If we have to make it through tonight, it will help. We’re adults. Perfectly capable of safely and responsibly having a drink in a brewing room.”

“Judge? I’m joining.” He conjured a glass of his own. “Seriously, what are we drinking?”

Hermione showed him the label. “Why aren’t you dressed yet?”

“I’m not going,” he said simply, filling his glass.

“What? How did you get out of this?”

“Please,” Theo scoffed. “I was related to a Death Eater, sure, but I wasn’t one of the faces of the war. I am fortunate enough to be able to skip.”

Hermione’s face crumpled in disgust. “Faces of the war?”

“You were part of the Golden Trio, don’t pretend this is news.”

“But Draco is still coming.”

“He was also a face of the war. Just… the ugly side.”

“Ouch.” Draco, who had remained silent as the two of them conversed now regretted doing so.

“Only kidding, Drake. You know that’s my favorite of yours.” Theo gestured to Draco’s outfit. “Makes your arse look divine.”

“Theo,” Draco scolded, as Hermione gasped and giggled. He could feel his cheeks burning bright. The man was insufferable, truly insufferable.

“Just trying to embarrass you, mate. Can’t resist the chance to-”

“Al-right.” Draco downed the rest of his drink. “I believe a fashionably late appearance is in order. Any longer and we’ll simply be late.”

“Knew that would get you moving.” Theo finished off his own drink. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d rarely find the backbone to actually attend anything. Make note, Hermione, embarrassment works like a charm for this one.”

Hermione was laughing. Good to see someone found his misery entertaining.

Theo escorted them to the floo. Hermione went first. And after a handful of threats, some of which were not in fact a joke, Draco grabbed a handful of floo powder and followed Hermione through.

–

It was all about who you knew.

Who knew you. And importantly, who favored you.

And Draco being who he was… well, he would be on his own this evening.

The event was a Hogwarts fundraiser. It started after the war as a way to earn money towards restoring the castle. And once the restoration job was complete, the fundraisers kept occurring, bringing the school extra money to spend.

Draco unfortunately attended every year.

It all proceeded as usual. The media was there, frenzied and grotesque. Usual big players- Ministry officials, Hogwarts educators and Board members, of course the shining golden trio- were in attendance. There would be welcome speeches and dancing and a dinner.

Bizarrely enough, he found himself cheerful upon spying Hermione’s familiar face periodically through the evening. He was unsure when it happened, but he had become comfortable being around her, and she appeared to reciprocate the feeling because she would smile bright at him. At one point during the pre-dinner speech, she even magically conjured writing upon the napkin resting at his fingertips: Could you pretend to pay attention?

Clever witch.

Draco caught himself wishing he could spend the evening with his friend. It would be much more tolerable. But being Hermione Granger, her attention was considered precious, and people flocked to her all night.

No, Draco knew this evening would consist of him trying very hard to look busy.

And maybe an attempted curse or two. But it had been a few years since a good one had actually landed, and honestly weren’t people tired yet? One would think with time a new and exciting antagonist would appear in the limelight. But apparently Draco was a favored and timeless villain.

And the worst part of it all was he couldn’t even get properly sloshed. Because that would be exactly the sort of gossip the papers would devour. So now that he’d had a drink or two for the nerves, he should endure the remainder of the event drinking sparkling tonics.

A nightmare, truly.

He was securing one last glass of Ogsden’s- he wasn’t a saint- when there was a tap on his shoulder. A familiar face.

“I see you’ve switched back to the good stuff.” Hermione’s cheeks were flushed as she sipped what looked to be Bumblebubble.

“I see you never left it.”

She feigned offense. “I started sipping lighter.”

Yes, Bumblebubble was far lighter fare than Ogsden’s, but Hermione was a notorious lightweight, so did it really matter at this point?

Draco slipped the sobering potion out of his pocket and handed it to her, causing her entire face to light up.

“You remembered it! Merlin, I forgot mine at home.”

Of course she did. She always does.

“One of us needs to.”

Without another word, she knocked it back, grimacing at the taste. He knew she hated the typical flavor of it, and he thought his addition of licorice in the latest batch would help cover it. Apparently she wasn’t a fan of it either.

“Bloody hell, what is that?” She took the Ogsden from his hand and swallowed a large gulp.

So much for the sobering potion.

“And where are Pansy and Astoria? I thought they were coming,” she mused.

“Didn’t feel up to it.” At Hermione’s fearful look, he quickly added, “She’s alright. Just tired.”

Hermione nodded. After a double take, she gestured across the room. “Oh look, Blaise and Daphne are here.”

Sure enough they stood against the far wall deep in conversation with Mr. Jones, Draco’s former employer at Mungo’s. Blaise had his hand on Daphne’s lower back, protective as ever. And though Jones appeared to be telling some tale with gestures and over the top expressions, Daphne was caught up in Blaise, looking at him the way she always did.

As if he were the sun and stars.

“So… are we just all ignoring that?” Hermione asked.

“We can’t give an award to everyone who tolerates conversing with Jones. It’ll be valueless.”

She snorted at the jab. “You know what I meant.”

Draco shrugged. Retrieved his Ogsden’s from her hand and took another drink. “They’re ignoring it. So are we.”

Hermione watched them. Draco watched her, noticing how her expression softened the longer she watched.

“They would be sweet together.”

“Try telling them that. We’ve all had a turn. Maybe you can get through their thick skulls.”

She smiled. “Maybe I will.”

“Hermione!”

A flash of red passed by, and Ginny Weasley was wrapping her arms tight around her friend in greeting. Potter followed close behind, waiting his turn for a hug.

Then their attention fell to him.

“Malfoy,” Potter greeted.

He nodded in return. “Potter.”

“Ferret.”

“Didn’t you hear? Changed that part of my name,” he cooed sarcastically. Then just to truly be an arse, he added, “Ginevra.”

Because coming from him it had always made her-

There it is.

She clenched her teeth together, face reddening as she glared. He responded with his best innocent smile.

“Ready for Monday?” Potter asked, peacekeeper he was.

“Of course.”

He wasn’t.

Entering the DMLE, by choice, after everything aurors had put him through over the years... It felt like he was asking to be abused once again. But Potter had sworn up and down that the initiatives he had spearheaded over the years had helped transform the department. And if there were any problems, he was ready to continue the witch hunt.

“Is there anything-”

Draco was interrupted by Ronald Weasley, who didn’t even seem to notice his impending presence in the conversation. He retrieved the other two thirds of the trio and headed off towards Kingsley.

There was little to say between him and Weasley, and she didn’t attempt a front. Instead, she retreated with some piss poor excuse, leaving him alone.

Again.

Which was fine.

It gave him time to test out all three elixirs- of which the best was the Porl Berry- and made his way through all three of the biscuit flavors set out for guests. When the house elves took notice, he was pulled back to the kitchen to try out the two flavors that had not made the cut for the evening. Afterward, he even managed to sneak outside for some fresh air and an espresso under the stars.

His presence wasn’t welcome, and people tried to forget he was in attendance, so over the years he had discovered that came with evenings like this. Time spent alone with his thoughts. Good food and better drinks. The occasional gorgeous view.

Not to shabby, in his opinion.

Draco had just made it back inside, espresso cup left on a side table before quickly vanishing away, when the tail end of a question fluttered by. Draco hoped he had misheard. It was an abrupt shift away from his isolated paradise and back to reality, with all those who dwelled in it.

Casually motioning to the passing waiter, he stepped closer and extracted a miniature dessert from the tray while listening.

“I thought for sure the two of you would have started your own family by now,” Slughorn said. Draco had to shove the entire bite of food into his mouth to keep from outwardly groaning in disgust.

Pumpkin. He shivered at the taste.

“Oh, you know how it is,” Ginny said vaguely, gesturing about. “You know, I-”

“Yes, yes, you young people are always so busy nowadays. But any plans to start trying any time soon?”

Surely he isn’t serious.

“We haven’t really talked much about it.”

“Nonsense. You can tell me,” he said, leaning in as if he were a conspirator rather than an intruder. “I can keep a good secret, my dear.”

Ginny was grasping for words, mouth agape, with nothing coming out. A fish grasped from the Black Lake itself and plopped on land, told to hold conversation.

Fucking, hell.

“Horace!” Draco called, putting on his best front. He effortlessly slid into their conversational circle, and he clasped a hand on the shoulder of his previous professor. Ginny’s watery eyes met him with confusion. “I’m so sorry to intrude upon your conversation, I just couldn’t resist popping by to speak with one of Hogwarts finest.”

“You flatter me, my boy,” Slughorn said with a wave of his hand, smiling brightly.

“Nothing but the truth, snake's honor,” Draco smiled. Slughorn ate it up, guffawing obnoxiously. “Oh, Horace, I do believe Potter was looking for you.”

“Oh, really?” That, predictably as ever, caught his attention.

Draco nodded, which was the entirety of encouragement needed to get the man rushing off, robes flowing out behind him with his quick pace.

He could feel Ginny’s eyes on him. “What did Harry need of Slughorn?”

“Didn’t ask,” Draco replied smoothly, hoping she wouldn’t call his bluff. But either Ginny was exceedingly perceptive or knew enough about her husband to spot a lie.

“Did you make that up?” He shrugged, refusing to confirm or deny. Ginny laughed. “What will they possibly talk about?”

“That’s for Potter to deal with.”

Ginny cackled.

When her laughter died down, it left them alone to talk. And though it was initially uncomfortable and awkward, it was surprisingly not entirely dreadful.

They spoke of Quidditch initially. It had been something the two of them had actually had in common, and being that she was still involved in the professional league, it left plenty of ground to cover. Eventually she asked about Astoria, and he gave the slightly sanitized answer everyone seemed to prefer. And that moved them into talking about Pansy and Theo and anyone else they both had known at Hogwarts and beyond.

And somehow, before he knew it, they were speaking on the most recent edition of Witch Weekly and the use of Ogsden’s in cooking. It wasn’t until Potter and Hermione returned and broke up the conversation that Draco realized how long they had been talking.

“Come on, Gin,” Potter whined.

“Did you even-”

“I came, I did the speech, I sat through dinner. I even managed to escape Slughorn...” Potter nodded as he spoke. “I think I’ve earned a hasty escape.”

“Fine. But did you at least-”

Before she could finish her question, Potter had pulled out a shrunken down white object. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be cloth wrapped around something, tied in a knot at the top.

“A varied assortment of the biscuits, though half are the chocolate ones you love.” Ginny smiled bright at her thieving husband’s words.

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled. “You two are ridiculous.”

“We know,” Ginny replied. “Dinner later this week?”

Seeing as Ginny had pulled her friend into a right hug, Draco couldn’t hear Hermione’s answer, but Ginny’s smile hinted she had agreed. When they finally parted, Ginny eyed him.

“Draco,” she said.

She gave him a nod. A silent thank you.

He returned it. And unable to restrain himself added one more “Ginevra,” in farewell. She glared, but this time there was the smallest smile on her face.

And then they were gone.

“What was that about?” Hermione asked, watching Potter and Ginny retreating.

“Not the faintest.” Draco gestured to the cup she held in her hands. “Refill?”

–

Harry Potter was many things.

Powerful. Intelligent. An actual bleeding heart of a person. Semi-good at chess and abysmal at any game that involved lying.

And also an unyielding optimist, sometimes to the point of madness.

He assured Draco the onboarding with the DMLE would be seamless. After all, the other aurors were good men who were wise enough to see past who Draco had been and what had happened during the war.

Bunch of bollocks that was.

It took 29 minutes from the time Draco entered the building to be hexed. Potter was livid, of course. Do gooder and all that meant he took the attack personally. There were three very heated meetings hel between Potter and various DMLE and Ministry heads, and two additionally put on the schedule, before they actually started any of the orientation for Draco.

Apparently the position’s on-call component would be dependent on a magical alarm system activated with his wand. Draco wasn’t familiar enough with it to cast himself, but Potter volunteered to personally attach it. Likely a job far below his paygrade, Draco still appreciated it when Potter took such care with his wand, even going so far as to explain to Draco everything he did with each step.

The alarm system consisted of two types of alerts.

The first would be a repetitive ringing similar to a muggle phone, he was told. It would alert him of suspected or known dark magic identified at an auror site. Upon hearing it, Draco was to arrive to the ministry, suit up in proper attire, and use his wand to transport himself on-site.

The second was an emergency alert. Supposedly shrill and quite unpleasant according to Potter, it was for emergencies. Apparently there had been a recent string of unexpected dark magic resurgence, and they were having trouble detecting it before it was already upon them. In these cases, Draco would use his wand to directly transport to the site itself.

He didn’t have an office because there was no need at the current time. There was also no budget for such, not that it mattered to Draco. Mungo’s had given him an entire corridor of the basement, and what had it mattered? Space was inconsequential to him.

So being in a position without designated office space and dependent on call-ins, Draco spent an unusual amount of time at home.

Adjusting to such was strange.

There was no morning rush to get to work. Any potion he brewed was because he chose to do so, not to fulfill hospital orders. Morning tea was drunk outside, watching the sun rise, and he had enough energy he no longer collapsed into bed in the evenings. Afternoons were entirely devoted to reading and planning for Astoria’s curse. He theorized an entire new mark brewing mechanism and began testing it, much to Hermione’s discouragement.

To Pansy’s delight, he was free to help plan her elaborate birthday festivities. And for the first time in a long time, he was able to attend every single one of the events throughout her birthday week.

Amidst it all, not once was he called in.

And he was being paid for all of it.

It wasn’t until an unusually sunny day spent with Daphne and Astoria sitting under the gazebo- because he truthfully did sunburn too easily- when his wand let out a high pitched screech. It was sharp enough to make everything else sto, shrill enough to have raised the dead within a several mile radius. He had never heard it before, but it was unmistakable what it must mean.

Draco bolted up and apparated immediately. The wand had been spelled to take him to the exact location of the emergency, thus dropping him at an auror site under chaos. Various people in uniform ran in every direction, one even bumping hard into Draco as they ran by, apology be damned.

The surroundings were dark and gloomy. The sun, wherever it was in the sky, was hiding. Wind whipped harsh against his bare cheeks and periodic blobs of rain fell from the heavens.

One particularly large one fell right into his eye as someone approached. “Malfoy, help him! He’s over there, help him!”

Wiping the water away quickly, his vision cleared to reveal a familiar auror in front of him. Recognition called out from the furthest recesses of his mind, but he just couldn’t quite reach. The man’s face was twisted into panic, hands grabbing Draco’s arms in desperation.

“Where?”

“This way!” The auror was stumbling over himself. It suddenly hit Draco who the man was. Corner. Michael Corner. “Over here! This way, hurry!”

Corner led him through the collection of constructed tents and examination tables of the main hub and out to the field beyond. There was a conglomeration of people all gathered in a tight circle.

“Hurry!” he screeched.

The desperation and pure horror fueling Corner made it clear: something bad happened.

Something horribly bad had happened already.

Shoving people aside, Corner made way for Draco to squeeze through. This close, he could feel the sticky, uncomfortable slide of dark magic essence slithering across his skin. He had spent years in its close proximity so he immediately recognized it, not that anyone who had ever felt it would be likely to forget its touch.

Self-preservation alarms sounded internally. Still, he forced himself closer.

And there in the middle of the circle, writhing on the ground, desperately clawing at his skin and making inhuman sounds, was Harry Potter.

Chapter Text

*****Draco’s POV*****

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Oh, fuck.

“Everybody get back! I need space!”

Draco thought it would take more effort on his part, but he had apparently made an ally in Corner easily enough because he picked up where Draco left off. He could hear the man behind him continuing to urge people back as Draco dropped to his knees beside Potter.

The panic running through his veins would never do, and he quickly slapped together occlusion walls. It was slower than he would have liked and a sloppy job if he were honest -he was much better at this when Voldemort kept him in practice- but he was still able to shut it all down within five seconds.

Like riding a broom.

Potter was rolling on the ground now, but Draco couldn’t hold him steady. Not yet.

He quickly cast a shield to encircle them, protecting the aurors should there be any blowback. After, he cast a series of homemade and non-invasive diagnostics, determining it was not a toxin, poison, or elixir.

Lucky; it wouldn’t spread by touch.

He also confirmed it wasn’t airborne, though the large crowd of unaffected people around Potter had already hinted as much.

Still too much of a risk to cast on Potter’s person without a better understanding of the dark magic at play, Draco physically grabbed for Potter’s arms and pushed down. Though the man was now pinned to the ground on his back, he didn’t stop thrashing about.

Up close, Draco could better examine him. The veins of his arms bulged, pushing against the skin covering them, outlined in deep red. Nearby skin was already bruising dark. It seemed to originate at the fingertips and was now traveling proximally up the body.

This particular appearance narrowed it down significantly- only a handful of blood altering curses could cause such a thing. To be sure he would need to have-

Yes, there it was.

Blown pupils, bloodshot eyes, and a perfect dark red teardrop frozen to Potter’s lower eyelid.

Got it.

“Potter,” he called out, to no avail. The man still thrashed in his grasp, and he needed to stop.

Now.

“Potter! It’s Malfoy! Potter, listen to me! Potter!”

He shook the man, jostling him and repeatedly calling to him until wild green eyes found his.

“Stop. This curse is slowly congealing your blood inside your veins and you thrashing about is helping it spread faster. I know it hurts but- hey!” He gave him another hard shake; it appeared to be the only thing that could capture his attention. “I know it hurts. I know. But lie as still as you can for me.”

Potter started to whimper in Draco’s arms. He was shaking, refusing to still. The look in his eyes was pure, unfiltered fear. It was a look Draco had seen many a time at the manor in the various captives and occasional companions of Voldemort.

That of someone who knew they were about to die.

“Listen to me, I can fix this. I can help you, but I need you to trust me.”

Potter was thrashing again.

Draco could see through the cuts in the man’s robes that it had climbed up near his shoulders now. It wouldn’t be long til it made its way to his chest cavity. And if it made it to his heart…

In a last effort, before Draco was forced to cast a binding spell and hope there was no magical blowback, he gripped Potter tightly, shook him, and leaned close. Close enough to hear each strangled wheezing breath and see the flecks of blue in his eyes.

And only when they trained on him did Draco dare speak.

“I. Will. Save. You. I swear it.”

Potter heard him. It was the first time Draco knew Potter had fully heard his words and understood. He could see it in those expressive eyes.

“Trust me,” he begged. “I swear, Potter.”

They were suspended in the moment.

Though he hadn’t started thrashing again, he wasn’t still either. Potter’s eyes didn’t leave Draco’s, and he wondered if the man actually had heard his words. Or if he had been wrong before, and the shock was too much.

They couldn’t stay like this. Time was running out.

Please.

“Trust. Me.”

A split second later, Potter stopped, completely. Still rigid in his grasp but no longer bucking around, Draco released him to the ground.

Grunts and groans were escaping Potter as he fought to hold still. His teeth ground together. Draco wanted to reach out and comfort him, maybe cast a spell to ease the agony he knew the man must be feeling, but there was no time to be humane now.

Draco would fix him now, or Potter would die.

Quick as he could get the words out his mouth, he began the incantation. It was blessedly short compared to others, and muscle memory helped Draco recall the exact movements to make with his wand.

But Potter had gone completely still, no longer even fighting against the pain any longer.

He’s died.

But there was no time to investigate that particular thought.

Shoving it away, he kept going. Line after line, flick of the rest and half circle to the right. Each movement needed to be precise.

He couldn’t think of anyone else.

Anything else.

Every ounce of focus went to ensuring the spell was accurate to the very end. The only thing that mattered was this; it was surely the most important spell he had cast in the entirety of his life.

Willing every piece of his magic, every ounce of power he had within himself, to come forward and flow through his wand now, he directed it at the man before him.

With his final word, Potter gasped for air.

His body arched, back sharply lifting off the ground. But it was movement, and movement meant life. Draco took a large breath, for the first time in a long time, only then realizing how dizzy he had become from lack of oxygen.

And with a rough thump to the ground, he settled back down.

Gasping for air, Potter was clutching at his own body. His eyes were still squeezed tightly shut, face scrunched up in residual pain. Draco knew this particular spell would require some time before the effects entirely wore off.

But the rise and fall of his chest was strong. He was alive.

Potter was alive.

The aurors beat on the shield, some using fists, others magic charms. Draco’s adrenaline fueled the overwhelming emotions inside, throwing themselves at his own occlusion walls.

He was surrounded by desperation.

Exhausted, he threw his own body to the ground. On his back, he looked to the sky. The sun was barely beginning to shine through the overlay of clouds. A single ray of golden light was now visible amongst the dim. He watched it.

Draco sighed. “Fuck.”

—

“And it won’t infect anyone else?”

“For the last time,” Draco grunted. “It was a monogradient, temporal curse with an unstable signature. It was only transferable with direct, initial contact.”

The auror -who appeared to be whoever was in charge of this site- stared at him, as if he had spoken an ancient language.

Honestly, he missed speaking with Corner. The man may have been a flustered mess but it would have been leagues better than this simpleton.

“I’m sure,” Draco clarified.

Another auror, who was yet another unrecognizable face, joined them. He looked as perplexed as the rest of them. “What do we do with it?”

Both aurors looked to the pile of broken porcelain with disgust and hints of fear. Neither had stepped within ten feet of the item even though Draco himself had touched it twice already.

“It’s a broken vase,” Draco insisted.

They looked to him as if that should mean something.

“Merlin, it’s a decorative element, gentleman. Fix it, discard of it, I couldn’t care less.”

With a sigh, he retreated. The conversation was circling, and Draco didn’t have it in himself to go another round about the way. Instead, he headed to the tent where Potter had been placed, levitated to a makeshift cot as the healing charms soaked into his skin.

It was when the tent flaps shifted and Draco stepped inside that he was greeted by open green eyes.

“They cleared me,” Potter said in greeting.

“I cleared you,” Draco corrected, running one final diagnostic just to be sure they hadn’t messed the man up in his absence. “They simply copied my answer.”

“Is anyone else hurt?”

The question shouldn’t have surprised him. Of course he would be thinking of others, even as he lay in a hospital bed himself.

“Just you. Fear not, that little saviour complex of yours can wait another day.” Closing the diagnostics, Draco nodded. “Right as rain.”

Potter sighed. “I almost died”

“Happened to you enough times, I figured you would be used to it by now.”

But he didn’t laugh. No smirk or reprimand given. He didn’t…anything. When Draco looked him over again, he sat in bed still as a statue. Hair disheveled and clothes a torn mess, he stayed still and stared at his hands.

“If it hadn’t been for you… I’d have died.”

He whispered it aloud again and again, though it seemed to be more to himself than to Draco.

“Potter?”

As if breaking a trance, his head shot up, and those wild eyes found Draco. He stood abruptly, quickly working to fix his clothes best he could and check for his belongings. He moved manically, like a mad man ready to run.

“I need to go.” Content he had found everything, Potter stopped and held an arm out to Draco. “Would you like to come?”

Draco had been poised to ask where to, but did it really matter? Potter was clearly in no state to be left alone. Like hell did he work so hard to save him only for the git to go and accidentally get himself murdered while still in shock.

With a sigh, Draco grabbed ahold and held on tight as they apparatared away.

–

“I’ll be honest, Potter.” Draco looked around again, taking in the scenery. “Didn’t expect this one.”

It was dark, which would usually limit visibility, but the moon was bright. It cast a glow upon the sand dunes behind them and the water before, which was relatively calm tonight. The crash of the waves was a light whisper on the wind.

Potter was sitting cross-legged directly on the sand, and Draco followed suit. His trousers had already been rain-soaked and covered in mud. Might as well add some sand to the mix.

“You always come here?” Draco asked. “When you’re upset, I mean.”

He honestly thought he may not receive an answer, just as his earlier comment had gone without response, but instead Potter said, “No. My favorite one is in England. But this one makes do when I’m here.”

Draco didn’t respond, waiting for him to elaborate further, but he didn’t.

They sat in silence.

It was only when Draco noticed Potter shiver and conjured his own jacket into a blanket for him- because his body was still recovering, and he would not die after all the work Draco had just put in saving him damn it- that Potter finally spoke.

“It calms me when… I can’t go home right away. I don’t want Ginny to see me like this. Don’t want to scare her.”

How often did he require this?

“She might be more afraid if she knew you impulsively apparated to random beaches when you were upset or recovering from injury.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

“Perhaps,” Potter whispered.

More silence.

Even with the blanket tucked tightly around him, Potter was shaking. The magic his body had just withstood had taken its toll, as dark magic did, and it was struggling to keep going. It needed energy.

Draco withdrew his wand.

“What are you doing?”

“You need to eat. Hold on.”

With a breath, Draco focused. He pictured his closet at home, the small shrunken basket tucked neatly away on the top shelf. The-

“Are you trying to conjure food?” Potter asked. “I know you weren’t top of the class, but that-”

“Why does everyone fixate on that?” Draco asked exasperatedly.

Honestly.

They had been in the middle of a bloody war; who would have thought the trio would have had time to memorize class rosters. If he had known it would haunt him so, he would have tried a smidge harder with his academics.

“I’m very familiar with all of Gamp’s work, Potter, but thank you for insulting my intelligence.”

“Then what are you-”

“Shut it,” he snapped.

Draco took the time to carefully refocus on the item. He knew he needed to picture it precisely, not only in appearance but physical location. It was only once the entirety of the image was firmly planted in his mind that he dared raise his wand and cast the spell.

A moment later he felt something in his palm.

And there it was. A shrunken down basket resting atop his hand, the exact one he had packed last week after orientation. With a smug smile, he restored it to its original size and set it between them.

“What…?”

Draco had never seen him so lost for words. Boy Wonder, rendered speechless.

His smile grew.

“When I took this position, I created an emergency kit, full of everything one would need. Including this. What I forgot to account for was the kit being left behind if I was called in and not at home, as I was today. But I was confident of its whereabouts, and summoning food isn’t that hard if you are properly prepared. I’m surprised you’re this impressed.”

“Malfoy, we’re in Sweden. Do you realize how far a distance you just magically reached?”

“Oh.” Draco considered this as he began unpacking the basket. “Well then, by all means, continue.”

“You’re insufferable,” he complained, though he was already digging around.

Though Potter went straight for the baguette, tearing off a large chunk with his teeth, Draco pulled one of the green apples. He hadn’t been able to resist adding something for himself.

No one spoke as they munched in silence. Potter finished off the baguette and fished out a small meat pie, biting into it with fervor. Though Draco tried to eat casually, he couldn’t help but peek over at Potter, trying to assess how the man was doing. It was hard to see past the emotionless expression on his face as he thoughtlessly chomped on the pie, eyes glued to the shore.

“Are you alright?”

It was a senseless question considering, but it needed to be asked. The reaction would still be telling.

“I think so,” Potter replied, finishing off the pie. He seemed to be satiated for the time being, settling back in his seat on the ground. He sighed. “I shouldn’t have touched it.”

“Potter, it was a vase in a field. Of course you shouldn’t have touched it. Might as well have had a sign reading Death Eater involvement here.”

“It had a glamour on it,” he defended quickly. “I swear I’m not that daft.”

Draco had his doubts, easily imagining the man would thoughtlessly follow his inquisitive nature impulsively to the point of madness, but he didn’t push it. Though he did wonder if the man had ever heard that saying…

Curiosity maimed the cat, or something like that.

“Why a vase?” Potter asked.

“Actually a common choice amongst practitioners.”

This caught Potter off guard. He looked to Draco with confusion, silently urging him to go on.

“There’s many reasons,” Draco elaborated. “It’s commonly available. Blends in many of the more typical environments. Can hold items or potions or…any extraneous materials needed for some dark curse embeddings. Plus, they can have some exquisite designs.”

“Designs?” Potter’s face scrunched up. Draco nodded.

“I did know a bloke who was uniquely particular about his vases. Specialized in bone splintering and organ twisting - really anything that botched the insides- but had a real love for antique vases. Especially the-”

“You're having a laugh,” Potter interrupted.

Draco shuddered. There were too many memories. “I wish.”

It was Potter’s turn to shudder once he realized how truly serious he was being. “And today marks the last day I ever dare touch a vase again.”

“I thought you said it was glamoured.”

“I…” Potter’s face blanched. “I ran extensive diagnostics on it, Malfoy. It’s not like-”

Draco shrugged it off. “Easy to circumvent detection that way.”

“And I didn’t even actually touch it.”

“Tried to levitate it and it slipped, no?”

Potter grumpily nodded.

“That part was just the caster being an arse. Completely unnecessary, but some with poor taste think it’s amusing. Wankers the lot of them. I swear, finesse in dark magic is a dying art that- What?”

Potter stared at him.

“You’re… sort of brilliant.”

Draco didn’t know what to do with the compliment, so he did what came naturally. Deflected.

“Look a little less shocked. I thought you were supposed to be the all-knowing one.”

“Please stop.” Potter half-smiled, but he couldn’t manage for long.

It was understandable. The man had quite literally almost died. And try as hard as he may, the complicated swarm of emotions that would come with that would not be sorted in an evening. No matter how good Poppy’s pies were.

Draco offered him an apple, but it was declined, and he continued staring ahead. So Draco waited.

And waited.

And waited a while longer.

Until the wind had chilled and the stars came out from behind the clouds. And only then did Potter finally speak, quiet enough to be a whisper along the wind.

“Who would have told Ginny? You know… if I had…” He looked to Draco. “I guess I never really thought about it."

“Doesn’t the Department have someone? For that sort of thing?”

Draco mentally kicked himself. Was that really the most helpful thing to say? Merlin, he was so bad at comforting. It really was more Astoria or Daphne’s area. Hell, even Theo was better at this.

“I guess… Just… am I selfish? For being an auror? For putting her through this?”

“I don’t think anyone would call you selfish.”

Potter scoffed. “I did a lot of things I’m not proud of.

“I think I may just beat you in that pissing contest.”

It was a relief to hear Potter laugh, even if it was brief. “I meant after the war.”

But that couldn’t be right.

Draco had made a conscious effort to not keep close tabs on him after the war; he had thought it best for his own sanity. But it was the saviour after all, and it was hard to avoid. Newspaper articles covered his every move, gossip columns had entire segments donated exclusively to his everyday doings. And what did it all say?

Harry Potter was having the time of his life.

“Hermione didn’t tell you what happened?” Draco was still trying to understand the question when Potter smiled sadly. “Course not. Well… I couldn’t function. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. Wouldn’t see a mind healer and couldn’t talk to my friends. I was…I was terrible to Gin. And Hermione… ”

Potter took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I was haunted by the faces of everyone who died. Overwhelmed with guilt and regret. I couldn’t bring myself to make the simplest of choices, and the entire world was looking at me to make all of them,” Potter explained, speaking faster now as he got lost in his past.

If there was one emotion Draco had gotten to know well in all its many ugly forms, it was that of shame. The same one that colored Potter’s face now.

“I thought for so long that all I had to do was survive the next thing. I just had to find the Horcruxes. I just had to stop Voldemort. I just had to survive the war. And we did. We did all of it. But Malfoy...”

Potter’s sharp green eyes turned on him, boring into him.

“No one talks about the cost of surviving.”

The words, and the truth at the root of them, hung heavy in the air between them. Draco could understand the sentiment, much as Potter may find that difficult to believe.

He really, truly understood.

“I’m sorry,” Potter sighed. He buried his face in his hands. After several deep breaths, he ran those hands through his hair. “I know I came out here to calm down and you followed me because… well, I guess to make sure I was fine, and I’m really mucking that up talking about all this.”

Pulling his knees in to his chest, he made himself small. His head rested on his hands which rested on his knees. Those green eyes stayed trained on the water, watching it come and go.

Potter looked vulnerable and small. And Draco flashed back to when he first met the boy, all bony limbs and messy hair, in Diagon so many years ago.

“Harry, you can talk to me, you know? If you need to. Or want to,” Draco offered. But then he was quickly bombarded with the thought that Potter may believe it was meant as an insult and panicked. “Not to imply you don’t have a substantial support system full of people you’d surely rather talk to, but… it’s a true offer. Should the need arise.”

That got his attention.

Though Potter didn’t unravel from his balled up position on the sand, his head tilted to look at him. As Draco’s heart beat out of control, he tried to remind himself that it was okay for Potter to refuse the offer. It was not a reflection of Draco or all the progress he had made over the years. And if he accepted it, well all the better.

But all he said was, “Did you just call me Harry?”

Draco smirked. “It was uncomfortable, I know. Won’t happen again, Potter.”

“Bless Merlin.”

Potter eventually unfolded himself and sat upright, digging into the food basket once more. He picked the apple up and dug in, crunching loudly.

Draco poked around the basket himself, internally cursing for not putting sweets in, when Potter said, “Thank you, Draco. For the offer. For saving my life earlier. For all of it.”

Frozen with his hand still stuck in the basket, all Draco could manage was a mumbled you’re welcome. It wasn’t until he stumbled upon a flask full of tonic and took a large drink that he fully recovered.

He held it out to Potter, who accepted it. “How’d it feel?”

“You’re right, Malfoy,” Potter said pointedly, between drinks. “It’s just too weird.”

“We’re not there yet.”

Potter smiled. “Nope.”

Draco took the offered flask, mulling over the truly bizarre day he had survived. They continued snacking as he looked around the beach they sat on and at the man he sat with, someone he didn’t believe he could ever, ever befriend. Would never be worthy of it.

In that moment, he felt hope. And it felt good.

Chapter Text

Of all the things Hermione expected to find when she floo’d over to Harry and Ginny’s, near the bottom of the list would have been Draco holding Ginny as she cried.

Visits to Grimmauld were becoming increasingly chaotic. Should have been expected really, considering this was the home of Harry- the man who couldn’t help but attract such disorder- and Ginny- the woman who thrived amongst it. But still, it caught her off guard every time.

Momentarily hesitating, trying to reassure herself she hadn’t floo’d into an alternate dimension, she stumbled to a stop. Draco met her gaze.

He looked…unsure. Certainly uncomfortable as he kept his body distanced from Ginny’s just enough, even as she had leaned in for a hug. His arms weren’t so much wrapped around her as they were semi-hovering questioningly. And he was doing the most odd patting-her-shoulder-lightly thing with his hand that Hermione could only guess was him trying to comfort her.

Why was Ginny crying?

And where was Harry?

“Everything…okay?” Hermione asked, unsure of what to make of the situation.

Draco didn’t move until Ginny had pulled away from him, but he looked relieved once she was out of his grasp. His rise and fall of a deep exhalation was visible, even across the room.

Ginny whimpered out something that sounded vaguely like Hermione’s name, and the crack of her voice broke something inside Hermione. She dropped everything to the ground and rushed forward, not a moment before Ginny launched herself from the couch and collided with Hermione hard enough to take them both to the floor.

Hermione held her friend tight as she sobbed into her chest. Her mind immediately began conjuring up explanations- some mugh lighter than others- as she tried to guess what was happening. She looked to Draco.

Who still looked uncomfortable. And avoided Hermione’s gaze.

Apparently the etiquette lessons didn’t extend to breakdowns.

Hermione was just about to attempt to speak to Ginny again when Harry came into the room, a corked bottle of wine in one hand, an almost empty bottle of firewhiskey in the other.

“Afraid we’re down to the last measly portions- Oh, Hermione.” Upon seeing her, Harry stopped walking and smiled, though it was short lived and quickly disappeared when he saw his wife. He quickly set the bottles down on the counter and rushed over.

Harry whispered into Ginny’s ear words Hermione could only barely make out, but if she had to guess, she would say it was reassurances and praises and whispers of love. And something about a shower. With a nod, Ginny wordlessly collected herself enough to rise. She sniffled as she rose to her feet, wiping at her red and swollen face.

“Need help?” Harry offered to her.

She shook her head and left, making her way down the hall and slamming a door closed. There were the telling sounds of rushing water- a shower- in the distance.

“Hermione,” Harry sighed. She turned to find his eyes watery and swollen as well.

“Harry, what-” But he rushed into her arms, pulling her into a tight embrace before she could finish her question.

She held him as he shook, Harry’s tell for crying. He had always been able to do so absolutely silently; you would never know if you couldn’t see him move or feel him vibrating. She ran her hand over his back- the thing he most preferred when he was upset.

It was only when he pulled away that he spoke again. Apologies rushed out as took off his glass and wiped at his face.

“No, it’s okay. I just- Harry, what happened?” She didn’t want to rush him with questions, but at this point, she was truly starting to worry.

“Gin went to the fertility doctor today. I was supposed to go with her, but we got called away and-” Harry turned to Draco then, mouth agape. “Malfoy! Blimey, I’m so sorry. You just came by for that file and you fell into all this, I’m so sorry, I-”

“It’s perfectly fine, Potter,” Draco assured him, cutting off his rambles. “I didn’t have anywhere else to be.”

It took another nod of reassurance and Draco getting up to fetch the alcohol before Harry finally nodded himself.

“It didn’t go well?” Hermione guessed. Harry looked at her and shook his head no, tears welling once more. Draco returned and came to sit down on the floor with them, handing over the alcohol wordlessly, which Harry took and downed several gulps of.

“Bloody hell,” he gasped, pulling the liquor away long enough to see what he was drinking, and then returning to the bottle for another few pulls.

Hermione waited.

As did Draco.

They waited until the shower turned off, the door opened, and another slammed shut in the distance.

Finally, Harry continued. “They say we have one more chance. One more before it’s considered risky for Ginny’s body to go through the magics again.”

“Oh, Harry.”

“I never imagined it would be this hard.” He took another drink, grimacing at the taste. “They taught us over and over the potions and charms and protections we need to keep it from happening, the importance of doing that every single time. And…” Harry’s laugh was humorless, “here we are.”

Hermione nodded, but it was Draco who commented, “Easy to forget along the way that it’s really difficult for some to conceive.”

“Yes! Precisely. And at the risk of sounding like a real wanker, it’s just… it’s not right. I mean… hasn’t life been dreadful enough to me as is?”

“One would think,” Draco agreed. “Unfortunately, life does not appear to care much about being fair. It would rather deal in chance.”

“You’d think I’d occasionally catch a break, even by chance.” Harry’s lip trembled. He looked of a lost, fragile puppy. “We just really wanted to have a baby.”

Hermione shh’d him as she pulled him close and combed her fingers through his hair. Tears streamed down his face. She wanted to find words, any words, that could be comforting.

But nothing came.

So she offered her friend the best she could- a shoulder to cry on and warm arms to wrap tight around him. Draco spoke upon occasion, offering up the alcohol when Harry went searching for it. And they sat on the floor in a haphazard circle until Harry’s tears eventually dried.

He worked to collect himself. “Can we reschedule our dinner?”

“Absolutely,” she reassured him quickly.

“I’m so sorry-”

“No need, Harry.” When he studied her, she gave her best reassuring smile. He eventually caved, a sad attempt at a grin on his face. “Do you need me to drop off something for tonight?”

Harry declined. “We have leftovers from Molly.”

“Alright.” Hermione gave him one last hug before gesturing to the hallway. “Go check on her. We’ll let ourselves out.”

As reluctant as Harry was, upon the mention of Ginny, his focus narrowed to her. He seemed to internally build himself back up- make himself strong, as strong as he could be for her- before heading off towards their bedroom.

It was only once the door had closed behind Harry that Draco exhaled loudly. He braced himself. “Merlin.”

Hermione nodded. It was a feeling she understood quite well. No matter how many attempts they went through, no matter the time that had passed, it had never become easier watching her friends hurt this way. It always felt like the first.

“How long have you been here?”

Draco didn’t look at his watch. “A while.”

“Come on.” Hermione collected her things from where she had dropped them, though she did set the box of chocolates she had brought with her on a nearby table for Ginny to find later. She gestured to the fireplace. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I was actually going to owl you later; I have a new idea.”

Hermione paused at his words, floo powder clutched in her fist. She was instantly intrigued. “For the brew?”

“For the mark brew. Want to come take a look?”

“Come to mine.” It was more demand than question. “I am desperate to change out of this sweater. It’s itchy.”

She didn’t wait for a response before stepping through the floo. Nor did she wait for him once she stepped out the fireplace. It may be bad form to invite someone into your space and then immediately abandon them, but this sweater truly was painfully itchy, and her softening charms had repeatedly worn off all day.

Even after it had been removed, her skin felt the fire of its touch. Three soothing charms later and it was muted to a dull ache, which would have to suffice, and she pulled on her softest sleeveless top to let her skin breathe. It also was the tightest and shortest one she owned.

And If it bothered Draco’s precious Pureblood eyeballs, he could leave and come back another time.

Feeling worlds better already, she headed directly for the kitchen. Footsteps sounded behind her, seeming to come from the living room. Where he must have stayed once they floo’d in.

Ever the gentleman.

“It took you ten minutes to-” He stopped speaking as his eyes raked over her still flushed skin.

Or not.

“Don’t,” she warned.

Though he held his hands up in surrender, his amused smirk spoke volumes. “Why do you keep it if that is the result?”

Hermione stumbled.

Why did she keep it?

Honestly the thing was older than she was. Every time she wore it she was reminded of how much she detested the thing, and she’d rip it from her body with promises to be rid of it. But then it ultimately always ended up in the wash, and then it was hanging in her closet, and before she knew it, she’d be back at work in that fucking sweater.

The same sweater that had been a real find, discovered whilst thrifting, with her mum.

“Masochistic streak?” he inquired, ripping her from her thoughts.

She flipped him the bird as she began rummaging through her too empty cupboards. There were plenty of options in the takeaway menu drawer, but that would require cooking time on top of delivering it here. And she was not changing again to go pick it up there.

“I think our problem lies with the stabilizer; it isn't strong enough to withstand the curse itself,” Draco mused.

She heard him, but it was a struggle to actually absorb the meaning behind any of the words. Everything was a jumble. And though changing had helped immensely, she was now very aware of the audible growl of her painfully empty stomach.

Draco followed her round her kitchen, a notebook in his hands. Once he cornered her, he placed the book on the counter top. It was opened to a page full of chicken scratch and half-finished illustrations that he was still talking through when she interrupted.

“I haven’t eaten all day. Can’t we please have ten minutes of polite conversation so I can actually focus on…” Hermione gestured to the chaos on the pages, “all of that.”

If looks could kill.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

Though her fridge was largely barren as well- the only contents being leftover takeaway from the night prior, her warded potion vials, and a singular yogurt container- it would do. Initially, she set her sights on the container of leftover pasta, but underneath were pizza slices she had completely forgotten about, and that was a far superior leftover option, in her opinion.

“Wha-?” Draco studied her as she pulled the cold pizza out of the box and set it on a plate. “Why?”

“It's leftovers. You see sometimes people don’t eat all their food and-”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You haven’t warmed them.”

“You never get a hankering for chilled pizza?”

“No.”

The first bite wasn’t quite what she expected, and she pulled her wand. With a half-powered warming charm, the slice shifted from iced and crunchy to gently chilled.

Perfect.

Draco watched her with his mouth ajar, clearly confused.

“I like them cold, not frozen,” she explained.

“The muggle box freezes things, too?” Draco eyed it, circling it without getting too close, as if it were an unknown he needed to be wary of.

“How do you know about the muggle box?”

“I’ve read a book or two.”

“Clearly needed another,” she joked. He was unamused. “Well, that’s supposed to be the function of the separate part in there.” Hermione pointed towards the upper part of the fridge where the freezer was housed inside. “But mine is rather old at this point. Doesn’t work properly.”

Opening the door to peer inside, he examined each part before nodding, confusion still written clearly on his face, and closing it up and stepping away. As he eyed the pizza in her hand, she held her own slice out to him.

“I’ll pass.”

“There’s more in here,” she sang, gesturing to the box on the counter.

“No, thank you.”

But he had hesitated, so she opened the box and pushed it closer to him. “I bet you haven’t had dinner, and it’s the best around. Heat to your heart’s content.”

Even as Hermione had offered, she hadn’t truly expected Draco to try it. But sure enough, he slid the box over, and with the most delicate of touches extracted the slice, placed it on a plate, and gently warmed it with his wand til steam billowed upwards and the cheese began to ooze.

“And?” she asked after he took a bite.

Draco nodded with a full mouth, quickly working to chew and swallow so he could reply, “Surprisingly good. To be a slice of leftover, previously iced pie.”

“Posh git,” she grumbled. He only smiled as he continued to eat.

They ate in silence.

Though the room was bereft of conversation, his presence spoke loudly. Draco was dressed, as always, in his finest. Hair perfectly tousled. Posture perfectly proper, even as he stood in her kitchen eating leftover pizza.

But his trousers were now wrinkled from sitting on the floor. There was a smudge of black on his white collar from Ginny’s mascara. And a slight sheen of grease was visible on his chin from said leftover pizza.

As she took in the image in front of her, remembering everything that had transpired that evening, her mind conjured up a memory.

You were everything you weren’t supposed to be.

Every day spent with him brought her new understanding to the phrase.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, suddenly breaking the silence. “For helping back there.”

Draco shrugged meekly. “Not exactly my strongest skill set… comforting people that is.”

“Did pretty good from where I was standing.”

“Was a bit touch and go when I was sitting with Ginevra.”

Hermione thought back to Draco’s hesitant touches. How unsure he was as he attempted to comfort her. It made her chuckle.

“Okay, not your finest moment,” she acquiesced. “But when we were talking to Harry… you were honestly more helpful than I was.”

“I’m in a unique position of understanding.”

Understanding?

How could he understand?

Her confusion must have been visible loud and clear on her face because he explained, “Astoria and I tried to have a child.”

The confession left her reeling. He hadn’t hesitated to confide in her, fully, as if it wasn’t very personal history. And most absurd of all, he was fully present in the moment. No occlusion walls. No hiding. Nothing.

Though he watched her absorb the comment, he continued to eat casually, as if he hadn’t taken her world for a spin.

“But…you couldn’t?” Hermione whispered. He nodded.

“We went to healer after healer, saw specialists, even traveled halfway across the world to see someone once. And none of it mattered. They all told us the same thing: Astoria couldn’t have biological kids.”

“The curse?”

“The family one? Perhaps. Hard to know the exact cause, though I imagine that was likely a factor. Along with stress, genetics, all of that.”

Hermione could see the pain on Draco’s face at the memory. And having watched Harry and Ginny struggle for so long, she had observed the toll it could take. Even then, she personally couldn’t imagine the ache of wanting a child and physically being unable.

“I’m so sorry, Draco. That sounds…unimaginable.”

He nodded, far away in his thoughts. “She hadn’t been cut by Bella’s old blade yet; it was before we drifted, before Pansy… And then you know what came after that.”

Draco finally set the pizza down, wiped his hands on a napkin and placed it over his plate. He didn’t look at her when he spoke again.

“I understand the pain of having to put that dream to rest.”

There was so much Hermione wanted to say, but Draco was suddenly a flurry of movement; he got to work discarding the remainder of his food and setting a dish washing charm on the plate in the sink. Notebook pulled back out from…somewhere? He began planning out the next week of brewing.

The moment was gone.

Not that Hermione had known what would best comfort Draco anyway, but it felt wrong to not even attempt. To let the moment dissipate as if he hadn’t just revealed a very real and very painful piece of himself.

“Hermione?” She abruptly broke from her thoughts, realizing he had been speaking to her.

“Wh-what?”

“I asked what you thought of the plan. To try out the new mark stabilizer brew?” His finger still rested on the bottom of the page indicating his place. She wondered how long he had been describing it and she had been tuning him out.

The flush of his cheeks and hesitation to meet her gaze gave him away. As did the now present occlusion walls.

They were back.

He was back.

Whatever moment of vulnerability she had glimpsed was gone, not that she understood what had sparked its presence in the first place. But apparently it had quickly become too much, unsurprising given the subject matter.

Knowing Draco, as she was beginning to, the redirection made sense.

“What do you think?” His eyes seemed to be pleading with her.

Let it go.

“Go over it with me again?”

And he did. He walked through each thought. The corresponding connections to how it would alter their brew. Referenced texts and tomes from his library that had informed his work. And she agreed; it was a solid theory.

“Next weekend perhaps? I’m scheduled to assist with a site on Thursday and Friday, but Saturday?”

The mention of next weekend- what it would entail, and importantly what it would not- hurt to think about. And though she knew she should allow those feelings in, should face it just as her mother had always implored her to do, she shoved it all away.

She didn’t want to feel this. Not right now.

“Of course. I have no other plans.”

–

“You still think we should only add 10 Anfry Buds?” Hermione asked.

They had been at this- doing very meticulous work- for hours. And yet, they had only just made it to the actual brewing itself. So far, Hermione had done a miraculous job at keeping herself very distracted from what today was, focusing only on the work before her and the words spoken to her. Everything else was shoved away.

“We’re trying to strengthen the mark stabilizer, yes, but once we get it working properly Astoria still has to ingest this mixture. We’re not trying to kill her faster,” Draco scoffed.

Hermione sighed. “Eat an apple, Draco, you’re starving and it’s making you insufferable.”

She could feel Draco glaring at her, but she didn’t bother looking at him. Instead, she called for Poppy, who promptly brought an apple and set it before him without requiring being asked.

“Poppy…” Hermione started, “How did you…?”

“Master Draco has always been a bit…excitable in the afternoons if he doesn’t have his snack.”

“You mean volatile, Poppy? Temperamental perhaps?” Hermione prodded.

“Poppy would never,” she assured them both, with an outreached hand towards Draco. But the smirk on her face told a different story.

She apparated away as Draco took a large, loud bite out of the apple in his hands. He muttered something under his breath, and while Hermione couldn’t catch every word, she did hear insufferable and wretched.

“What was that?” Hermione asked.

“Just saying that 15 of the Anfry would likely be too much,” Draco said quickly. “Perhaps too volatile.”

Those silver eyes slid over to hers as he mocked her words. They were playful and bright today, even amongst the afternoon lull in his good mood.

“Ha. Ha.” Hermione grabbed a mortar and pestle before measuring out the Anfry Buds and added them in. Slowly, she began grinding them into a thin powder.

The outer hulls protecting them were stronger than she originally guessed, and it ended up taking great effort to cut through. She was already starting to sweat before she had even cracked open all the hulls.

“Why don’t you use magic more often?” Draco asked in between bites.

His question caught her off guard, though he was right. She wasn’t using magic when she could be. And wouldn’t that be a relief right now? Picking up her wand, she magically started crushing the buds. It was exponentially faster.

“I don’t know…” she finally replied. “Habit, I guess.”

“You’ve had magic for years.”

“True. But, the first eleven years of my life I didn’t, beyond accidental slip-ups. I had to do everything by hand…like the peasant I was.”

He lifted his eyebrow at her and pursed his lips slightly, which was Draco speak for fuck you.

“Believe it or not I wasn’t judging you,” he insisted. “I was just curious.”

“I believe it. But even your curious face can be pretentious.” She held a neutral face, but it eventually twisted into a smirk.

She was unable to be truly mean to him.

Idly, Hermione flashed back to punching the man so many years ago and wondered when exactly she had become such a softie.

“You’re cruel,” he said, though he was smiling ever so slightly as he peered over the magically stirring cauldron.

“Ready,” Hermione announced.

“And record time. Exceeding expectations for a peasant.”

She levitated the powder to him with a glare. He set his apple down before adding in the precise amount, stirring twice clockwise, and adjusting the flame, all with his wand.

“Five minutes,” he said. She nodded as he magically started the timer hologram floating in the corner.

“Why do you do everything magically?” she asked.

Finding a stool to perch on, he shrugged. “Same as you, I suppose. I grew up with it.”

“I can’t imagine that. Always having magic…” her voice drifted off as she thought of the possibilities.

“It speeds along things.”

“Sure, but what about the satisfaction that comes with doing things by hand? With the mechanics of it all and getting your hands dirty and all that?”

“Such as?”

Hermione pondered this. When was the last time she felt that way? She couldn’t remember. So she let her mind drift to her childhood. What did she miss?

“I don’t know… painting a fresh coat on something only to realize your hands are covered in it. Or mixing up and rolling out cookie batter by hand? Struggling over the ratio of sand to water while making a sandcastle on the beach with those colorful buckets?”

“I never did those things,”

But Ron had? Ginny had?

While Molly Weasley certainly believed in using magic, particularly with household chores, she had her limits. Everything couldn’t be performed via magic for a household of that many people. No, she would have burst. The family had always completed many tasks by hand, and Hermione knew Molly took care to teach her children many skills without magic.

“I imagine those aren’t necessarily magic-based differences,” Hermione hedged.

“No,” he agreed, sullenly.

“There’s still time, you know, Draco. To do all those things. To do whatever you want.”

The timer went off, abruptly ending the conversation and burying whatever reply he was poised to say.

Draco levitated Mical Root over to the cauldron. Dropping it piece by piece, he stirred three times after each. Once it was all added, it would need five more clockwise stirs.

He only managed three before it exploded.

--

Hermione’s wand hadn’t been close enough, and she’d never been very sufficient with wandless shield spells. They were too slippery.

The force of the blast had knocked her backwards. She’d rolled across a tabletop before falling to the ground, landing atop a stray mixing bowl. The blow knocked the wind out of her, and as the potion room settled, she coughed and gasped for air.

Dust and particles drifted through the air above her, visible in the sun’s setting rays. When she finally managed to breathe again, with only the faintest hints of fire licking her throat as she did so, she tried to take in the remnants of their room. As she began to move, she heard the scratch of glass underneath her. She felt the sharp sting.

Thankfully, they had used a very small and sturdy cauldron, so the blast was relatively contained compared to what it could have been. But, it was still powerful enough to upend the workroom. Tables were tossed on their sides. Chairs had been smashed into walls hard enough to break them apart and shelving had been destroyed by various materials thrown against them. Something had gone straight through the far window, shattering the glass.

“Draco!” she called out, unsteadily rising to her feet. It took effort, and one of her ankles buckled under her weight. It felt twisted.

Following the grunt of a response, she hobbled across the room. He was half buried under textbooks, an overturned bookshelf hovering above him. It had luckily been caught by the counter across from it, or it surely would have fallen on him and crushed him.

Dropping to her knees, she helped pull the last few books from his body. He swatted her away when she tried to check him for injury.

“I’m fine,” he grunted.

It took him several minutes to manage to climb to his feet, but the stubborn wanker wouldn’t let her help. When he finally made it up, she looked for the source of the destruction.

The cauldron was destroyed. Completely. Hermione wasn’t even positive she was actually looking at the cauldron, but she thought the color of whatever twisted material was in front of her appeared to match the metal. Besides, she couldn’t think of anything else that had been close enough to the explosion that could melt like that.

“Fuck,” Draco whispered.

“I guess we miscalculated,” Hermione said.

“It can’t be this particular variant of Anfry,” Draco said immediately, shaking his head. “It doesn’t even exhibit explosive properties.”

Assuming Draco was correct- and he surely was considering his knowledge in potions- she began mentally cataloguing each ingredient. She tried to determine where the mistake had been, but she wasn’t sure. She needed to write it down. Maybe compare with the text she bought last week. And maybe find a pain potion for her throbbing head.

“Fuck!” Draco yelled suddenly, pulling her from her thoughts. Still as a statue, his hands rested on his head as he looked at the scene before him.

“It’s okay, Draco. We can…”

“Okay?” he yelled, turning on her. “Okay? How is any of this okay?”

“I didn’t mean that, I only meant we can try again, and-”

“This was supposed to work. We checked it three times. Everything indicated it should have worked. Why didn’t it work?”

Draco was spiraling.

Hermione called out to him, but he didn’t appear to hear her. Pacing too quickly, his hands pulled at his own hair, face scrunched up in agony as he spoke to himself. Hermione could hear him whispering as he reviewed each potion ingredient, each amount, each specific step in the directions they wrote.

She wanted to reach for him, but he was so agitated.

“Pansy… Pansy, Pansy…” He was chanting her name.

Hermione couldn’t tell if he was once again fretting over Pansy having to work today instead of brewing with them, or if he felt guilty about the outcome they had, or perhaps hadn’t, achieved.

“I can’t.” Draco stopped abruptly. His face was resolute but broken. Hermione watched as his eyes began to glisten.

“Can’t what, Draco?”

But she didn’t think he truly heard her. Nothing appeared to penetrate; words shattered upon hitting him, falling away before he could consume any.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” He kept repeating it over and over and over.

Hermione tried to speak to him again, reaching out for him, but he ripped himself away from her grasp. Crying openly now, his eyes scanned the room until they fell upon a book- the text they had used for their calculations. Gripping it tightly, he threw it against the far wall.

Then another. And another. Then he was throwing anything he could reach.

“Draco! Draco, stop! Please!”

She wasn’t sure if he finally heard her. Or maybe he had just run out of things to throw. But he stopped. With his hands still on his head, Draco fell to his knees.

“I can’t.”

A broken toy stuck on a programmed phrase, all he could do was repeat it time and again. Hermione stepped over to him, dropping to her knees in front of him. Something sharp bit at her skin, but she ignored it.

“Draco,” she whispered. “You can’t do what?”

No answer. More of the same.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I can’t.

Hermione edged her hand closer until her fingertips brushed the edges of his sleeve. A little more and her hand rested on his exposed forearm. It was only at her touch- skin to skin- that she finally gained his attention, his glazed and swollen eyes looking at her. So lost.

“You can’t do what?” she repeated. Hermione honestly didn’t think he would answer her.

“I can’t do any of this,” he replied. “I can’t.”

“I know it’s not the results we hoped for, but…”

“No, I can’t, Hermione. I can’t…” His voice cracked as he spoke her name, and the tears were falling faster.

She nodded but didn’t speak. Clearly asking questions wasn’t helping. So instead, she just waited.

And waited.

Eventually, in the smallest of voices, he spoke. “I try and try and try. To get everything just perfect, just right. I have to be perfect. I have to…”

“You don’t have to be perfect, Draco.”

But he wasn’t listening to her. He just nodded, insisting, as he whispered words to himself.

Insistently. Pleadingly. Desperately.

As if they were a prayer.

“Why do you have to be perfect?” she asked.

This was new. This was decidedly un-Draco. Hermione was at a loss. She too was upset that the potion they had spent all day brewing had quite literally blown up in their face. She too was scared knowing how important it was to get this right. But he… he was disintegrating in front of her eyes.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Draco?”

No answer. His body taught, face reddening, eyes squeezed tight and shaking his head slightly, as if he were trying to force something out of his mind.

“Draco.” Hermione was stern as she placed both hands on his shoulders and firmly but gently shook him once. She kept her eyes trained on him until he finally looked at her.

Shining silver eyes. Sorrowful silver eyes.

A quiet inhale. “I have to do everything just right or people die.”

Hermione felt the kiss of pain in her chest at his words, but she didn’t dare interrupt.

“If I mess up, people get hurt. People die. People always die. Everyone...everyone dies.”

Hermione’s heart clenched. She opened her mouth to soothe him, but he kept going.

“And I couldn’t save my mother,” he gasped. “And I couldn’t help all those people or you or myself. And I tried to be so fucking perfect…”

He gasped for air, eyes looking up at nothing in particular.

“And now, I am trying so hard. So hard. And it doesn’t matter because I can’t save her. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…”

He sank into himself then; head drooping towards the floor, shoulders down, arms dangling towards the ground, hands palm up and shaking.

And Hermione understood.

The very controlled man that was Draco Malfoy, who carried himself just right, did everything just right, did so because of how petrified he was to lose anyone else. Because he believed everything was so deeply his fault that if he was anything but perfect and in control, people would die.

An irrational fear, but certainly a deeply painful one. Hermione felt her own tears fall at witnessing him collapse in on himself.

Before she realized what she was doing, she had reached out and gently taken his wrist in her hand. He didn’t look up, but he let her pull his hands into her own.

Once there, the floodgates opened. The tears flowed. He hung his head and somehow sunk into himself further. She held his hands tight, gently stroking his skin with her thumb and whispering soothing words as he sobbed.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…”

Chapter Text

*****Draco’s POV*****

Draco was numb.

Achingly numb.

As if there was a void of nothingness that had opened up from within his chest, and he could feel the pull as it threatened to swallow him whole.

It was a familiar feeling, one he recognized all too well. The fury and fire he once felt rushing through him had long ago been extinguished until only this remained.

He needn’t consider if the failed brew had contributed to it, because he knew the feeling would have come nonetheless.

It always did.

Numbness was but a finicky fuck of a friend who stopped by too often.

He wanted to want to throw something. To smash the glass in his hand and watch the pieces rain down until they would collide with the wooden floor. But his limbs were heavy and held him in place, and it took everything in him to even lift his arm up to take a sip.

The burn was a welcome reprieve. A moment of feeling, something. Anything.

His eyes would all too easily go unfocused, and though his mind was swirling with too many thoughts, it was as if they were a hazy and chaotic storm within him. None of them solidified enough to take full thought. All there was to do was to sit in the fog.

It was exhausting. It was all so exhausting.

Draco sat in his lifeless home, listening to the crackle of the fireplace in the otherwise silent space. And he was thankful to be there.

It understood emptiness, too.

–

At exactly 4:03 am, the floo activated.

Draco knew because he had fallen asleep by the fireplace. So when she fell through the floo onto her arse, knocking over a glass vase and shattering it in the process, he jolted awake.

He jumped up, wand ready, hexes on the tip of his tongue when he realized it was-

“Hermione?”

She was currently leaning over the vase shards with a finger to her lips, shushing it.

“Dra-co?” she asked, looking around the room. Once she found him, she went back to glaring at the shattered vase. “Merlin… look what you did!” Her words were slurred, head bobbing and body swaying.

“Hermione, are you pissed?”

She turned to look at him, eyes struggling to focus on his face “Am I…? Yes, Draco. Yes, I...I think I am!” Hermione cackled, actually slipping in her place and chaotically grabbing about for a solid surface.

Draco hurried over to steady her. As he approached, he was overwhelmed by the fragrance of crystalline. Which was particularly peculiar because he knew she didn’t drink crystalline; it was too strong.

“What are you doing here?”

“I forgot my thing in the…the room,” she explained, ignoring the arm he reached out to her and instead making a rectangular shape with her hands.

“Your...thing?” He tried to think of anything rectangular shaped. “A book?”

She shook her head no and continued miming the shape.

“A box?” he asked, grasping for straws.

“Why would I carry a box around?” She paused, as if the question had actually been posed by herself to herself. Then she started cackling. “Imagine...me...a box. All well hello there, sir or madame, have you...have you seen my box?”

Hermione was actually mimicking the conversation, ultimately leaving her laughing hard enough she was doubled over. It was not funny in the slightest, telling Draco she was really, truly pissed.

“So back to your...your thing…” Draco suggested, trying to pull her back on track.

“Yes!” Her eyes lit up. “It holds...it holds all my stuff. Like let’s go, gotta get… gotta your..the thing.”

She was still miming pulling the rectangle towards her body and having a fake conversation as Draco’s mind whirled.

“A handbag?” he finally guessed. Once the item had conjured up in his mind, he remembered seeing her arrive that morning, setting her belongings down in the study, including one handbag.

“Yes! You bloody… bloody fucking genius.” She was grinning at him as if he had made a novel discovery rather than playing charades with her.

He reached an arm out to her. “Come along. Let’s retrieve it.”

Thankfully she took his offer this time, and he pulled her up on her very unsteady feet. She clung to him as she attempted to find her footing, looking like a baby deer walking for the first time.

“Woooow,” she exclaimed, in awe. A finger touched Draco’s bare stomach, and it was only then he realized he had fallen asleep in trousers and nothing else. Her eyes were zeroed in on his skin. “Are you even real? You look like...like...like someone carved you. From marble,” she said, in awe.

“I assure you I’m quite real,” he replied, pulling her prodding and honestly bony finger away from his torso. It was starting to hurt.

“Do you wizards even have marble? What do you make your statues of? I bet there’s a text on that somewhere...”

Bloody hell.

“Draco,” she sighed, not waiting for an answer to any of her questions. She laid her head on his shoulder, close enough now he was overwhelmed by the scent of her. “Would you tell me if you were a statue?”

“Yes, Hermione,” he assured her, unable to hold in his smile at her words. “I would tell you.”

“Oh, good. That’s… that’s good. I would like to know.”

“Of course you would,” he smirked. It wasn't surprising in the slightest that Hermione Granger was this curious and inquisitive, even pissed.

“One handbag,” he said as he looped the strap to the brown satchel around her shoulder.

“Thank you!” she squealed before examining the purse closely.

“What’s wrong?... You know, I didn’t do anything to it,” he said defensively.

“It… it actually sort of is like a box!” She looked up in awe, shaking her head at him as if she had stumbled upon the most mind numbing of discoveries. “Who would have thought?”

About that time, Hermione stumbled. Draco saw it coming a moment too late, not reaching her in time, meaning she fell sharply against the table. The corner of it went into her side, and she rubbed it in pain as she yelped. By the time he reached her, she had somehow righted herself against the nearby wall.

“Hermione?” She seemed confused but eventually narrowed in on his voice and face and gave him a small encouraging smile to continue speaking. “Why are you this pissed?”

“I drank alcohol.”

Excellent. Even in this state she’s a right pain in the arse.

“Yes, I gathered that much, but why?”

“Because today. Because…today is today and I need…need to forget.” She shrugged as if that made sense instead of being a jumbled mess. Draco tried to make sense of her words.

“And today is bad because…?”

“Because.” She looked around, seeming to try and see if anyone else was around. There wasn’t. Though he doubted she would actually know if there was. “I’m not telling anyone, but it’s my… my birthday.”

“You know I hear people actually celebrate their birthdays instead of mourning them, traditionally.”

“Well those people must have families to… to celebrate with.”

“And you don’t?”

“As if you don’t know.”

Draco was stunned. “Are you taking the piss?”

“Of course not! You know. You,” she poked her bony index finger back towards his chest, “know exactly what...what happened to them.”

“Hermione, I truly don’t,” he assured her, lost at her accusations.

Why would I?

“I did it to keep them safe…” She kept talking, as if he did understand. “They...they had to be safe. You know? It was the only way to… to keep my parents safe… I think I need to sit down.”

Her parents?

Draco tried to stop her, but his hesitation at her words had bought her enough time. She had already slid down the wall, now sitting on the ground at his feet.

“Come on in… The floor is just fine,” Hermione smiled up at him as she pat the ground beside her, eyes unfocused, soon returning to cackling. Draco sat, ignoring her even as she explained her comment.

“Your parents?” he asked, redirecting her back. “Why would I know about your parents?”

“Because I had to protect them from… from you.”

“From me? But what…”

“From all of you.” She waved her hand in a circle in the air. “From all… all the Death Eaters. From Volde… Voldemort.”

Draco’s stomach dropped. He suddenly felt too nauseous.

“Hermione, what did you do to your parents?” He hated to ask, but he had to know.

“I ‘bliviated them,” she replied, resting her head back against the wall. “I couldn’t...couldn’t let anyone find ‘em. And now, now I can’t… I can’t undo it. I did it too… too good.”

Draco watched Hermione look down at her hands as his own chest constricted. The brilliant witch in front of him, who had given up everything for the war had truly given up everything. To do what was right.

“I couldn’t let them find them…”

He didn’t know courage like that. He never would. Not if he tried for the rest of his life.

“My mum… She used to make me this… this… this birthday cake. We ate on it… all day. Strawberry. With that white cream stuff… Me and mum and my pa. Now, I just...just buy a cake that’s too sweet. And all I had was the crystalline.” She made a face. “And I...I try to forget.”

Hermione’s head turned sharply towards him. Everything was blurry, but even amidst his tear-filled vision, he could make out those golden eyes looking at him.

“Do you know what...what that’s like, Dr…Draco? To need to forget?”

He did. More than she could ever know.

Well, maybe not more.

Draco shivered at the pain Hermione had withstood. He knew she had been on the run for months, starving until she was barely more than skin and bones. He had witnessed her torture at the hands of his deranged cousin. He had been there for the final battle and the months after, when the media wouldn’t let anyone breathe, even as so many mourned.

And now, he knew that her parents were gone…

Of course Draco understood that sometimes people who were obliviated weren’t able to come back from it. The mind was a complex thing, not to be messed with lightly. Not that she had. No, he understood why she would do such a thing.

He personally would do anything to keep his loved ones safe.

He had done anything to keep his loved ones safe.

Did Draco know what it was like to need to forget? Of course. In fact, he barely knew what it was like to want to remember.

“Yes,” he whispered, finally finding his voice.

But she was asleep.

–

Draco had barely slept.

Every time he laid down and closed his eyes, her words reverberated in his mind. Eventually he had given up and settled in the kitchen with a steaming kettle and a text.

The conversation with Hermione had been sobering enough, but the warm tea brought further clarity. And his occlusion walls brought some semblance of peace from the overwhelming guilt he felt at Hermione’s confession.

And the book in front of him brought a welcome distraction.

He worked on the brew recipe, analyzing each and every single ingredient carefully. Documenting typical observed reactions as well as all known variants of each, he tried to sort through and find the outlier.

Still lost in the implications of growing the herbs with magically purified water versus magically conjured water, a weak greeting sounded from the door. A very withered Hermione was slumped against the frame.

“Morning.”

Though she didn’t approach, Draco could examine her from where he was. Exhaustion was plain on her face. The wild curls of her hair were particularly untamed this morning, and she had a nauseated, sickly grey tone to her skin.

Likely the crystalline.

She remained in yesterday’s clothing. Whatever makeup had been on her face had rubbed until dark black resided under her eyes, one large streak on the right side carrying down onto her cheek. In her hand were clasped two bottles.

He gestured to them. “Those are-”

“I know what they are.”

Draco nodded. “Would you like some tea?” She didn’t move yet, but once he mentioned the flavor worked as a nice chaser for the sobering potion, she joined him. He let her prepare her own tea- because though she typically liked cream inside, that didn’t sound a good pairing with crystalline nausea- and she immediately took the sobering potion.

“That didn’t help,” she gasped, face still screwed up even after gulping down mouthfuls of tea. Though she hadn’t given it much time to work, he knew it still wouldn’t be enough. Draco summoned another vial, and she glared.

“Drink something less potent next time,” he suggested.

Another glare, but she downed this one as well. He could visibly see when the edges of pain and sick began to fade. She perked up ever so slightly, though she rested her head on the countertop and covered her head with her hands. Mumbling something that sounded vaguely like never again, Draco had to work to hold in his laugh.

He refilled her cup, spurring her to finally sit back up. Apparently the tea was helping.

“Please tell me I didn’t do anything embarrassing,” she said into her cup.

“You didn’t watch?”

After passing out, Poppy helped set her up in the spare room. Draco had gone to his own quarters, taking time to extract the memory into a vial for Poppy to leave at her bedside, along with the family pensieve that usually resided in his study.

“Too mortified,” she replied.

And he could have told her. Maybe he should have told her. But truthfully, she could watch if she wanted to know, and opting out suggested she didn’t. So why force it on her?

“No, you didn’t,” he quickly assured her, trying to school his own face into his signature snobby yet bored expression. “Came for your handbag, passed out almost immediately, and Poppy got you sorted in the guest suite after. Dreadfully boring night, really.”

She scoffed, relief flooding her instantly. Apparently a hangover was the cure to Hermione’s frightening perception.

“Still, I’m sorry, Draco. That was painfully embarrassing of me. And knowing when I started drinking, it must have been very late, and I woke you up and-”

“It’s fine, Hermione. Really.”

Though he was being truthful, he doubted she believed him. Looking down at the cup in her hands, the blush on her cheeks was strong, and she gnawed at her bottom lip until he wondered how it wasn’t bleeding.

Even with his walls up, guilt tried to seep through. Perhaps it was seeing her so tore up in front of him only hours after her confession. Perhaps he was losing his touch for making walls after a night without sleep. Whatever the reason, he felt it now.

And he knew he should talk about it. That would be the proper, adult thing to do. The mature way to handle everything. But Draco didn’t think he could quite own up to his part in destroying her family in the harsh light of day. At least not today.

“What you should be apologizing for is not using the spare bathroom and clothes I know Poppy left out. You smell ghastly."

Once a coward, always a coward.

Mercifully, Hermione smiled. “Sorry. I was out of everything except the crystalline I brew with.”

Draco made a face at the thought of brewing grade crystalline. No wonder she had been properly pissed.

“I’ll head home and shower, and then I’ll come back and we can get back to it.” Hermione gestured to his notes as she began to rise from her seat.

“Wait. I have something for you.”

Pulling his wand, Draco summoned the wrapped parcel from his desk. Hermione gasped in shock once it appeared before them and again once she had touched it; the charm activated so that gold lettering scrawled out Happy Birthday in elaborative cursive.

Running her thumb over the twine securing the paper, she mused, “How did you even get this together so fast? I just told you last night.”

“Yes, well, that is thanks to my own idiocy. I thought my memory was accurate, but my estimation was off by a week or two.”

“You remember from Hogwarts?”

“How could I forget? Potter’s confetti charms at breakfast and the Weasel with those outlandish presents. And Ginevra shouting at the top of her lungs throughout every hallway, the entire day long.”

Hermione laughed at the memory. Her hands reached for the wrapped parcel and pulled it towards herself. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“It can also be a thank you for tolerating me,” he offered.

She smiled as she began carefully deconstructing the wrappings. As she worked, Draco levitated over the buttered scones Poppy had left under stasis charms on the counter. He settled one onto his plate, then carefully put another out for her. She’d likely need it to soak up any residual alcohol.

“Draco Malfoy!” she shrieked in laughter. Peering up at her for the first time since she began, he saw she had clutched the tinier item on the top. Her face was bright red, smile stretched wide as her face, even as she hid behind her hands.

“I had to feed that habit of yours eventually.”

“How did you know?” she screeched, looking to the novel again and then quickly turning her attention anywhere else. “Bloody hell.”

“Oh please, I occasionally caught sight of the shirtless, fit blokes gracing the covers of those romance novels. When I saw this one, I couldn’t resist.”

Truly, he had never seen her such a bright shade of red. “They make discreet covers for these now.”

“Oh I know,” he laughed. “Do you have this one?”

“No,” she admitted. “Thank you.”

Draco gestured to the half unwrapped package. “There’s another piece.”

Nodding, as if just then remembering, Hermione set to opening it. “If this is an even larger version, you may have to obliviate me.”

He forced himself to remain visibly unaffected at the words. As harsh as the reminder may be.

“Draco!” Hermione gasped, though not with embarrassment as last time. She withdrew the large tome with wide eyes. Only when it was securely in her lap did her fingers trace the lettering, gently, her touch only kissing the leather. “How did you-? Where did you-?”

He shrugged. “You didn’t exclusively read the romance books.”

Hermione’s face suddenly and unexpectedly became serious. He briefly worried she didn’t like it, but surely that couldn’t be it. Surely not when he’d seen her read the blasted thing enough times to wear down the cover.

Maybe that’s why she wouldn’t want it.

She’s read it a hundred times, why would she want yet another copy of it?

“It’s…uh…from a specialty store. I can give you the location of it. They have a great exchange policy if you’d like something else-”

“Are you kidding?” she gasped. “A first edition of Hogwarts: A History ? This is…well, the best gift I’ve received in a long time.”

The best?

He had hoped she would like it but surely that was an exaggeration. Yes, an exaggeration to be kind.

“Draco.” He met her gaze- honey eyes shining bright- as she clutched the present tight against her. “I mean it. Thank you.”

His throat itched, but he managed, “You’re welcome.”

The moment had been too intense, and clearly Hermione agreed as she gasped for air and fanned herself.

“If you asked me twenty-four hours ago to predict what the day would have in store, I would have been very off the mark.”

Draco smirked and nodded. With everything that happened, he knew he would have as well.

“Now, let me get this home,” she smiled bright at the reminder of her book, “clean myself up some, and then I can help out. Have you made any progress?”

She eyed his notes for a moment before starting to collect her things and ridding the table of the crumpled wrappings she had torn off her packages. When she found the scone he had set out for her, she took an enthusiastic bite.

“Possibly? I have two guesses regarding ingredients, but neither of them have suitable replacements. So I am unsure how helpful it is, really.”

Draco was still looking at his notes when Hermione let out a sound. Something more than a gasp but less than words. An exclamation of sorts. Hurriedly, she chewed the bite of scone and swallowed, words coming out before she was even fully done.

“You genius,” she exclaimed. “A replacement! Why didn’t I think of it before?”

Dumbstruck, he asked, “Think of what?”

“I know someone who can help us.”

Chapter Text

Returning to Hogwarts was always a daunting task.

Inevitably, it would become a full-day affair regardless of how long Hermione actually wanted to stay. Hagrid would insist on showing her his latest creature, and Pompfrey and Flitwick were certain to request her presence at tea with Sprout in her personal garden. And that was all before Hermione even saw the Headmistress.

Really, she adored Mcgonagall, but catching up with her would be a two to three hour endeavor. At least. Which didn’t include any discussion of work or bartering of prices; McGonagall had already hired Hermione’s department, but the task of updating the entire Muggle Studies curriculum at Hogwarts was a heftier one than originally estimated by either party.

By the time Hermione made it through all the socializing, it was nearing sundown. Though exhausted, she made her way out of the castle and onto the grounds. The last class for the day was just ending, and students were shuffling by as they headed towards the castle for dinner. Upon reaching the greenhouse, voices could clearly be heard from inside, and she waited for the final student to trickle out before stepping closer.

Eventually, it was just the professor inside. Hermione leaned against the doorway as she watched him. He summoned a mug of steaming tea to his desk- one she knew would be a touch too hot- so it would cool down to the perfect temperature exactly when he finished cleaning up the rest of the supplies from lecture.

Some things never changed.

Hermione smiled. “Hey Neville.”

He stopped, dropping the tools to the ground and tossing aside what looked to be a bag of fertilizer. His face lit up when he registered it was her standing there. “Hermione.”

“Care for some fresh air…amongst all this fresh air?” She internally winced at herself and her abysmal attempt to be casual. It was not the line you said to someone who worked outside and in greenhouses all day. Gentleman that he was, he graciously smiled and accepted, blushing, tucking his hands in his pockets as he walked to her.

They headed outside the greenhouse, neither speaking as they made their way towards the Black Lake. But what began as comfortable silence edged towards something less comfortable the further they walked, leaving Hermione itching for something to say.

Anything.

“How are classes?” The words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush, colliding with Neville’s as he asked about her department. They chuckled, relief spreading at the realization that they were both nervous.

Hermione pondered what to share with Neville and what to hold back.

Meanwhile, he spoke. “Classes are going swimmingly. I spend most of my time in the greenhouses, and Minerva is even letting me redesign one of them...”

Hermione smiled at the ease with which Neville referred to Headmaster McGonagall as Minerva. Though the more he talked, the less it surprised her. He was clearly close to his colleagues.

“...The students will be able to study more rare species, and Poppy will be able to use some for medipotions…”

Neville’s face was alight as he spoke of his interests in the most endearing ways. Hermione had always appreciated the glow he seemed to radiate as he spoke of his passions.

“...And they’ve even made me Head of Gryffinndor.”

“Oh, Congratulations! You’re perfect for that position.”

“Thank you.” He gave a small and humble smile. “And you? Tell me about the dazzling life of being a Ministry Head.”

“Not sure I’d called it dazzling,” she laughed. “But, the department is good... Busy, very busy… I think delegating to committees will help not only me but allow the department as a whole to be sustainable. I don’t want it to die with me, you know?”

He nodded, listening intently. “Yeah, I heard you were doing that. I’m glad. You deserve some time off.”

“Well, time off is the ultimate goal, but I’m currently working more than I ever dreamt of.”

“With the Slytherins?” Neville asked.

Though he referenced them by their old house, his voice held no malice or judgement. A genuine question. Hermione nodded.

“I heard about that,” he said, making Hermione roll her eyes. The gossip amongst the wizarding world was truly getting out of hand.

“That’s actually what I was hoping to speak with you about. Would it be okay if I picked your brain a little?

“Sure. About?”

Hermione pulled a small parchment from her pocket and handed it to him. Gently, he unfolded it and began reading, though he appeared confused before he finished.

“These are very common ingredients,” he observed. “You could get these at any reputable shop?”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. “We could if we wanted those ingredients. Really, we’re hoping to find replacements for them.”

“Ah.” Neville immediately turned back to the list. “Now that is a far more difficult challenge.”

“Difficult or impossible?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he admitted. “I know that’s not what you want to hear… I do have a couple thoughts, but they’re based on rather recent research I acquired. Would be rather experimental, if that’s okay.”

Experimental.

The word sparked memories in Hermione’s mind: Astoria trying out new brews with unknown effects, Pansy explaining her mark idea, the explosion in Draco’s brewing room on her birthday.

“That’s fine,” she assured him.

That’s all we ever do.

“We can get a copy of the literature from my office. Maybe even see if Poppy could weigh in on one of these. More her area of expertise.”

“Yes, please. That would be perfect.”

When she had set out for Hogwarts that morning, it had been fueled by nothing but wandering hope. And to hear Neville actually had thoughts on the matter? And literature? It was more than she could have wished for.

“I actually have another idea for you as well.”

Hermione stumbled, and Neville immediately reached out to steady her. “Really?”

“There’s a rare plant from Ireland that is supposed to aid in the body’s ability to absorb healing potions, thus making them more effective. I’ve been growing it at the greenhouse for Poppy. That’s how I know about it at all, really. She gave me some research to look over, and well, after I heard about what you were doing, I decided to grow a little extra...”

This time, Hermione stopped walking altogether. “In case we could use it with Astoria?”

“Precisely,” He smiled. “We could grab some when we head back.”

“Neville,” she whispered, clutching her chest. Ever thoughtful and selfless, Neville Longbottom was surely one of the best people Hermione had the opportunity to know. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much this means.”

“Of course.” He shrugged it off, as if it wasn’t kind and considerate, possibly the most thoughtful, random gesture she had heard of in a long time. “Anything for you, Mi.”

Hermione gasped slightly at his slip of her old nickname. She glanced up to see his skin had flushed bright red and he was biting his lower lip in that way he only ever did when he was very, very embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he sighed.

“It’s completely fine,” she assured him.

“I just…I haven’t seen you since…” He couldn’t seem to find the words to finish the sentence.

“Since…” Hermione’s words failed her then, too, as she mentally saw flashes of their time together. Flower petals and silk bindings and desperate moans Hermione would have sworn were actually echoing around in her head.

A blush stole across her face.

“That’s um...That’s actually sort of related to the other thing I wanted to talk to you about,” Hermione finally managed to say.

At Neville’s raised brow and faltered step, she realized her implication.

“Not with me,” she quickly clarified.

They had always known whatever they had been wasn’t permanent. Which is perhaps why they hadn’t labeled themselves as anything. She had just moved back to England, he had just published his first text and was between jobs. They were caught in a lull, so similar to how the ocean water felt between waves. One had just passed, another would soon come, but between the two was a sort of quiet and still uncertainty.

Each other’s water between the waves.

They spent their time together exploring the world and each other. Learning about themselves as much, if not more, than they learned of one another. Considering where their individual paths would lead them. And then following them.

It all ended very amicably, and Hermione looked back on the time fondly. After all, he had been an extraordinary partner, and the sex had been mind-numbingly amazing. But she never wished for all of it back. Neither of them ever had. No, the next wave had come, and they both seemed to know without needing to acknowledge it.

Hermione took a breath so she could continue. “It’s just when I realized I was going to stop by here, I had a thought. There’s someone I know, someone I want to introduce you to…if you’re available, of course.”

“Well, I’m not unavailable, per se.”

Hermione nodded, even though she had no idea what that meant.

“There was someone, but they’re… I’m not… it’s not going to work out,” he explained. “What’s this person like?”

“Well.” Hermione thought, trying to find the most appropriate words. “He’s quite incorrigible, to be frank.”

Neville laughed at that. “Off to a good start, then.”

Hermione smiled. “He’s quite witty, but don’t tell him I said such a thing…”

“Never.”

“One of those life of the party blokes who can walk into any room and make friends. Oh, and he’s quite fit, but you absolutely under no circumstances can tell him I said that. His ego doesn’t need the boost.”

“He sounds fun,” Neville said in what Hermione would swear was the most neutral tone she had ever heard.

Was he uninterested already?

Her time with Neville had certainly been fun. He had this casual way about him that made teasing and playing so effortless. But he also tended to stray more towards introversion. He was quiet and gentle, and perhaps the idea of a life-of-the-party partner was overwhelming?

“He’s also exceptionally thoughtful. Kind-hearted, even though he tries to hide it. One of those people who you spend time with and it feels like taking a breath of fresh air. Comforting and bright.”

Neville hummed at this, nodding, seeming to be more interested than before.

“I happen to know he’s available Friday night,” she suggested, taking the chance.

“Alright,” Neville agreed, smiling. “Tell him to owl me where and when.”

“Sure.” Hermione made her voice come out casual even though she was anything but. Inside, she was screaming. Theo owed her.

“Would you like to join me for dinner?” he asked. “That was my last class, and we could catch up?”

“I would if I hadn’t promised Ginny already.”

“Enough said,” he laughed, hands up in the air. After all the years spent in Gryffindor with her, they were both very aware that no one messed with Ginny.

“But maybe another time?” Hermione asked. “You could owl me your schedule. I really would like that, and I could maybe even try and poach you into joining one of my committees…”

“Hermione,” he sighed, though the smile on his face told her he wasn’t actually upset.

“On a very part-time basis of course. Wouldn’t even interfere with your work here.”

He studied her. “We’ll see.”

–

For whatever reason, Tuesdays at the Ministry were oddly idle.

Well, idle for anyone who wasn’t involved with her department.

As if it took everything to make it through Monday, Tuesday brought few meetings, multiple people out of every office, and a lack of the usual buzz of activity.

For the first Tuesday in months, Hermione actually felt the impact of this, having two cancellations in her afternoon schedule. She used the opportunity to make her way to the RCJH, double checking with the department secretary that he was in office today, and stopping at the furthest one on the left hand side.

Hermione had knocked on the door in front of her three separate times, each considerably louder than the previous, to no avail. No answer. Not even a hint of sound from behind the ornate wooden door. Pressing her hand to it, she focused entirely on feeling. And sure enough, there was a gentle hum of magic flowing through it, woven tight enough you’d miss it if you weren’t really looking.

Peculiar enough, despite the elaborate silencing wards, it was markedly absent of any locking charms. Testing a thought, she reached for the doorknob, which twisted with ease. Allowing her entrance, she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She had yet to even turn around when she heard-

“Hermione!” He smiled bright as he yelled out to her, arms outstretched wide. “Welcome to my humble workplace abode. What do you think?”

It was hard to think at all with the music blaring from- Where was it blaring from? She couldn’t find the source. Voice swallowed up when she tried to answer him, Theo took out his wand and quieted the music with a wave.

Hermione gestured to the air above her. “Is that-”

“It is,” he confirmed.

“But that’s muggle-born music.”

Theo shrugged. “What can I say? Nothing helps me focus like they do. True queens of the 90’s pop scene, I swear.”

Knowing that Theo worked to that music brought such joy to Hermione’s heart.

“Might I suggest some locks or some form of security on your humble workplace abode.”

“Already in place,” he assured her.

“Really?” She was skeptical, and rightly so. Locking wards always left a signature.

“I knew you were here, didn’t I?”

“But how?”

“A ward of my own making. It only allows entrance to those who do not wish me harm. Undetectable, and it gives me an alert that is silent to anyone else.” He smiled at that, smug as hell, the depiction of the cat who got the cream.

“Shove off, you’re having a laugh.”

“Swear.” Another wave of his wand. “Now try.”

Taking her own wand out to focus her magic, she felt once more. And sure enough, there it was. She felt it. Foreign in design and execution, but strong as anything she’d seen.

“I have to say, I’m-

It was then she saw it.

Too distracted previously by the overload of audio and the discussion of wards, her eyes finally landed on it, hovering right behind where Theo stood, and she was now unable to look away. There, projected in the air at the center of the room, was a masterpiece.

Various glowing lines levitated in the air, intersecting and branching, creating elaborate little networks. Each was a different color, reinforcing their separation, making them appear to be unique worlds.

“What am I looking at?”

A work of art.

“My work station.”

“That’s…your work?” she asked in awe.

With a wave of his wand, Theo manipulated the lines in front of them. Moving a blue colored bundle to the front and expanding it, he essentially zoomed in so Hermione could now see words and pictures. Little hand drawn illustrations and commentary made off to the side. She watched as he made a new branch with his wand then just as quickly made it vanish.

“Always been a bit of a visual thinker,” he explained.

It was crazed, to be frank. The chaos of the room was overwhelming, overstimulating even. Hermione knew she would never be able to work in such conditions. But here Theo was, blasting music and bathed in various colors of light, working on very complex and potentially ground-breaking theories, if office chatter were correct.

“Fuck, Theo. You’re bloody brilliant. Do you know that?”

“I do,” he beamed. “But it means a great deal coming from you. Promise me you’ll remind me often.”

Laughing, she elbowed him roughly. “So tell me, what are you working on?”

“Honestly?” Theo sighed, the carefree and joyful spirit evaporating from him quick as it had come. “Nothing good.”

“No?”

He shook his head, gestured over a red bundle that had too many connections. It looked more tangled than the others. “You know Pansy’s mark idea?”

Hermione’s heart sank. “Don’t say it.”

“I don’t think it’s going to work.”

And there it was.

“Why?”

“This.” He was gesturing to a small piece of the larger red bundle, at which was a never-ending mess of tangled branche. It must have meant something to Theo, but honestly, it meant fuck all to Hermione even with the labels. “The mechanism behind mark making. I don’t think we can extrapolate it to a curse.”

Hermione took a deep breath.

This was not haphazard guessing. This wasn’t an estimation or even something he thought of on a whim. Hermione didn’t need to understand the content of the visual before her to know its complexity. He had spent hours upon hours working through this. And if he were this sure about it…

“Have you told them?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. It’s just a theory, mind you.”

“But you’re pretty sure?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Theo…”

“I know. You don’t have to tell me, I know.”

Through a gap in the red pieces, a hint of golden thread caught Hermione’s attention.

“What is that one?”

Moving the red bundle aside, she could now make out another. Glowing in the far back reaches of his work station was a very large, very elaborate golden maze of connections.

“That is something else.” With a flick of his wand, the elaborate golden weaving web disintegrated before her eyes. Theo sighed heavily. “Miles to go before I sleep, pet.”

Hermione wanted to know more. She wanted to dive in head first, learn about everything Theo designed, help him sort through any tangles. She wanted to understand more. But she had finally gained his entire attention, and the bundles were disintegrating behind him anyway.

“It tucks itself away when I’m not actively working.” Theo waved it off as the last glowing tendrils disappeared. “Don’t worry about it. Now, as much as I am enjoying this visit, why do I get the sense this isn’t an entirely social call?”

“More social than you might be expecting,” she replied, making him smile. It was a relief to see that smile return after their previous conversation had so thoroughly vanquished it. “What if I told you I had a surprise for you?”

“What kind of surprise?” Theo’s eyes were already twinkling, and she knew she had him. He was nothing if not a sucker for surprises.

“A yummy one.”

He thought this over. “Something edible then?”

Merlin.

Her lips quirked upwards as she pulled out the folded slip of parchment with Neville’s information. “In a way.”

–

It was only whilst sinking into chamomile scented bubbles and steaming water that Hermione realized it was her first evening free from any sort of work since agreeing to help Astoria.

Each night since had been consumed with either literature reviews and brewing or finishing up Ministry work at home, or more likely a mixture of both. And though it made her insides feel as if they were twisting to even consider taking an entire evening of their precious time away from work, there was quite literally nothing to do but wait.

As much as they had tinkered with Hermione’s potion in the previous months, it still was not enough to halt Astoria’s progression, even with Bristle added. Mind blowing in and of itself; bristle was the most potent ingredient on the commercial market they could add. But just yesterday, a new dark line appeared on Astoria’s skin, webbing out from the wound and across her side.

Thankfully, Neville’s knowledge and growing abilities extended far beyond commercial grade herbs. He graciously passed along a satchel of Irish greerbriars, from the school greenhouse, which were currently steeping overnight, and they could conduct safety tests in the morning. Though Draco was not as optimistic as Hermione, regardless, they had to try. Her potion was still the only treatment with evidence supporting its efficacy, and for now, that was the best they had.

Disappointingly, the literature Neville had passed along had been unhelpful, and they had made no further discoveries regarding the mark. All theories had been disproven, all tests had failed. Hermione worried Theo may just be as brilliant as she believed him to be; it truly might be impossible to make a mark of a curse.

The only light at the end of this depressing, hope-draining tunnel came in the form of an owl that had arrived the day prior. Blaise and Daphne had been tirelessly scouring any and all rune texts they could get their hands on. And apparently, they thought they were close to cracking something in their newest find. Something important.

Which had spurred Pansy to pop open a bottle of champagne and dance around the kitchen with Astoria at 3 in the afternoon.

So she would wait. And relax.

But relaxing was hard; Hermione always had trouble carrying out the concept. Time spent doing nothing came with guilt; resting had never been considered productive enough for her tastes. But after nearly passing out at work twice that week due to exhaustion, she knew rest was what she needed, and tonight she would make herself comply.

After her bath, she took her time casting massaging charms along her body and rubbing in her favorite lotions and oils until she felt renewed. The bottle of wine she had been eyeing for quite some time was chillin, and she had just renewed her sweets stock from Honeydukes. And the book Draco had purchased for her- obscene as it was- was calling her name.

Standing over the stove, Hermione was making a snack when her fireplace activated, and she could hear the telling signs of someone floo’ing in. Even knowing only certain people had access to it, relief flooded her at the sound of two familiar voices bickering.

“It does not, Draco!” Theo yelled. His voice was slightly muffled from the distance, but she could make it out well enough. A pause. “Hermione?”

“In here!” she called out, shaking the pan in front of her as the kernels began to pop. As they neared the kitchen, Hermione could understand their words more clearly.

“It’s too casual, Theo.”

“Of course you think that.”

“Fix your collar, you look like… hold on, what do you mean of course I think that?”

“Look at you, Drake. Do you own casual clothing? I mean...Stop that!”

“It needs to be done.”

“Would you stop it!”

Out of her periphery, they appeared suddenly. Glancing up, she found them standing in the doorway. Both Theo and Draco’s fingers were still on Theo’s shirt collar, the sight of which made her laugh.

“Do I need to separate the two of you?”

Theo ignored the question and smacked Draco’s hand away from his shirt, only just seeming to remember it was still there. “Truthfully, how do I look?”

Truthfully, he dressed up nicely; black trousers with an impeccable fit, deep blue button down unbuttoned just enough with the sleeves rolled up, hair perfectly mused.

“Like sin,” Hermione assured him.

“Perfect.” He smiled devilishly. “Which collar side do you like more?”

She looked back and forth, not understanding. “They look the same…”

Both of them made a face. Draco was already reaching for the collar, but Theo slapped his hand again.

“Would the two of you stop fussing? You look great, Theo,” Hermione assured him. The popping had finally stopped, and Hermione was in the process of transferring the contents of the pan to a large bowl from the cupboard. “Although it is quite precious to see you so nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” he assured her, lying through his teeth.

“Uh-huh.” Hermione salted the bowl and ate a bite of popcorn as she watched Theo fix one side of his collar, much to Draco’s horror.

“Okay, I’m nervous,” Theo finally admitted. “But I haven’t been on a date in a long time.”

“I expect details,” Hermione said.

“I’ll tell you if it goes well.”

“You can swing by after,” she suggested.

Scoffing, he replied, “If I’m back here tonight, it didn’t go well.”

He smiled at her, effortlessly catching the piece of popcorn she launched at his head. Winking cheekily before leaving the kitchen, he called out a goodbye.

Insufferable.

Grabbing the bottle of fig flower wine from the fridge, Hermione was taken aback to find Draco still frozen in the doorway. She held out the bowl to him but he gave her the slightest shake of his head. With a shrug, Hermione reached for her Honeyduke’s bag, pulled the box of dark chocolate out, and emptied it over the popcorn.

Draco had yet to move. Frozen in the doorway, those silver eyes watched her every step. Hopping up on the countertop to take a seat, she opened the wine and took a large drink straight from the bottle.

“Is he always like that before a date?”

“Only when he’s actually interested in the person. Do I get to know who it is?” Draco slouched against the wall, and though it would appear casual on anyone else, it was a foreign movement to see on him.

“Only when Theo decides you should.” Hermione took another drink, studying the man before her. “Why are you acting weird?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m just,” he gestured about, “standing here, conversing with you.”

“Casually,” she mocked, gesturing to his stance.

“Precisely.”

“Are you going to stand there the rest of the night?”

He shrugged. “We have nothing to work on. We didn’t make plans.”

“And?” she asked.

“We didn’t make plans,” he repeated, as if that explained anything. Eventually he added, “You didn’t actually invite me here.”

“But what does that have to do with-” Realization dawned on Hermione. “You don’t want to leave.”

Hermione nodded, the pieces fitting together. Draco’s shoulders shot up closer to his ears, as they always did when he was feeling defensive, only confirming her theory.

“You weren’t invited over,” she continued, hopping off the counter, “and it’s killing your posh, Pureblood soul because you don’t want to leave. You want to hang out.”

“I don’t know that I would call it hanging out, per se.”

“You want to hang out,” she smiled bright, walking towards him. “Because I’m fun, aren’t I?”

“It really-”

“You,” she had made it close enough to reach out and poke his chest, “think I’m fun. You like spending time with me.”

“Would you stop it?” he laughed, grabbing her hand with his own.

“It’s okay, you can admit it,” she taunted.

Her courage lessened as she realized he had never released her hand, and she had unknowingly taken a step forward. She was close enough to feel the front of his body pressed against her own. Close enough to smell his cologne- woodsy, lightly sweet- and feel his breath on her skin. Close enough to really see those piercing silver eyes.

Silver eyes that weren’t actually entirely silver.

Tiny blue specks gave them such depth, and his left eye even had the smallest single spot of black in the iris, right near the bottom. Such a stark contrast from the grey; she wondered how she hadn’t noticed that before.

They were the sort of eyes that could hypnotize. Stormy eyes that pulled you in, lulled you, made you feel lost. And you’d be thankful for it.

Beautiful.

“And if I do?” His words were a whisper, barely audible over the pounding of Hermione’s heart.

And yet, she was unable to calm it. Unable to breathe with him this close, with his hand still wrapped around her own, radiating heat into her skin. Unable to understand this reaction to him. Or his reaction to her; eyes never wandering away, looking at her as if in that moment she just might be an answer he was seeking, heart beating strong enough she could feel it in the palm that rested against his chest.

Whatever she was feeling, whatever this moment was, left her fucking terrified. So Hermione did what she did best: she shoved it all deep, deep down inside herself. Far away, where it couldn’t hurt her, where she could be safe.

“Maybe you’re not so daft after all.” Her voice was weak, but it was the best she could manage, and she was already withdrawing.

In one instant, she pulled her hand from his chest quickly and took a step back, smiling to cover the movement. Retreating across the kitchen to grab her items, keeping the bowl of popcorn between them as she led the way to her living room. Collapsing to the couch, she eagerly drank more wine. Which did help. And when she was still grasping for something, anything, to say, she quickly grabbed for the popcorn.

“What does it taste like?” His voice was still slightly strained, and she almost wondered if he had felt it, too. Whatever it had been. But that curiosity was equally treacherous as before, and she was seeking a safer path. She would force one if she had to.

“If you’re so curious,” she said after swallowing her bite, holding the bowl out to him, “find out.”

He shook his head.

“Oh come on. Loosen your-” She eyed his collarless jumper, the phrase dying in her throat. “Just try it.”

“Pass.”

“Draco,” she sighed exasperatedly. “Have I ever led your tastebuds awry?

“No, but there’s a first time for everything.”

“Do I have to start taunting you with chicken sounds?”

“I assure you mimicking fowl is not necessary.” Jaw clenched as he spoke- something he only did when he was stressed or uncomfortable- and voice strained, Hermione was flooded with guilt.

“Sorry. It’s just stupid popcorn. Please, don’t feel pressured to try it.”

You were so close

Stupid, stupid, stupid

“I one told you there was no reason to apologize to me. For anything.”

Hermione paused, chocolate covered fingers still between her lips. “Well that’s not fair. What if I’m a complete arse to you?”

“I guess I’m trusting you not to be,” Draco replied, shrugging.

“You can’t just give me a golden ticket like that.

“Fine,” he smiled, relief flooding her at the sight. “You aren’t allowed to apologize to me unless you’ve been a complete arse.”

He said the last few words in his best mock Hermione voice, so she threw a piece of popcorn at him, which he barely dodged.

“Hey, that one had chocolate on it!”

“I’m not sorry,” she laughed before throwing another piece.

This one he caught. With the brightest, smuggest look of pride, he held it out tauntingly before finally eating it. He nodded as he ate. “It’s actually quite good.”

“Figures you’d like it.” At his confused expression, she added,”I’ve noticed how much you like sugar.”

This conversation felt more like it always did. This was safer ground.

“You would probably like this as well, actually,” she added, extending the wine bottle. He took it without hesitation and turned it up. The look of shock on his face upon his first taste was that of innocence and incredulity. It was priceless.

“Wow, I actually do fancy this…” He looked at the label of the bottle in his hands.

“Your aristocrat blood would run cold if you knew it only cost me one galleon.”

“Bloody hell. Worse than the pancakes.” Draco’s mouth quirked into the slightest of smiles.

“That chocolate was even cheaper.”

He laid his head back on the couch arm behind him. “You’re trying to ruin me.”

Handing the wine back, she took a large drink. “So, tell me, how do you plan on entertaining me tonight?”

“Entertaining you?” he asked between bites of popcorn. “You’re the host. Entertain me.”

Draco threw the popcorn this time, which hit Hermione in the cheek. She couldn’t even get mad because he was giggling. It was light and innocent, and the entire image of Draco Malfoy having such a wholesome moment warmed her heart too much for her to dare threaten it.

“Says the man who crashed my evening in my apartment to eat all my popcorn,” she joked..

“Well,” he said, standing. An apology- for whatever it was she had said to upset him and make him want to leave- was on the tip of her tongue when he instead continued, “I’m sure you have something around here. Let’s see…”

Draco walked over to the far shelves, eyeing the collection of games. Knowing he would recognize the wizarding games, she wasn’t surprised when his eyes lingered on the muggle board games. Slowly dragging a finger across the shelf itself, he held it up so the greyed tip was visible to them both. An unspoken question.

Hermione tried to remember the last time she had played any of them and failed. No wonder there was so much dust.

“Been busy.”

After magically vanishing the dust, he was about to return to the shelves when something caught his eye. Lighting up, he made a beeline for her bookshelf on the far wall and began investigating the titles.

“Boring,” he murmured, running his finger across the titles on row at eye level. It housed her Ministry texts. “Boring, boring…”

“Wanker,” Hermione muttered, grabbing for more popcorn. She almost dropped the bowl at his sudden gasp.

Please no.

“Hermione Granger!”

Sure enough, he was squatting down to the second to the bottom shelf, where her romance books lived. While unwise to keep them so out in the open, it wasn’t as if she had many visitors over, and those that did come never paid any attention to her books. She hadn’t thought anything of it.

Hermione laughed at Draco’s mock scandalized expression. “Get away from those.”

“But then how will I torment you?”

“Don’t make me hex you.”

“Fine, fine. Ruin my fun.” He backed away and turned towards the front of the room. The last portion he had yet to explore. Pulling open a cabinet, he gasped. “Is this the infamous muggle telly?”

“It is,” she laughed, watching as he carefully examined the television from every angle.

“And it simply… shows you the movies from inside here?”

“Some of them,” she confirmed, not wanting to go into the specifics of streaming on her night off. It was apparently a sufficient enough answer because Draco was closing the cabinet back.

“Can we watch one some time?”

“Sure.” Hermione took another drink. “We can even-”

Forgetting how to speak, Hermione watched him pick up the golden frame from the end table beside the cabinet. He handled it gently, surprisingly reverently, and closely examined the picture inside.

“Is this… your parents?” Draco asked, looking intently at the item in his hands.

The question felt like a physical force that had been launched at her chest, knocking the wind from her lungs. It was always jarring when something, anything, so suddenly and unexpectedly reminded her of them. As if she were ripped from a joyful moment only to be dropped back into the grief, without warning.

“Yes,” she whispered.

It was her favorite picture of them.

It was the one of them together at the beach, wearing their finest dining clothes, which were soaked from accidentally falling into the fountain at the beachside restaurant. It had been after, when they had decided to walk along the shore, and someone had offered to take their picture. The sky behind them was dark and cloudy, the warning sign of a coming storm.

But they were smiling, amidst it all.

And Hermione adored it. How happy they were. How carefree. How nothing mattered, not the soaked clothes or the change in plans or anything other than them being together.

“That was them.”

Whether it was the change in her tone or the words she used, Draco looked up with an expression of panic. “I’m so sorry, Hermione. I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted. “It’s fine. You didn’t know.”

“I knew a little, actually.” He walked back over, joined her on the couch. “You told me a bit on your birthday, about obliviating them.”

Of course.

Maybe I should have watched the memory.

She nodded. “To protect them.”

“From us.” The way Draco spoke, the look on his face…disgust and shame radiated from him.

She wanted to comfort him. To tell him it wasn’t true. To assure him she had never felt that way about him. But she had. The reality was she had. Whether or not there were forces pushing him there, whether or not he was a different man now, the truth of their past remained.

“I focused all my magic into it. Had to make sure it would stick, you know?”

He nodded, even though she didn’t know if he actually did understand. She hoped he didn’t. She prayed this was a form of torture he would never know.

“Anyway, I relocated them elsewhere, without their belongings, without anything that could possibly remind them of their life here. Or me.”

The words got stuck in Hermione’s throat.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry you had to do that.”

Hermione nodded, her voice completely gone now. Her throat ached as tears sprung to her eyes.

“If it helps…” Draco’s voice was solemn. “I think it likely saved their lives.”

An unexpected tear slipped out and fell down her cheek. She understood the weight of his words. What he was telling her. She had done the right thing. They would have been killed. And it was painful, but it was a small gift to know for sure.

“Do you want to tell me about them?” he offered.

“No, no that’s okay,” she said quickly, wiping the tears away quickly. She didn’t want pity. “That is not the sort of entertainment you were looking for this evening, of that I’m sure.”

Draco leaned back against the couch, settling in. “I mean, I’d like to hear. If you’d like to tell me.”

His offer confused her. Though they were friends now, it was personal. Intensely personal. And maybe they shared bits and pieces, but they didn’t have conversations like this. Why would he want to hear of her parents? He hadn’t even known them.

“Sometimes it helps,” he continued, eyes downcast. “To speak about the ones we loved and lost.”

And then it hit her.

Narcissa. He’s speaking about Narcissa.

Because Draco Malfoy had lost his parents, too. Both of them. And from what Hermione remembered about the trials, most of Draco’s actions had been to protect his mother from harm. But the war had indirectly taken her from him. Just as the war had taken Hermione’s parents from her.

It surprised Hermione how deeply this man just might understand her and everything that had happened to her. He might be the only one who could.

Hermione nodded.

They sat. Hermione told him the story of that night. The fancy restaurant anniversary date her father planned for months. The dress she had saved for.

The perfect storm of tragedies that befell them; the rainstorms, the shellfish allergy, the fountain incident.

And the amulet her father had given her mother that night, with the most beautiful inscription on the back. Her mother had adored it so much that she wore it every day. And Hermione had wanted it desperately.

But she couldn’t find it the day she had obliviated them. And it was lost, like so much else in Hermione’s life.

And Draco listened so intently. Laughing at the right moments. Quietly nodding for her to continue when it became hard to speak. Never bringing up when Hermione’s voice cracked under the weight of her grief.

And Hermione didn’t know why she told him. Why the words felt effortless as she spoke them. Why he, of all people, was so easy to confide in.

And why it honestly made Hermione feel better.

Chapter Text

“Nothing.” Ginny threw the book, a little too hard, onto the ground amongst the other finished texts.

“That is centuries old,” Hermione reminded her.

“And it has enough protection charms on it to last centuries more,” she grumbled, sprawling out on the floor. “Remind me again why we cancelled our fun girls weekend adventures to spend it cooped up here reading?”

“Because Draco was called away with Harry for who knows how long, so he couldn’t. And someone needs to. We can’t stop looking.”

“You’re right,” she sighed. “Circe, I’m being horrendous, I’m sorry. I do want to help Astoria... I’m just not handling you going away very well.”

Truthfully, neither was Hermione.

She called it a thrilling opportunity when the owl petition first arrived; a request to create Durmstrang’s first ever muggle curriculum. Apparently her department was gaining quite the reputation amongst the wizarding schools after her work with Beauxbatons. But when said request also depended on her staying on-site for three weeks, she attempted to backpedal.

“It’s just a few weeks,” Hermione said aloud, trying equally to remind herself and Ginny of this fact.

“Just a few weeks? Just? Are you having a laugh?”

“Okay, it is a long time,” Hermione relented.

Not that it was surprising. The school had fuck all for muggle studies, not the least bit surprising considering their extensive history of prejudice towards muggle-borns. It would be a very labor-intensive job.

“Especially in the fucking winter wastelands.”

“Ginny,” Hermione laughed.

“And with their reputation for dark arts work?

“I don’t-”

“And I haven’t even mentioned Karkaroff yet. Whatever legacy that headmaster left behind could be dangerous, Hermione. Really dangerous. And-”

“Ginny!” Hermione reached for her friend, who eyed the extended hand but eventually took it. “I know okay? I know their history. But I also see where they want to go, and if I could help with that? It could make a big difference.”

The redhead was openly pouting now. “I know.”

And she did. Ginny and Harry had encouraged her to take the job, after all. As did Astoria and Pansy and Draco. Blaise and Daphne. Even Theo after properly moping about. Everyone knew the kind of opportunity this was for real, meaningful magical integration.

The cherry on top: it couldn’t have come at a better time logistically. The Irish greerbriars were finicky and required far more work than previously expected to steep into the potion. So Draco would be finishing that and running safety tests for a while, all of which he could do without help now that he promised not to ingest any of it personally. And Hermione had spent hours preparing her own department for her physical absence, ensuring she wouldn't be missed.

“I just…” Ginny sighed. “I wish you could do this all from somewhere safer.”

“Me too,” Hermione replied, because she honestly was not excited about all the safety measures she would be taking. “But I’ve got this Ginny. I’m strong now. No one is going to mess with me. Okay?”

Ginny nodded.

“Besides, I hear the new Headmaster has muggle ancestry and doesn’t tolerate the same discrimination as his predecessors. A bit of a badass really, I think you’d like him.”

“Maybe,” Ginny agreed. “But you can tell him if he doesn’t help ensure your safety, I will personally come rain fiendfyre upon his school.”

Hermione laughed. “That’ll be a good start to our professional relationship.”

“I just love you,” she sighed.

“And I love you.” Hermione pulled her friend over towards her, hugging her and showering her cheeks and head with kisses that made Ginny laugh.

“Enough, enough!” Ginny screeched. “Please have mercy.”

But before Hermione could move, Ginny was casting a stinging hex- heavy on the bite- and then Hermione threw a tickling jinx, and it was chaos until they both collapsed to the ground in a heap, still laughing.

Ginny looked around at the stacks of books surrounding them. “Have we earned a break for dinner?”

Hermione nodded, standing, and helping Ginny up.

“Hmm…should I attempt to make something or shall we order takeaway?” Ginny was already headed to the takeaway drawer, even as she asked the question.

Hermione laughed, peering in with her. After some debate, they settled on their favorite Greek place. Hermione was reading over the menu, still debating, when she felt Ginny watching her. Looking up, she quickly looked away, but it was clear there was something itching to be asked. Turning her attention back to the menu, she felt Ginny’s eyes slide to her once more.

“You know, I’ve never known you to be hesitant to speak your mind before,” Hermione observed, without looking up.

“Well, it’s not really so much me speaking my mind as an invitation I was supposed to give you.”
Hermione paused. Looking up, Ginny had perched herself on the countertop and was twisting her hands in her lap nervously. It was something she never, ever did, save for moments of intense anxiety. “A bit of a moot point really considering this trip, but I can’t decide if I should tell you anyway or-”

“Gin?” Hermione prompted, takeaway menu forgotten.

“It’s just mum…she wanted me to invite you for dinner. At the Burrow. For next weekend.”

Of all the things Ginny Weasley could have said, that was certainly the most unexpected. Hermione felt her mouth physically drop open.

“She misses you, you know,” Ginny continued. “We all do.”

“But…after everything. With Ron and me,” she clarified.

“That was a while ago. And besides, she loved you before you started dating my idiot brother, I can assure you she still loves you just as much.”

“Even after…”

“Even after,” Ginny confirmed. “I know you can’t come, and I’ll fill her in on why, but I know the very next words out her mouth will be an invitation for once you’re back. And there isn’t any pressure. But know we’d all love to have you, and that you’re always welcome.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Ginny nodded. That appeared to be all she would ask of Hermione because she grabbed for the dinner menu, as if she hadn’t just extended an unexpected and world spinning invitation, and began perusing herself. “Now what do you want? I’m thinking about-”

There was a sudden loud thump in another room of the house. Hermione guessed the living room. Her wand was in her hand without even thinking, and she immediately stepped in front of Ginny. In the silence, two voices filtered in.

“...Weasley will kill you if I don’t.”

“Draco?” Hermione whispered, wand wavering. Ginny nodded in agreement.

Another voice from the living room. “She’s Weasley-Potter you know.”

“And Harry,” Ginny replied with an eye-roll, stashing her own wand.

“A needed clarification,” Draco said sarcastically.

“If she’s allowed to clarify it for the Weasley last name, I can for the Potter part.”

“I’m taking the piss, Potter. Merlin... Now, would you hold still?”

“Boys?” Ginny called from where she rested against the kitchen counter. There was no response. Ginny waited as footsteps could be heard coming closer.

“Hi,” Harry sheepishly answered once he appeared at the kitchen doorway. He was smiling too brightly and standing at an awkward angle. “I didn’t expect you to be home. I thought you were working at Hermione’s tonight…?”

“Change of plans,” Ginny muttered, focusing on her husband in front of her, trying to visually assess him. She was already pinching the bridge of her nose, as if trying to tame the rage that must be building inside.“Do I want to know what happened?”

Harry shook his head. “Not particularly. But you will be delighted to know Malfoy followed me all the way home to ensure I cleaned this a second time tonight.

“Come on then. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Ginny didn’t even look at her husband as she led the way out of the room. And though she couldn’t make out the words as they walked away, Hermione could recognize the sounds of angry whisper fighting.

She gestured towards the doorway. “Will he be okay?”

“He’ll be fine.”

“What happened?”

“Trap.”

Hermione nodded, tasting bile. She hated the idea of her two friends putting their lives at risk so recurrently. For the first time since pitching the idea of Draco working with Harry, she wondered if she had made a mistake. Especially when her eyes found the trails of blood running down Draco’s neck and underneath his shirt, the ripped clothing that barely concealed a bruise on his right side. The fact that he wouldn’t elaborate meant it had been something truly worry-inducing.

“Are you alright?”

“A few scratches, a little worse for the wear,” Draco shrugged it off, “I’ll be alright.”

“Good,” she said, though she wasn’t sure she believed him. The injuries clearly visible on him, the mental wear and tear bleeding through his clipped responses and protective stance. “That’s good.”

Silver eyes flickered up to meet hers. “Worried about me?”

“Someone needs to be.”

“I-”

“Malfoy!”

Whatever Draco was about to say was swallowed up by Ginny, who appeared in the doorway and stalked over to him. He looked to be steeling himself for whatever was to come. But when she got there, she pulled him into a hug. Draco’s arms stuck out uncomfortably for a moment before he seemed to remember he had control over them and hugged her back.

“Thank you for taking care of my husband. Would you like to stay for dinner?”

—

“What am I witnessing?” Hermione asked, stopping right inside the doorway of Astoria and Pansy’s bedroom.

Pansy sipped the cocktail in her hand, still lounging on a chaise beside the bed. “Daph is melting.”

“I am not!” Daphne yelled, shaking her fist at Pansy, two pieces of clothing and a hair pin clutched in the fist. Pansy’s eyebrows raised as she took in the witch before her, but Daphne just ignored her and rushed back into the closet Astoria was currently stepping out of.

“Daphne, dear, why don’t we try this?” Astoria called into the closet, holding what appeared to be a pastel blue dress in her hands.

“It looks like you,” Pansy observed, earning a glare from Astoria and mouthed words Hermione couldn’t quite make out. Whatever it was left Pansy muttering under her breath.

“I know!” Daphne yelled from the walk-in closet.

“And that’s a problem?” Pansy asked, taking another sip.

“Obviously,” Astoria ground out through gritted teeth.

Daphne appeared from the closet again, this time wearing a black leather mini skirt and neon feathered top. Each foot had a different shoe on it. Upon seeing her, Pansy almost sputtered her drink out of her mouth, having to catch herself at the last minute with a hand clasped over it.

“I’m just trying on different pieces!” Daphne said, turning red and looking horrified.

“I can see that,” Pansy managed to say, having recovered. Daphne gasped and Astoria glared at her wife, horrified. Pansy turned the glass up to drain the rest of her cocktail, simultaneously waving her wand at the door to open it. She stood as if to leave. “I’m tapping Granger in.”

“Like hell.” Astoria stormed over to Pansy, stepping between her and the door.

“What am I witnessing?” Hermione once again asked, quietly this time, largely to herself, as she immediately stepped away from Pansy and Astoria. Whatever discussion they were having, she wanted no part in any of it.

She abandoned her purse and heels by the chaise. Walking over to the closet, she followed the path Daphne had taken, only to find the woman sitting on the ground in a pile of mismatched and rumpled clothing items. She clutched another top in her hands, running her thumb over the collar.

“Daph…” Hermione edged closer. “You okay?”

The answering nod was lifeless.

“Can I help?”

A stiff and resigned shrug was the only response.

“Honey,” Hermione sighed, scooting a pair of thigh high boots out of the way and sitting across from Daphne. “Please talk to me.”

Daphne muttered something, and though Hermione couldn’t tell for sure, she thought she heard Blaise’s name.

“One more time?”

“Blaise and I are together,” she repeated.

“Oh!” Excitement quickly morphed into confusion. “Oh? So that’s…bad?”

She shook her head no.

“It’s good?”

Daphne squeezed her lips together tightly, as if trying to hold the words in. Never had Hermione ever seen the woman looking this uncomfortable. A nod.

“Alright, I’m sorry, I’m trying to follow here… But based on your reaction, I think I’m missing something.”

“He can’t… He can’t want me.”

Oh.

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because I’m not… I’m not perfect, like Astoria. And I’m not daring like Pansy. Or at all comfortable in my skin, like you.”

Comfortable in my skin?

It took effort not to laugh at the absurdity of that thought.

“And Blaise is intelligent and generous and funny and sexy- Merlin, is he sexy- and I’m just…well…me. And I feel like I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to realize he doesn’t actually want this.”

Pulling her legs into herself, Daphne made herself smaller. This was the vulnerability Hermione had only caught a glimpse of one other time; though she had never mastered the art of occlumency, that didn’t mean Daphne didn’t have extensive walls of her own.

And now that she was being allowed inside, it made sense. It didn’t matter that Blaise clearly adored her. After all, Hermione had witnessed time and time again the look of fascination and awe in his eyes when he watched Daphne and the care he took when interacting with her.

It’s not about that. It’s not about him.

“You know, at Hogwarts I used to envy you.”

Daphne’s glassy eyes widened. “Me?”

“Merlin, yes.”

“But you were Hermione Granger.”

“And you were Daphne Greengrass. The picture of effortless grace that was unattainable to us mere mortals.” The woman snorted at that, rolled her eyes. “You even had a nickname you know.”

“Was it mean?”

Hermione shook her head. “Goddess of Slytherin.”

“Shove off, you’re just having a laugh.”

“Swear it.”

“That name, those descriptors, don’t feel like they fit me.”

“That’s okay. I assure you never, not once, have I actually felt golden.”

Nodding, Daphne gave Hermione the smallest of understanding smiles. “It can be so difficult to be kind to ourselves.”

Hermione agreed. “Hard to see the good in us yet so easy to see it in everyone else.”

Daphne looked at the piles of clothes around her and sighed loudly.

“You know, I’m all for reaching out of your comfort zone and trying something new, Daph, but don’t do it because you’re trying to be someone else. Whether or not Blaise wants to be with you, he really cares for you. Everyone here does. And it’s not because of anything except who you are. You.”

“That’s… just really fucking hard,” Daphne laughed, tears still streaming.

“Tell me about it.”

When the laughter finally died down, so did the tears. Leaning over, Daphne rested her head on Hermione’s shoulder in the most unexpected of acts. After all, the girl wasn’t exactly heavy on physical touch, especially to anyone who wasn’t Astoria. But sitting with her now felt uncharacteristically typical, as if their acquaintanceship was becoming something else.

An unexpected kinship of sorts.

Turning towards the doorway, Daphne sighed. “It’s impolite to eavesdrop, you know.”

While Astoria appeared slightly abashed, ready to be chastised, Pansy bounded round the corner. Examining her nails with a sharp sigh, she shrugged. “Didn’t want to interrupt Hufflepuff Hour.”

Daphne pulled her wand- from somewhere?- and drew an unfamiliar rune in Pansy’s direction, who immediately screeched as her nail varnish chipped badly enough to be seen from across the room. And then her nails proceeded to quite literally fall off her hands.

“You know I hate it when you do that!” Pansy shrieked. “Undo it!”

“Do it yourself.”

Hermione still couldn't bring herself to look away from the nails on the carpet.

“I would if I could, you vapid little-”

“Enough!” Astoria looked them both over, silently chastising them after her outburst. “You,” she gestured to Daphne, “Are taking things out on other people and using your fancy runes to do it. Stop it. And you,” she moved to Pansy, “Stop baiting her when she’s upset. Or I’ll do far worse than that simple spell.”

“If it’s so simple, undo it yourself,” Daphne muttered under her breath.

But the comment went unanswered. The entirety of Pansy’s attention was focused on her wife as she eye-fucked her hard enough Hermione had to look away, blushing. “Promise?”

“Snake’s honor.”

“Okay, okay,” Daphne grunted. “When the two of you are quite done, will someone please for the still beating heart of Merlin help me find something sexy?”

“Now that,” Pansy- attention fully gathered now- smiled deviously from her position in the doorway, “I can help with. After you fix me.”

With the closet already existing in a jumbled mess and surely only about to worsen, Hermione jumped up and got out of the way. To her horror, nails still lay lifeless on the carpet, and she managed to avoid all but one- it crunched under her heel in a truly gut wrenching way, making a sound she was sure would haunt her.

“You get used to it,” Astoria assured her, though Hermione had a hard time believing it. “Trust me when I say they have done far worse to each other.”

As uncomforting as that was, she forced herself to finish the walk over and stand on the other side of the doorway, opposite Astoria. They watched as Pansy flipped through her hanging dresses, nails grown back and complete with perfect varnish, and Daphne stood behind stealing sips from the drink she held.

At the touch of something on her hand, Hermione looked down to find Astoria’s in her own. She squeezed it gently, smiling in silent gratitude.

Hermione half-shrugged gently. “Anytime.”

After one last nod, Astoria pulled Hermione’s arm out until it was fully stretched than moved it about, forcing Hermione to spin in a circle. The woman seemed to be assessing her outfit choice for the night.

“Ready?”

Chapter Text

*****Draco’s POV*****

“No.”

This was not the answer Astoria was seeking.

The typical bright and giddy Astoria was gone. Sunshine turned to storm clouds, she had worked herself up again, right there in the bar. Pouting openly, bottom lip jutting out, Draco wouldn’t have been surprised if her foot was actually stomping under the table.

“We’ve been over this,” Hermione said bluntly before openly laughing at the sight of Astoria, bollocks apparently comparable to Theo's. But instead of fueling Astoria’s transparent strop, it seemed to snuff it out.

“But, but…” There was the signature Astoria lip tremble.

Fucking hell.

“Who is going to bake with me?” Astoria asked. “Who is going to laugh at Poppy’s jokes and pick out our next recipe?”

Hermione shrugged. “Pansy? Or Theo?”

“Please, Pans can brew her beautiful arse off, but a baker she is not. And this is the first time Theo’s come up for air since his date. He won’t be coming round again for another month.”

From the end of the booth, Theo just shrugged. “If you saw his beautiful arse, you’d understand.”

Draco sputtered on his drink, the comment crass even for Theo.

“And who,” Astoria continued, ignoring Theo, “is going to make sure I take my potions and don’t have a reaction.”

“You know, I don’t recall casting that invisible spell on myself.” Draco looked to his hands as he twisted and turned them in the air.

“Read the room,” Astoria barked. “I’m trying to get her to stay. Honestly, where is the tact?”

Draco pointedly ignored her.

“Believe me when I say I would stay if I could,” Hermione assured her. “I’m not happy about spending the next near month freezing my arse off.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “But I would like to go on the record as saying I thoroughly hate this.”

“We all got that,” Pansy assured her wife. And in a very uncharacteristic move, Pansy stood from the booth and held out a hand. “Now come on.”

Astoria was gaping at it as if Pansy had grown a fin in place of her own arm.

“Are you serious?”

“If you don’t want to…”

“I want to!” Astoria jumped up, grabbing Pansy’s hand before she could withdraw it completely. “Circe, I want to.”

Then those hopeful, bright eyes were trained on the booth, and Draco knew what was coming before it had even left her mouth.

“Who is coming with us?”

“Already? I’ve only had one drink,” Theo whined.

“The-o,” Astoria whined. “I can’t do this without you.” Pansy cleared her throat beside her wife, who leaned over and whispered something in Pansy’s ear that made her smile.

Draco took a large gulp of his firewhisky.

“Go where?” Hermione asked. Because she would be the only one at the booth who wouldn’t know.

“To dance,” Astoria beamed. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

She had already pulled Daphne out of Blaise’s arms, earning a glare from her sister, and up to her feet. But Blaise quickly followed and swooped Daphne out on the dance floor. Astoria went for Hermione next, and before she had even fully been pulled to her feet, Theo was joining. For all the man’s whining, he actually did love dancing. Then he was sweeping Astoria and Pansy out to the floor.

Hermione started to follow but stopped and turned to him. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“I informed you before, not really-”

“Your thing,” she finished in her best- and very unrealistic- Draco impression. He laughed at the attempt. “But come on. It’s my last night before I leave. Dance with me.”

No was on the tip of Draco’s tongue, practiced and used often enough to be natural. But Hermione held her hand out to him, eyes wide and pleading.

“Please.”

And gods above if he didn’t feel entirely powerless against her in that moment.

Finishing his drink, he took the hand extended to him, and she led him to the floor with the brightest smile on her face. Which paled in comparison to the one on Astoria’s upon seeing him joining the group. Etiquette lessons kicking in, Draco pulled her closer, leading as they moved to the music.

“I thought you said you didn’t dance.” She had to lean completely against him, hand braced against his chest and lips at his ear to make her voice heard above the music. They hadn’t been this close physically since… whatever that had been at her flat.

Draco quickly shoved it out of his mind. They hadn’t talked about it. He certainly hadn’t thought about it. It was of no significance.

Obviously.

“I usually don’t.” He leaned in even closer, the warmth of her perfume drawing him in. “But I’m excellent at it.”

“Smug bas-”

The insult died in her throat, transforming into laughter as he spun her around. Lights flashed bright above them, casting colors all across the room. Each pulse of light highlighted sparkles that had soaked into Hermione’s skin, an elixir he recognized from Pansy’s collection.

Dance floor packed, the group was pushed together tight. And though it was hard given the current lack of space, any time he had enough room, he’d twirl her again. Simple really, the rest of his complex steps from years of dance lessons were now shot all to hell for all Hermione cared. This was clearly her favorite.

All too soon, Hermione was pulled out of his grasp and dancing with Theo. But Draco stayed on the dance floor, her pleas that had made him join in the first place withering away and replaced by his own desire to stay. It had been a long time since he let go. Since he let himself exist fully in the moment.

And it felt really, really good.

He danced with Pansy and Astoria, even Theo at one point. Daphne and Blaise were glued together, no one dare intervening, as the two were lost entirely in their own world. And it was only when Astoria needed a break that they all returned to the booth, every eye turning to her as she all but collapsed to her seat.

Daphne was at her side immediately, Pansy already checking her over, but Astoria swatted them both away and smiled bright. “I’m good, so good. Just…a drink?”

“On it.” Theo jumped up. “Anyone else?” Every hand raised, thus Draco rose from his seat and followed Theo to the bar.

“Will we ever get to meet him?” Draco asked as they waited for the bartender.

“Who?”

“Who?” Draco mocked, looking pointedly at his friend. Theo was many things, but daft wasn't one of them.

Truthfully, Theo was never one to get too invested in someone. Though he had a handful of more serious affairs, he never disappeared for such a length of time, never seemed to get so lost in someone else. Not like he was now. Draco knew this was different from the rest. This was serious.

The answering blush from Theo was all the confirmation Draco needed.

“Soon,” Theo finally answered, pretending to busy himself looking at the displayed menu.

“Am I at least allowed a name after all this time?”

This caught Theo’s attention, and he studied Draco with visible debate.

“No one but Hermione knows.”

Draco nodded. “I expected as much.”

Turning back towards the menu, unable to meet Draco’s eyes, he said, “It’s Longbottom. Neville Longbottom.”

That Draco did not expect.

Neville Longbottom. Being from a Pureblood family, Draco was very familiar with him. They all were. Even if their families had never been close, Purebloods were notorious for sticking together, and Longbottom had been present at every formal event and gathering throughout their childhood.

Not to say he fit in. Not really. Much to his grandmother’s disdain, the boy always had trouble fitting in. Accident prone, there was rarely a gathering that didn’t somehow end with him causing some disturbance. To this day, Draco could hear his grandmother’s tirades, even through wooden doors and silencing charms.

“Really?”

“Don’t, okay?” Theo sighed. “He’s good, really good. A lot different than how he used to be when we were children and at Hogwarts… Not that he needs to be. He was perfectly fine then, too. And I shouldn’t have to be defending anyone when-”

“Mate,” Draco interrupted. “Stop.”

Neville had always been a bit of a mess in Draco’s eyes, but he also was without a doubt the most honorable and kind hearted amongst them all. Anyone could have seen that. The first to sit with someone who was by themselves, always leaving a party and somehow returning with injured animals he was attempting to tend to, resilient as hell against the natural force that was his grandmother.

Amidst it all, the gossips and glares, the clear unacceptance from the community, he never withered. He never changed.

“I’m happy for you,” Draco said, even as Theo eyed him. “Always seemed like a good person.”

Theo’s eyes lit up with adoration. “He is.”

“Then he’s someone deserving of you.” And because it was all becoming far too sentimental, Draco quickly added, “Plus I hear he finally grew into those teeth. So, hats off to that.”

“Shove off. Have you seen him lately? Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. Whatever they put in the Gryfinndor water…” Theo fanned himself. “Delectable.”

The bartender arrived then, and Theo quickly put in for the drinks. Looking to Draco, he put in for two Firewhiskeys after a nod of encouragement, the brand of which Draco supplied since Theo was rubbish at selecting such. Then two Iced Patronuses for Daphne and Pansy, Butterbeer for Blaise, Bumblebubble with lemon and ice water for Astoria, and an Iced Pixie Pear for Hermione.

At which point, Draco intervened. “Actually, make that last one a shaken Pixie Plum instead.” The bartender set about making the drinks, and at Theo’s raised brow, Draco explained, “Pear is too sweet.”

Theo only nodded, a smile coming to his lips at the explanation.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Though his expression suggested otherwise.

“You’re as subtle as a broom in a brewing shop. Out with it, Theo.”

“Just interesting is all. You. And Hermione.”

“What?”

“If I'd’ve known all it took was puppy dog eyes and a pouty lip to get you to dance with us, I’d have done it long ago, mate.”

“Shove off.”

“Course, I still have doubts it would have worked out coming from me.” Theo’s eyes were alight as he tapped his fingers on the bar top. Draco wanted to hex the smug look from his face.

Huffing, Draco replied, “Whatever your implying is-“

“You know what I’m implying, Drake. As if I’m not wrapping said implication in a bow and hand-delivering it.”

“Well keep it; it’s off the mark.”

“You’re telling me you don’t fancy her?”

“Why would you-“

The drink Draco had corrected was set down on the bar between them. Theo eyed it, looked smugly at Draco, then back at the drink once more.

“Just, interesting you know her drink order with such detail.”

Draco scoffed. “I could order drinks for any of you lot with frightening accuracy.” As if on cue, the firewhiskeys Draco had decided on for him and Theo were levitated to the counter. Draco gestured to it then to himself and Theo. “Does this mean you believe we are more than friends as well? New boy toy not cutting it for you? Because I must inform you, you’re- unfortunately for you- not my type.”

“Fuck off,” Theo guffawed. “Either stop deflecting or do a better job of it.”

“It’s the truth. Though I understand you may not be familiar with that concept.”

“Says the one avoiding the conversation.”

“Come off it,” Draco sighed. “We’re friends. Just friends.”

“If you insist,” he taunted.

“Would you stop?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Theo laughed, knowing full well what he was doing. “If that’s what you want to claim, then okay, we’ll pretend. And just remember I'm here when you are ready to face up to that so called truth you speak of.”

“Theo,” Draco barked. They headed towards the booth where they would soon be within earshot. “Find the end of this before I suddenly recall the story of what happened after the Yule Ball.”

“Please,” Theo smirked, shrugging with arms wide. “Tell it. We can go down together, mate.”

And of course now would be the time Theo’s hesitance ran dry and he would willingly part with that tale. Draco was imagining five different ways to torture Theo later that evening when they made it the last few steps to the booth, and the man blessedly changed topics to more group-friendly fare. They began passing out the levitated drinks. He was just getting Astoria her water when his name sounded loud from Theo’s mouth, pulling his attention.

“Drake ordered that one actually,” Theo told Hermione.

“I should have known you’d remember. Thank you, then.” She beamed at Draco and accepted the drink from the air.

And though conversation amongst the booth carried on as normal, Draco was frustratingly distracted by Theo. The man only had eyes for him as he picked up his drink and gestured cheers to Draco.

It made sense really, that he was egging him on this way. Theo was being Theo. When the truth became boring, a good twist and a solid turn could provide. And this was as inaccurate as any.

Draco looked to Hermione. Her untameable curls were more wild than ever tonight. She appeared to be getting sloshed already on her second drink of the night -and really who got pissed off a Pixie Plum of all things. And every now and then she’d get properly tickled at a comment made, laughing hard enough she went entirely silent, viewers only knowing that was in fact laughter at the sight of her slightly twitching body. Bizarre, really.

Of course they were friends and nothing more.

Looking back to Theo, it was now Draco who smiled.

Fool.

–

Hermione left via portkey early Monday morning from her office.

At least, that was what she told them at the bar the evening prior to her departure. The portkey would be a candle- pristine and orante on the outside, burnt to the very bottom of the wick on the inside- as it always was. Apparently it was some sort of inside joke with Kingsley.

And truthfully it wasn’t bad without Hermione. Draco knew it shouldn’t be after all. Comparative to the entirety of his life, or even focusing just on the portion that had been after Hogwarts, she was a new-ish addition. This would be nothing more than a return to normal.

The weekdays carried on as they always did. After all, he didn’t often see her until the weekend, or at the very earliest Thursday, and that was only as of late. After finally finishing brewing, the safety tests were intense and extensive thanks to the amount of volatile ingredients being used, so he was working every day, morning to night, with little time for breaks.

Her presence wasn’t even missed.

But then it was Friday evening, and Draco found himself moping about. His house was too quiet. Everyone else had plans already, and he did not. Truthfully, he knew he should have seen this coming, but it was a difficult reality to accept that he had yet to spend a single weekend away from Hermione since they started working together months prior.

A quiet Friday night spent reading by the fire devolved into getting pissed and eating the last of his chocolate hats. Or peanut butter cups as Hermione always reminded him. Of course he knew the true name, but she had doubled over into bright laughter at his initial naming of the food, and her eyes would crinkle and she’d chuckle softly every time he used the phrase since. So chocolate hats they would remain.

It was only as the fire was beginning to die out, the firewhisky had long ago run out, and he was finally starting to fall asleep under the first rays of morning that he let his mind acknowledge what he already knew.

He missed his friend.

–

Waking up with a horrendous hangover and more shame than he cared for, Draco set out to make the remaining time more tolerable. After all, she was only gone for a few weeks, and he was unwilling and unable to accept that Hermione Granger’s friendship had reduced him down to this when she went away on a temporary trip.

Diving headfirst into work, he spent the rest of the weekend finishing up safety tests. Any spare time was donated to the next step; jumping headfirst in texts, he chased theories down the rabbit holes in his mind. And upon occasion, he would owl updates to Hermione or ask a particularly mind-stumping question.

The following week brought further normalcy as he continued his research efforts. The owled correspondence between himself and Hermione along with a discussion with Astoria and Pansy meant a plan was created for potion adherence. And he visited every night that week to ensure she ingested the proper amount and no adverse reactions occurred for the following few hours.

But then Friday came again, and Draco was humbled. His second weekend spent alone, and fuck all if he didn’t miss her again. The banter, the sharp cackle that filled the room or light twill of laughter that echoed off the walls. At some point, Hermione had interwoven herself into his life as a friend he truthfully enjoyed spending time with, and her absence now was loud and uncomfortable.

While not allowing himself to ponder exactly how dependent he had become, he wrote to her the following morning. A longer owl than his typical update, his words developed into a full conversation full of inquiries, which he tried to hide as casual.

And when his owl returned with an equally lengthy letter, full of wit and sarcasm and mockery, he couldn’t hold in his smile. He wrote back, as did she. But, the distance was quite a ways for his owl, Ursa, to fly, and post was only further delayed by how truthfully busy they both were during the week.

With Friday quickly approaching, Draco made a trip to Hogsmeade. It was spontaneous, a rarity these days, but a necessity nonetheless. He ensured Ursa properly rested, and after stealing an entire quarter of his treat stash, she set off with the bundle.

And Draco went to bed with his own wrapped parcel neatly tucked away.

Chapter Text

Durmstrang was breathtaking.

Surrounded by snow capped mountains, the institute itself sat on a very high and not appearing entirely structurally sound cliffside, over the sparkling and frostbitten sea. A ship- one Hermione recognized to be the one brought to Hogwarts- was always visible atop the water, but the amount of others passing by daily suggested the school had an entire fleet somewhere.

The beauty of Durmstrang wasn’t the only pleasant surprise. Though Hermione had always made a conscious effort to challenge bias she recognized in herself, she hadn’t looked hard enough in this particular area. It seemed the unsavory parts of the school’s history had really stuck with her, and she was hesitant to believe otherwise.

Which was silly, especially considering how close she had become to several who had attended the school. After her own curse breaking, she had travelled and lived throughout different parts of Europe, more time spent with Durmstrang graduates than without.

In her eyes, they had been the exception, somehow making it through without the school’s unsavory influence getting too deep. But now she understood instead of the exception, that was the rule around here, and all the worrying from Ginny and assurances from the new Headmaster were truly for naught.

Was a bit of a shock to find a lack of talking portraits. Tapestries hung from the majority of walls here, and after a humbling experience, Hermione could say with complete certainty they did in fact not speak. But the statues did. Gorgeous statues of all kinds were everywhere, and some could even leave their station and walk around the grounds. Hermione had made a friend in the Veiled Woman who wandered the East Wing; they spoke openly and often, sharing stories.

The work itself was interesting as well. Though the school had never had an official Muggle Studies program, there was a surprising amount of non-magical influence threaded in the culture here, even after Karkaroff had tried to suppress the use of such. And since his removal from the grounds, it had become a goal to only increase these efforts. They updated dorms and renovated classrooms, worked to create new curriculums and foster cooperation.

And all of this was done while fostering the root of their culture.

Honored to be contributing to the ongoing efforts, Hermione made it a personal goal to help create an integrated curriculum they could be proud of. One she would have been happy to be a part of herself.

And it was going swimmingly. Most of the staff were surprisingly helpful and kind, and the few who didn’t appear to fully appreciate her presence stayed away. Accommodations were cozy and more than sufficient. She had resources at her disposal she had never imagined having access to. And the library. The library she spent her afternoons in was a true beauty, boasting books she had never had the access to prior.

But yet, she was excited to return home in a few days. Amidst it all, an unshakeable gloom had settled over her at some point, and she hoped a return to routine and the comfort of her own home may help get rid of it.

She returned to her room Friday evening to find a visitor.

“Ursa!” Hermione opened the window quickly, immediately fawning over the exhausting looking bird. “That must have been an awful flight. I heard there were storms south of here, and the winds…”

The bird preened under the attention and rewarded Hermione with a parcel dropped on the table beside her.

“What’s this? A present? You shouldn’t have, Ursa.”

With greedy fingers, she quickly picked it up and tore into the wrappings. An emerald leather notebook with glowing golden pages rested inside. Curiously, Hermione examined the notebook before opening it. There was a single note written on the first page.

What would you say to giving Ursa a rest? Write to me.

-Draco

Shocked, Hermione tried to wrap her mind around what she was holding. She didn’t imagine it could actually be a Conversation Journal. Those existed in stories and rumors and shop windows behind warded glass.

Picking up a quill, she wrote Is this what I think it is?

The ink scrawl remained on the page under Draco’s note. There was no observable change. No flash of colors or tickling of magic. No time disappearing ink or glowing lights. No anything. Hermione was beginning to feel a bit foolish when Draco’s immaculate script appeared below her own in a swooping flourish.

D: A notebook? Well spotted.

She couldn’t help but laugh at his snark. The git had actually gotten her a Conversation Journal.

H: This must have cost a fortune.

D: I believe it to be worth it.

Hermione couldn’t stop smiling. She hardly had to ask herself if she was happy to have received such a thing. But before she could respond, a hastily written message appeared.

D: Speeds along communication regarding Astoria, of course.

H: Of course. Thank you, Draco.
H: How is she?

D: Better. She’s finally seeming to adjust to the intensity of the potion. Even made it out of bed today. Pansy swears she is glowing. Didn’t have the heart to tell her any different.

H: Perhaps she is. Perhaps this is it and we’ve done it.

Hermione settled into the chaise by the fire as she awaited a response. But nothing came through. It was only after she returned from a quick trip to the loo to a blank page that she wrote once more.

H: You disagree?

D: I’m reluctant to agree.

H: Why?

Once again, there was pause. Draco was hesitating, as should have been expected when they started to drift into complicated topics that came with messy feelings.

H: Quit being a git and talk to me.

Another pause, but more brief.

D: I fear becoming too hopeful. To be frank.

H: Because?

D: Because hope is naive. Fickle and useless.

H: Sometimes that’s all we have.

D: And it often isn’t enough. Maybe without something as dangerous as hope, we could all remain blissfully unaware. Perhaps even happier with our lives.

Hermione didn’t know what to say to that.

Was he right? Maybe.

But did it matter?

After everything she had been through, Hermione did not require any reminder that hope was an uneasy thing to rely on. And yet, try as she might, she had never been able to actually avoid it. No matter the situation, no matter the attempts, hope was a slimy, slithering, mess of a thing that somehow always made its way inside. And when whatever it was inevitably fell through, the presence of hope ensured the outcome was that much more devastating.

One of the worst feelings, really, disguised as if it weren’t.

D: I’ll stop before I become too dreadfully existential.

H: Too late.

D: Ghastly, honestly, my deepest apologies.

She knew he was deflecting. He had begun to share an inkling of emotional depth, and he so often did, he was immediately trying to shut it off.

H: I’ll forgive you only if you give Astoria a hug for me.
H: Don’t glower, I mean it. You can manage such a thing. I have faith.

D: You’ll be back Monday afternoon yeah? Deliver it yourself.

H: You’ve paid close attention to my schedule. Dare I say, have you missed me?

D: Simple observations are that note-worthy? Merlin, are you not getting enough attention? I’ll have a talk with Potter at once.

H: Guess which finger I’m holding up.

D: Cheeky.
D: You’re as insufferable as Theo.

H: And yet you miss me.
H: It’s okay. It can be our secret.

D: How is Durmstrang? I take it they haven’t managed to woo you into staying.

H: Not yet. Though I must admit, I like it here.
H: Have you been? I think you would, too.

D: No. Enlighten me.

And she did.

She told him of the lush winter landscapes and the glory of the castle.

Of the professors she always sat with at meals, their backgrounds and areas of study, everything they had taught her thus far.

Of the food- the best of which was the elk stew and the worst being their cream cakes- and the accommodations.

And of course, the library.

She had just finished telling him of the Veiled Woman when the first rays of the morning sun flickered through her window. Ursa had long ago fallen asleep, and the fire had died out. And Hermione was an embarrassed mess.

H: Somewhere amidst all the stories, it became day again. I fear I droned on and on a bit there.

D: There’s worse company to keep.

H: Comforting as ever.

D: I truly don’t mind. Besides, now I get the honor of boring you with my own drivel.
D: Whenever we talk again, of course. I must check on Astoria shortly.

H: Of course.

And then, going against her every instinct, she wrote again.

H: Write to me tomorrow night?
H: Or tonight…?

Technicalities.

Leaving here Monday, she had already planned to check on Astoria once she returned, and it was likely Draco would be there. Even if he wasn’t, she would see him that next weekend when they resumed their typical work routine together. And yet, she had asked him to talk again. Already.

D: This evening, then.

Hermione buried her face in the nearby chaise pillow as she tried to reason through what she was doing. Objectively, it appeared she was the one missing her friend. With a sigh, she closed the book.

“Night, Draco,” she whispered to the ether.

And she wondered if somewhere he answered in kind.

Chapter Text

Life was good.

A scary thought, Hermione hesitated to even let herself think it. After all, the very last thing she needed was the universe to prove her wrong. But it was the honest to goodness truth anymore, and she didn’t feel like denying it any longer.

Hermione received unending praise and full payment, with tip, for her work at Durmstrang. Ariana had finally managed to secure contracts with two separate sub-committee heads, one with a St. Mungos healer to oversee hospital and medical facility related requests, another with the DMLE to collaborate with the auror department. And, her claws were already in Neville; she believed he would sign by the end of the month. At this rate, she’d acquire enough members in her department for expansion to be on-time, even with all the changes over the last few months.

Which meant she could allot even more time to Astoria. Not that it was needed. Pansy had been correct: Astoria looked and acted healthier than she had in a long time. Tests would still need to be run. But at the moment, it seemed Draco’s hope wasn’t entirely misplaced, and perhaps they had actually uncovered something that would truly help her with this latest greerbriar infused potion.

Everything was going- dare she even think it- extraordinary.

It was Halloween, and Hermione watched as Astoria magically tailored the butterfly costume hovering in front of her. Daphne was helping apply glitter, which Draco was complaining about as more appeared to be on his floor than on the costume itself. And Pansy was laughing and joking as she sat next to her wife, appearing to have more life about her than Hermione had seen in a long time. She caught Hermione watching the scene unfold, and she smiled at her.

There was hope and gratitude in the air. Everyone could feel it.

Blaise walked in with an oversized, muggle bug net in his grasp, and Hermione did a double take at the sight. But he handed it off to Pansy without explanation.

Astoria groaned when she saw it. “Seriously, Pans?”

“It’s on theme,” Pansy said, gesturing to Astoria’s butterfly outfit.

“I thought you were going to be a garden!”

“I didn’t fancy sneezing my arse off from the pollen all night, darling.”

“Yes, if only we had magic,” Blaise muttered, making Daphne snicker and earning a glare from Pansy.

“But…”

“You can be the shining butterfly,” Pansy continued, interrupting Astoria, “and I’ll get to chase you all evening.”

Pansy winked at Astoria and pulled her against her, and while Astoria smiled, it was clear she wasn’t entirely happy with the idea.

“But, that’s not what we agreed on,” Astoria groaned. “You’d look so much sweeter covered in flowers and vines. And I promise to untangle you from them later.”

Pansy eyed her, debating. Astoria made her eyes huge and pouted her bottom lip in a dramatic show. Which Pansy was clearly weak for, because she ultimately sighed and relented, giving Blaise back the net.

“Where did you even get this from?” Daphne asked him.

“Transfigured it based on a drawing of one from one of Bellamy’s storybooks,” he explained, turning it back into a floor lamp.

“Blaise,” Draco sighed, gesturing to what must have been his floor lamp.

“Oh, right. Well, thanks anyway, mate,” Blaise said with a nod, magically levitating the lamp over towards Draco. “Resemblance was so close, it took very little magic.”

Draco made a face. “Great.”

“Alright, finishing touches, and then we can work on your lot’s costumes,” Astoria said, squinting at her outfit as she had attached the last wing edge.

“I already have a costume,” Daphne clarified. “Blaise and I have a quidditch theme with Bellamy.”

“I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to Hermione and Draco,” Astoria explained with a nod in their direction.

“And what makes you think I don’t already have one?” Draco drawled.

“Oh please.” Astoria rolled her eyes. “In all the years I’ve been your friend, the years spent married and dressing up together, how many times have you had a costume ready before the day of?”

“I’ll have you knowl-”

“And how many times did I have to come up with a concept and make said costume?” Astoria levitated her own down to the table and eyed him.

“Fine,” he relented. “I may perhaps require a little assistance.”

“And you,” she said, turning towards Hermione. “I would bet five galleons you have been too busy to get one.”

Hermione wanted to object but couldn’t. It was true. She’d honestly forgotten the holiday existed until walking in on Astoria’s costume crafting earlier that day. Fuck all if Astoria wasn’t always right about these sorts of things, and she knew it, too. Making her that much more smug and insufferable.

“And what about you, silent and broody, over there?” Pansy asked.

But Theo was lost in the flames dancing before him, watching each movement silently. Though he had arrived an hour prior, he had barely spoken. And now, he seemed all too distracted by the fireplace in front of him.

Hermione wondered where his mind had wandered.

When she received no reply, Pansy levitated away the small seat holding up Theo’s crossed ankles. His feet fell to the floor with a thunk, and he looked around confusingly.

“Sorry,” Theo muttered, shaking his head out but still not appearing to be fully back from his thoughts.

It was unsettling. Hermione and Theo had a blossoming friendship; she was beginning to understand him well enough to know the quiet and subdued Theo before her now was a far cry from his typical self. Wherever his thoughts had gone, it was strong enough to hold his attention. An impressive feat, honestly, and all the more concerning.

“You okay?” Hermione asked.

“Just thinking,” Theo responded, avoiding her question. His brows were knit in concentration as he looked at the flames once more. Wherever his mind was, it was not a particularly happy place.

“Out with it Nott, we have costumes to make. Let’s get through whatever it is you’re sulking about,” Pansy demanded.

“I just had a thought at work early this morning, and I’m having a hard time putting it down,” he said distractedly.

“You were at work today?” Blaise asked. “It’s Saturday.”

Theo rubbed the back of his head and looked off. “Fell asleep there actually-”

“Theo!” Astoria scolded.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“It doesn’t matter. You have to take care of yourself,” Astoria huffed. “Honestly, I expect it from these two…” She gestured to Draco and Hermione.

Hey.

Draco just shrugged.

“...but not from you,” Astoria finished.

“I know, Story, I know. I’m sorry.” And the way he looked at her, not only was it clear he meant his words, but there was the lingering edge of something else. Something worse. “It’s just… I have been working on a theory at work, and I think I finished a large portion of it.”

“And?” Pansy prompted. “You seem awfully put out by this thought.”

Theo turned back to them with a grave expression. “It isn’t a terribly delightful one.”

Pansy sat back in her seat, settling in. “Share with the class.”

“I don’t think I should. Not today.” His eyes slid to Astoria’s costume.

Whatever he was thinking of was bad enough he thought it would threaten their Halloween fun. But now that he had implied there could be something bad present or appearing over the horizon, how could anyone put it on hold? Hermione knew she couldn’t. And the expressions shared by everyone around her signified the same.

“Theo-” Astoria was the face of confusion and concern. “What is it?”

They all waited for him to present more information. Across from where Hermione sat, Pansy seemed to physically brace herself, as if waiting for Theo’s words to wreck her world.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to put a damper on things,” Theo sighed. He looked down at his hands. And then back at the fire. Anywhere that allowed him to avoid eye contact with someone else in the room. “I just… why are we making the assumption the curse has been broken?”

Wait, what?

“Astoria is doing great,” Pansy offered quickly. “Once she adjusted to this new potion, she seemed stronger and more lively. I mean look at her, Theo.”

“No, I don’t mean with Astoria’s potion. I mean Hermione’s.” He finally looked over and met Hermione’s gaze. “How do we know your original potion, the one Astoria’s is now based on, actually cured the curse?”

“Well…” Hermione thought this over. She didn’t see where this could be going. “I guess because it didn’t progress further.”

Theo continued looking at her as he spoke. “Hermione, you said it yourself, you still take the potion every day. That implies it is still present, no?”

When she didn’t immediately respond, he chewed on the inside of his cheek, looking pained as he sat impatiently waiting.

“Possibly,” she finally acquiesced. “Or it could be long gone and I’m needlessly taking the potion because I’m too fearful of consequences if I stop.”

“That’s fair.”

“What are you going on about, Theo? You’re asking if the curse is just…” Pansy searched for the word, “...paused?”

“Restrained,” he offered, supplying her the technical term. She rolled her eyes at the correction and motioned for him to go on. “You can restrain a curse without actually breaking it. Perhaps Hermione's curse is still there, just not active.”

“What difference would that make?” Daphne asked.

“It’s a different mechanism.” He shrugged, as if it was simple. Seeing the confused faces around him, he continued. “We approach curse breaking and curse restraining differently.”

“Paused, gone, whatever we call it at least it’s not hurting her anymore. That’s what I care about,” Daphne replied.

“Why are you worrying about this, Theo?” Astoria asked, looking concerned. She wasn’t as willing as her sister to shove his thoughts aside and discredit them completely.

“Because your wound has worsened since you started taking this potion.” Theo gestured to Astoria’s wraps. “I saw yesterday.”

“That may not mean anything,” Daphne said quickly, defensively. Even as Astoria looked down at her wraps, ran a finger over where her wound lay below. “The potion needed time to fully work. To stop it.”

“You know that’s not how it would work, Daph,” Theo replied gravely.

“But her physical symptoms are better,” she argued.

“Now that,” Theo nodded, “that is probably a result of the potion. I imagine that would be the healing properties of the latest ingredient additions made.”

“So what?” Daphne was agitated now, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what he was saying, arms flailing. “It’s just restrained? Same as Hermione’s? That’s fine!”

“No,” Theo clarified. He cleared his throat and sat up in his chair. “I think Hermione’s is restrained. I think that’s why hers has not progressed further, why she never got more sick, why her wound stopped worsening. I think Astoria’s is not.”

“How? It’s the same potion,” Daphne said quickly, as if trying to poke holes in Theo’s argument.

“Because consider if there’s a point at which a curse can no longer be restrained. If it has progressed too far to be halted.”

Hermione didn’t know what to make of that. She had never heard of such a concept, and she had read every curse text she could get her hands on over the last few years. Daphne seemed to be mulling this over as well, too shocked to speak.

“Is that possible?” Draco asked.

“Not officially,” he admitted.

So this was Theo’s own work. Hermione pictured his workroom, wondering which bundle had inspired this line of thought.

“I’m just postulating,” he continued. “I mean, think of it like flames in a fireplace. The fire is still there but not doing damage to a house. Restrained there. But let's say those flames grow and get out of the fireplace, lighting the house on fire, it’s reached a point it is too far gone. How does one restrain that? The only options are to completely destroy the fire or…”

“Let it burn itself out.” Pansy whispered. It was the first time she spoke in a long time, and Hermione almost wished she hadn’t given the graven tone used.

“So Astoria’s…what…” Daphne seemed to be trying to follow the explanation, “...a house being lit on fire?”

“Perhaps,” Theo supplied, settling back against his chair.

Hermione didn’t like the imagery, but she had to admit it made sense. Her mind whirled as she applied his reasoning to their potion work. “And the potion worked for me because I hadn’t reached that point yet.”

Theo nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Fuck,” Draco whispered. Theo looked to his friend, but he didn’t offer words of comfort. Draco stood, pacing now as he gradually worked himself up.

“Theo, are you sure?” Hermione asked. She knew it wasn’t a smart question, but those fueled by hope rarely were. And considering what she knew, deep down in her gut knew this meant for Astoria, hope was all they had.

“We aren’t sure of anything, Hermione.”

“That’s fine. Completely fine,” Daphne said, not yet having made the connection. She had come across the room to Astoria and was sitting with her arms wrapped around her sister. “We can’t restrain it, so we’ll just change the plan. Adapt the potion to make it actually break it instead.”

“Yes,” Blaise said quickly, nodding with Daphne. “Make it even stronger, to compensate..”

But that wouldn’t work, and Hermione knew it.

Draco was still pacing in the background, the expletives coming faster and louder now. He clearly knew it as well.

Pansy sat completely still, eyes squeezed tightly closed as she fought to withstand everything. Being one of the best at theory amongst any of them, she likely figured it out far earlier in the conversation than most.

And Theo… Hermione looked towards Theo once more. He looked like a tortured man. As if a dementor were before him ready to extract his soul with a kiss. His expression told her everything she needed to know. He had figured it out already as well.

“Someone tell me why this is bad. Please!” Daphne begged, on the verge of tears.

“Because,” Hermione said, “If what Theo says is true, it will never be enough. We can never adapt my potion to be strong enough because it’s an entirely different mechanism and endpoint. We’ve surpassed the point where my potion is helpful.”

Draco squatted down on the floor, head held in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. Emotions eating him alive as Hermione watched his hope evaporate, in real time. “And we’ve wasted all this time altering something that’s useless.”

–

The house was somber.

After Theo’s shared revelation that afternoon, the mood had shifted and ultimately broke. Getting ready for the evening had become a sullen affair, almost laughable to be going through the motions as if reality hadn’t just crashed around them.

“Hot date tonight?” Hermione asked, even as the words felt wrong on her tongue. She walked to where Theo stood staring out the window.

He shook his head, voice monotonous and small as he replied, “He’s chaperoning a dance.”

His eyes never left the window in front of him. It was as if he had internally curled in on himself, and the typical Theo had retreated far away.

“Theo,” she sighed.

“I’ve done it. I’ve ruined Halloween.”

Hermione glanced down at herself. “As I stand here in a black leotard and cat ears, I can assure you, you have not ruined anything.”

“I shouldn’t have told them. Not today. I just got so stuck…” His hands ran through his hair once, twice, over and over. Then they went to his eyes, covering them. “I couldn’t stop ruminating, and when I figured it out…Oh, but why did I tell them? Today of all days, when they were happy.”

“Because they deserved to know,” Draco said as he walked into the kitchen, poncey shoes clacking against the floor. “You’ve done us a favor in preventing any more lost time. Painful, but a favor nonetheless.”

Theo’s mournful eyes took in Draco, who clasped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, but all Theo could offer up was a meager smile. It hurt to watch them. The silence in the kitchen and surrounding house hurt.

Everything hurt.

Hermione took Draco’s costume in- or more accurately his lack of costume- looking for anything to say to break up the tense atmosphere. “And what are you supposed to be? You look the same as always.”

Pulling off a Hello! My Name Is sticker from a sheet, he slapped it over the front of his shirt and smiled cockily. The word Apology was written in the blank space.

“A formal apology? Seriously?” Hermione asked exasperatedly, desperately trying to hold back a smile that somehow felt inappropriate.

He smoothed the sticker down and then fixed his collar. “It’s cute and you know it.”

“Cheeky,” she corrected.

He smirked, shrugged. “Theo’s rubbing off on me.”

Theo’s eyes lit up, spying an opportunity, but Daphne saved them from whatever crass response was on his tongue by yelling down the stairs for him to come get dressed. Reluctantly, he retreated.

“Nice ears,” Draco joked as he levitated over two empty glasses and a bottle of firewhisky.

“Don’t bother mocking me.” She gestured towards his name tag pointedly.

He smiled but it didn’t meet his eyes. No, it was one of the fake smiles that he seemed to do more out of reflex than anything else. It almost certainly had nothing to do with how he was truly feeling within.

“Draco,” Hermione sighed.

“To blissful ignorance,” he said, holding up his filled glass. “May we find her again one day, may we keep her…and may she be less painful than this.” He tossed his shot glass back and refilled it, only then realizing Hermione had made no move towards hers. “Come then, don’t make me drink alone.”

She reached for the glass and pulled it closer but made no move to drink it yet. It felt like all they ever did was get beat down. Find a potion to attempt, it fizzles out. Start a new recipe, blow up the brewing room. Increase the strength of her own potion, find out it was too late to use it. As she looked at Draco, she knew the agony she felt was reflected back at her through him.

“What do we do now?” he asked. Those sad silver eyes met hers, and she saw how very exhausted he was, how very drained of life he had become. They were shiny as he watched her, seeking an answer she didn’t have. All she knew was she understood his pain. She felt it, too.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, “I don’t-”

Her throat itched as the words lodged themselves there. But the weight of so much wasted time was so fucking heavy. And Astoria- bright, alive Astoria- was the one who would pay for their misdirection.

“Are you okay?”

She scoffed. “I should be the one asking you that.”

“Hermione,” he sighed, setting his glass down. “As much as I just love the thought of a monopoly on pain, that isn’t how it works.”

A tear fell, making Hermione feel more ridiculous. “But I’m not even…”

“What, one of us? That’s nonsense, and you know it. Just because we all have a longer past with Story doesn’t mean we’re the only ones who can care for her.”

Draco turned to her, more serious than she’d seen him in a long time.

“It’s okay it hurts you, too.”

And it’s okay to feel.

Even when it’s a bitch.

Tears fell freely now, and once they managed to start, Hermione struggled to make them stop. And just as she was starting to cave in on herself, hands reaching for her own arms so she could wrap herself up tight, Draco took them instead and pulled her against him.

And she cried.

And cried.

And he held her tightly as she did, without judgement or comment.

As her sobs finally slowed, his fingers were alternating paths running gently through her hair or across her back. The touch was reassuring. Comforting. Making the thought of leaving this embrace all the more painful. So instead she nestled in closer with her face pressed to his neck, took a deep inhale of his calming eucalyptus scent, and let herself stay a little longer.

But the question had made its way to the front of her mind, and she couldn’t rid herself of it.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered, echoing his earlier sentiment.

“We’re going to be sad and hurt. Perhaps even cry a bit,” he said, quickly added on which is fine, making Hermione smile against his skin. “And we’re going to smile and joke and have a good time at this party, too.”

And though she knew he was right, she tried to imagine managing it. Where the hell would she ever find the energy?

“We’re going to let both exist tonight,” he continued. “We’ll drink too much and stumble home. Theo will certainly steal your cat ears at some point in the evening.”

Laughing, she finally forced herself to withdraw from his arms. Wiping at her eyes and cheeks, she quickly tried to rid herself of any evidence, as if crying was an act to look down upon. Draco pulled her hands away with a shake of his head, placing them instead on the tabletop beside her.

He collected his glass and held it up. “And then we’ll figure out tomorrow when it comes, whatever it may bring.”

Hermione mulled his words over briefly, eventually nodding and raising her own.

“Whatever it may bring,” she agreed, cheers-ing his glass, and throwing it back with a grimace.

The fire burnt through her in the best way. And after one more shot, she started feeling more capable of pulling herself together.

“I am so sorry,” she gasped, upon seeing his mascara streaked shirt.

“Oh, this?” He pulled his wand and with a single cleansing charm, it was good as new. “Never mind it.”

“Do I want to ask about my makeup?”

Draco chuckled as his hand met her chin, twisting and turning it to get a good look. He made an awful face, earning a slap to his shoulder but also making Hermione laugh. It felt weird to laugh given the circumstances, but she let herself anyway.

“I could try and fix this, but beauty charms have never been my forte.”

“What are my chances of looking half-decent?”

“Fifty-fifty,” he replied. “Give or take.”

“Comforting,” she laughed.

And he laughed too. That sweet, little laugh that sometimes slipped out. And Hermione had to bite her own lip to prevent herself from begging to hear the sound again.

“Do your worst,” she whispered.

“You started drinking without me?” Theo screeched as he came back into the room.

Hermione’s mind stalled out as she was harshly ripped from the moment. The tingling feeling of magic rippled across her face, and she knew Draco had fixed her face. But there was no time to thank him, no time to assess her fast beating heart and heated cheeks, no time to even look at Draco because Theo had barged in the room and squeezed himself between them.

“Could have at least got me a cup out,” he griped. “Honestly, where are the manners?”

Draco cleared his throat. “Thought you could handle yourself, mate. And- what are you wearing?”

Looking him over, it appeared to be a haphazardly thrown together outfit, complete with glasses and messed hair. And a poorly drawn lightning bolt on his forehead.

“Seriously?” Hermione laughed, noise sounding fake to her own ears. She tried to nonchalantly fan herself- bloody hell, it was hot in this room- as she passed over the firewhiskey bottle.

Why am I this anxious?

Surely not because of Draco. Right?

Theo just shrugged and turned up the bottle, taking several large pulls before handing it back to Draco. Hermione took the opportunity to look the man over, only to find he appeared…fine? Her mind whirled. While she felt a mess, he looked absolutely, completely fine. Composed even.

What is happening to me?

Fuck

Fuck fuck fuck

“-are you sure?” Daphne asked, entering the kitchen herself. Because apparently everyone was coming into the kitchen now. Refilling her glass, Hermione stepped out of the way, still trying to calm herself. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, and that would never do.

It’s just the stress of the day. Just stress, that’s it.

Nothing else, Hermione, nothing else.

Shove it all down, deep down, maybe it’ll get lost there.

Focusing on Daphne, she found the woman covered in gold glitter and sequins with large white wings, somehow managing to make a Snitch costume elegant and effortless.

“Yes. Go. Have fun with Bellamy, and you can come back after once he’s at Mason’s,” Astoria assured her, right behind her sister. Daphne nodded and hugged her tight before exiting the kitchen.

“Story.” Upon hearing her name, she turned towards Theo, who slid the firewhiskey bottle to her. She gratefully accepted.

Even covered in glitter and bright makeup, you could still make out the splotchy redness of her face. Her eyes were swollen, and nothing, not all the glamours in the world, could hide the look of defeat.

“Thanks,” she smiled, wincing as the aftertaste burned. The spout of the bottle was now covered in glitter lipstick, and she tried to wipe it away to no avail. “Sorry.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Theo exclaimed, waving her concerns away and reaching his hand out for her to take it. “Radiant and gorgeous!” he continued, twirling her around in spectacular circles, “Goddess of all butterflies!” He finished with a spin in towards himself, and she clutched his chest as she laughed.

“I hear something beautiful,” Pansy called as she walked into the room. She was covered head to toe in flowers and vines of all shapes and sizes, twisting and contorting around her body.

“Wow.” Hermione looked her over, in awe of the costume they whipped up. And in such a short amount of time. “You do look stunning as a garden.”

“Well,” Pansy smiled sheepishly, looking for Astoria. Upon finding her wife’s eyes on her, Astoria made her way over to Pansy with a big, bright smile on her face. “What Story wants, Story gets.”

“Bit wrapped around my finger are we?” Astoria asked.

“Absolutely. Always,” Pansy admitted, eyes only for Astoria. “Thank, Merlin.”

Astoria whispered something in Pansy’s ear that made her smile and her eyes teared up, and then they were kissing. She held onto Astoria tight, as if any lessening of her grip would mean the woman was ripped from her grasp. Soon enough tears streaked down Pansy’s cheeks, regardless of the close embrace.

Astoria shh’d her gently. “We have today, darling. We have today.”

Hermione felt the familiar ache in her throat as she bit back her own tears. Because somehow there were more she could shed. The familiar sound of the floo activating and a call of hello made throughout the house was a welcome excuse, and Hermione, Theo, and Draco all eagerly acted on it.

It was only upon seeing the redhead that Hermione recalled Ginny’s owls when she was at Durmstrang. Apparently Harry’s partnership with Draco had blossomed into a friendship. Which had, with time, extended out to Theo. Apparently, Ginny and Pansy were even getting along, though Hermione needed to see that with her own eyes to fully believe it.

Ginny stood in the middle of the living room, hair enchanted long and glistening, wearing a skintight bodysuit glamoured to appear like a fin where her legs pressed together.

“You’re a…merperson?” Hermione guessed, looking Ginny over. “And you’re…” Harry was wearing more typical clothing, but he was also glamoured to appear wet, though his skin had a blueish tint.

What the hell was he?

“The person she drowned in the lake,” Harry said with an eye roll. “We played a game, and I clearly lost.”

Theo was still laughing beside Hermione, overjoyed with the sight before him. Only then did Harry notice Theo and his not so subtle costume.

“Hey!” Harry gasped, pointing at him. “What…are you me?”

“Merlin,” Ginny sighed, pulling two galleons seemingly out of thin air.

“Where were those stored?” Hermione asked in awe as the galleons were placed in Theo’s hand.

“You bet on me?” Harry looked to his wife in shock, eventually divulging into laughter. “You’re the worst.”

“I know,” she smiled against his lips, kissing him lightly. Pansy and Astoria walked in then, hands still clutching one another. Ginny smiled brightly at them, asking, “Ready to go?”

“Actually, I think we may stay in,” Astoria replied. “I’m a little…tired.”

“You all go ahead. We’ll celebrate here,” Pansy insisted.

If will alone could have kept a tear from slipping down her face, it would have. But alas, Pansy was human.

“Nonsense! We can all stay in,” Ginny said immediately. “Why go to the party, when the party is already here! Especially with how gorgeous you look, Astoria.”

She was still gushing as she clambered over to the girl, taking her hands in her own and oohing and ahhing from all directions.

“But Ginny, the party…” Astoria sighed.

“Is right here!” Ginny reiterated. She looked over at her husband. “Harry?”

“Want me to go get-”

“Yep,” Ginny said, not needing him to finish.

“And the-” But Ginny was already nodding.

Harry turned to Pansy before leaving. “Blink twice if we’re overstepping.”

“Considerate as ever, Potter,” Pansy smiled. “But no, we would love the company.”

“Then I will be right back.” With a nod, Harry left through the floo.

“What’s our theme?” Ginny asked Hermione, gesturing to the ceiling. “Underwater?”

“You know that one gives me nightmares.” Hermione shivered, recalling the Black Lake trials of the Triwizard Tournament. “Night sky?”

Ginny glared but enchanted the ceiling anyway. “You always request that one.”

Hermione smiled. “It brings me peace.”

Within ten minutes, Harry was back and clutching the expanding satchel Hermione had gifted them both for their wedding. He unloaded several frozen pizzas, assorted bags of crisps, and an assortment of sweets Hermione guessed he had grabbed from the corner store beside their house.

“What about-”

“Don’t worry,” Harry assured her, pulling out one of their extra bottles of ranch dressing.

Hermione smiled at the sight. Her father had fallen in love with the sauce during a trip to America with her mother, thus Hermione grew up on it. She introduced it to the Weasley family, who had very mixed and strong opinions on the condiment. But Ginny adored the stuff, and Harry adored her, so he made sure there was always ranch at their house.

“And best of all…” Ginny smiled and danced, dramatically drawing out the moment.

Then Harry was pulling out a giant bag of gillyweed. And while it was a legalized substance in the magical world, it was still difficult to come by, particularly in such quantities.

Draco was helping him prepare it, and Astoria was watching them work, eager eyes trained on every moment. Pansy was levitating in drinks and transfiguring items in the room to more spooky versions of themselves. And Theo was already asking Ginny about the ranch.

And that’s how a merperson and corpse, garden and butterfly, cat, formal apology, generic Harry Potter, and later a Snitch and Quidditch player, all ended up sprawled around Draco Malfoy’s living room, passing gillyweed back and forth, listening to music and staring at the night sky.

Poppy prepared the frozen pizzas and Blaise indulged in all the chocolate and Theo was introduced to the wonder of ranch dressing. And Astoria was dancing in the middle of the room with Daphne, giggling until they doubled over and cried. And Ginny was laying with Pansy, joking, and Harry and Draco were laughing over shared jokes from work.

And Hermione was in awe, watching as both of her worlds combined so beautifully, right before her eyes.

–

Hermione wrote to everyone. Called in every favor. Owled anyone she thought may help.

She met up with Neville again, hearing all about how wonderful Theo was and officially convincing him to join her department on a temporary basis as a sub-committee head. And then spending an entire meal time and walk from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts debating what to try with Astoria next.

After, she paid a visit to Sprout and Pompfrey to discuss with them and stopped by the library to see if Pince had any books that would help. There were several, and Hermione ended up with a satchel full to take home. She spoke to Minerva and Hagrid, anyone on the staff who may be able to even give her any direction to investigate.

And as a last resort, she even stopped by the painting of an old, notorious healer whose portrait hung in an old classroom. But he was apparently a Pureblood elitist, and he made his feelings on Hermione well known. After several threats of portrait destruction by fire, he finally spoke with her. And unsurprisingly, he was ultimately unhelpful.

Owls returned from around the globe: healers from hospitals in nine different countries, multiple wizarding school Herbologists and Potioneers, leading experts in any and every even semi-related field. Some came with text books or contacts to reach out to. Most were entirely unhelpful.

Draco came to her apartment Friday evening with a bag full of his own acquired texts and letters to respond to. They spread out until every surface was covered in papers and texts, reading until the early light of the morning. The ache of hopelessness was back, loud and demanding as ever, without sign of reprieve.

That is, until a floo call ushered them back at once. Draco and Hermione wasted no time, jumping up and immediately floo’ing over. They stumbled into his house to find Blaise, Daphne, Pansy and Theo already assembled.

Blaise thrust a book of runes out towards them, smiling brightly. “We found something.”

“Hermione,” Daphne prompted, “Have you ever heard of blood magic?”

And all the air that had been in Hermione’s lungs rushed out at once.

Chapter Text

Hermione braced herself.

Blood magic.

Of course it would come back to fucking blood magic.

“Yes, I’ve heard of it,” she confirmed. “Is that what you have been working on decoding?”

Daphne nodded. “It is. Some sort of ritual.”

Fuck.

The most volatile of magical disciplines she had ever tested out. The one she swore she would never return to again. Hermione couldn’t help but think of St. Mungo’s; the beeping of the monitor beside her bed, the cups of tasteless stew and blood replenishing concoctions she was forced to choke down, the seemingly unending pain.

She could almost hear herself screaming again…

“Let me see it.” Hermione shook herself from her thoughts, reaching for the book. Blaise complied, placing it in her hands. The copy of their translation was on a separate parchment currently magically stuck to the left side of the cover.

Theo stepped forward, intrigued. “Did you say blood magic?”

“You familiar, mate?” Blaise asked.

“Not particularly. It’s so rare the department never has to handle it, but I’ve heard plenty.”

Glancing at the text, there were no extra ingredients that caused alarm. In fact, the list was quite sparse, and the needed elements were rather standard: a blessed dagger, a blessed blood collection vase, petrified unicorn horn… It went on and on and looked rather tame.

But looks could be deceiving. And if there’s anything that truly captured the essence of a blood ritual, it’s deception.

Sure enough, certain specifics of this ritual were vague and adaptable, which she imagined could easily fall into chaos. And Hermione had never performed a ritual of any kind that utilized another human as the anchor and catalyst. It all scared her more than she liked.

Closing the book, Hermione sighed. “I’ve tried it before.”

Theo audibly gasped, dramatic that he was. Pansy was watching her, hanging on her every word and Daphne was murmuring something to Blaise that was too quiet to make out.

And Draco sat rigid, watching her in confusion before finally voicing, “You never mentioned those.”

“They were most of the failed experiments,” Hermione replied, looking away.

After she had explained her frozen rune mistranslation, they had coined the term for any situation in which Hermione had failed to learn anything of value and had only been hurt by the attempt. The gentleman that he was, Draco had never pushed for more information, instead trusting her judgement on what to share and sparing her from relieving the worst of it.

“Splendid,” Pansy sighed. Their phrase didn’t exactly call for context.

“You really tried it?” Theo asked, as if he needed to hear it confirmed again to begin believing it.

“Unfortunately,” she replied. “And if we’re going to debate this, we need Astoria here.”

Pansy stood immediately. “I’ll get her.”

“I take it no one else has tried it?” Hermione asked as the floo activated and Pansy disappeared in a wall of flames.

“Not personally…” Theo trailed off, looking to Draco. No words were shared, but by the way Theo blanched, the way Draco had to look off, whatever thought haunted them both seemed to be something neither could quite stomach.

“He used it from time to time,” Draco finally explained. There was no further offering of who was being referenced, not that there need be. Draco always looked petrified when he spoke of Voldemort. “The hedge maze… sometimes in the manor. It was…bad.”

Draco looked away. Considering the effort it took to squeeze even the small descriptor from his mouth, she imagined bad wasn’t fully covering the horrors he had witnessed. The ones he appeared to be trying to forget as Hermione could see him occluding from where she stood.

“Not exactly an example to follow. Beyond being actually evil, he also used core magics…”

Hermione shuddered at the thought.

The floo activated once more, and Pansy stepped out with Astoria wrapped round her arm. Leading her wife to the chaise off the side, Pansy settled in, attention refocused on Hermione.

But it was Astoria who spoke. “Pans said something about… about blood magic?”

“Are you familiar?” Hermione asked, handing her the text to look over herself.

“Not particularly.” She looked to her sister then, even as she mindlessly took the book. “I mean, the family curse has been categorized that way, but we didn’t have to use any ourselves to handle it.”

Daphne nodded in agreement. “Bit in the dark in this area, I suppose. But after double checking our translation, we checked every ingredient, didn’t we?”

“Of course,” Blaise said quickly. “We wouldn’t have brought this idea forth if anything looked off about it.”

“And everything we read said blood magic isn’t inherently bad.”

“Well, it isn’t,” Theo confirmed. “But there’s a reason it’s a dying practice: it’s unpredictably volatile.”

No kidding.

Hermione nodded. “And if we’re going to try it, you all need to be aware of the danger that comes with that. Especially you, Astoria.”

“Agreed,” Pansy said immediately, all business now that Astoria’s welfare was being discussed. “Tell us of your experiences, then.”

Could she?

Heart beating fast, she tried to remain breathing steady. The memories she had shoved down were threatening to rise back up, and her body was already reacting. As if the thoughts alone could bring back the trauma, she felt herself bracing, ready to run.

“That bad?”

Hermione didn’t realize she had shut her eyes until she opened them at Theo’s question. She managed a nod as she tried to gather her thoughts.

“Usually good for a trip to Mungo’s,” she managed to say. “Never helpful. Always…bad.”

Understanding Draco’s sentiment before, she wished she herself could occlude. Maybe then the memories threatening to flood her would more easily be held at bay. Someone somewhere summoned a glass of water for her, and she eagerly took large mouthfuls.

“Alright,” Pansy redirected, “What does this ritual do exactly?”

“It appears to be a replication spell of sorts,” Blaise offered. “And we believe it could be adjusted to target the curse.”

“Replication?” Pansy asked. “But we aren’t trying to replicate anything.”

“We’re trying to replicate curse breaking. Or restraining,” Daphne corrected, before Theo could.

“So what… we’re trying to replicate what Hermione did to herself…but onto me?” Astoria asked.

Blaise nodded. “It’s more complex than just that, but essentially, yes. We believe so.”

“Let me see,” Theo requested, though he was already out of his chair and reaching for the text.

Pansy and Astoria both handed the book over without thought. Being the resident curse breaker meant Theo was called upon as things became more theoretical. And unfortunately for him, now that they had made their way through common magics and were truly diving headfirst into the fringe, it would likely continue this path. Collecting the book, he read it over as he paced. Apparently, the man couldn’t work unless he was a flurry of movement.

“What would be the risks?” Pansy asked the room. Though her eyes flitted back to Hermione most often, and if that wasn’t extra unneeded pressure. Just because she had thoroughly roughed herself up using it on herself, she was far from an expert.

But no one answered, so eventually Hermione offered up a measly, “It’s hard to say, Pansy.”

“Then why are we so pressed about this?” she asked.

“It’s the unpredictability of it all that’s the problem,” Hermione replied.

“But it doesn’t sound scary or threatening,” Pansy argued. “They’ve checked the ingredients, all of which I agree sound perfectly fine. Why are we all shoving our heads in the sand when this sounds like a possible option?”

“Because it’s based in blood, Pans.” It was the first time Draco had spoken in several minutes, and it immediately pulled everyone’s attention, even Theo’s. “It’s not just the addition of blood as a potion ingredient but magic rooted in the blood itself; a living essence. It doesn’t matter what the book says. Even if it outlined each and every known possibility from each and every alteration you could make to the spell, it will never be certain because it comes from the blood.”

Those silver eyes were vacant, voice monotonous. Even when occluding, this was uncharacteristic. Hermione watched him, wondering what he was remembering, wondering how haunted the man truly was after surviving under Voldemort’s reign.

Draco looked at his clasped hands when he finally broke the silence. “It may not be a magical core we’d be messing with, but risk wise, it’s about as close as it gets.”

“Okay,” Astoria sighed. And though her head physically nodded, it was clear her mind was elsewhere as she weighed options. “Then is this…too much to risk? Considering we don’t even know if we could make the needed alterations to make it work?”

Pansy was about to interject, but Theo beat her there. “I have no comment on the risk level, but the theory appears sound. The way this is set-up, the adaptations… I think we can target the curse with this.”

Astoria turned to her wife. “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Shaking her head, Pansy collected Astoria’s hands in her own. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know… I-”

Astoria’s voice trailed off as her wild eyes searched her wife’s. Wide eyes that quickly watered as tears built. She was visibly crumbling under the weight of yet another decision, and if it wasn’t heartbreaking to see. Pansy looked at their clasped hands, rubbing her thumb over her skin again and again.

“So it could hurt her worse?” Pansy asked, eyes never straying. “It could potentially make her worse.”

But who could answer?

Not Blaise and Daphne, whose knowledge didn’t extend beyond the translation of the ritual. Not Theo, who had never worked with this sort of magic, or Draco, who only had scarred memories. And not Hermione, not really, for she only had her own experiences to pull from.

But apparently that was the most of anyone.

“Potentially,” Hermione replied. “If my past is a predictor, then probably.”

“Could it…” Pansy’s voice cracked, and it took several deep breaths to collect herself before trying again. “Could it kill her?”

“I don’t know.”

It was all Hermione could offer, and damn if it didn’t sting. No one had any answers. No one knew if this could be the cure or the killer. All they had was maybe and possibly and truthfully how did one ever make a decision based on that alone?

“But these risks would just be for me, right?” Astoria asked, finding her voice. “Not everyone else in the room?”

Pansy scoffed, making her opinion on how much that factor mattered to her well known, but Theo replied, “I guess there’s a risk of that since we can’t rule anything out, but I wouldn’t think it would extend spatially…”

The way Theo spoke, the emphasis on the word, the way his sentence fell short too early. It caught every ear.

“But…?” Astoria prompted.

“But…” Theo sighed, his eyes sliding over to Hermione, “Yours isn’t the only blood used, Astoria.”

“What…?” Astoria looked to Hermione even as reached for the text from Theo. Once collected, she began re-reading frantically. Eventually Pansy leaned over, whispering and pointing somewhere. “She’s this anchor?”

“And the catalyst,” Blaise added.

Astoria sighed, closing her eyes as the meaning settled over her. “And any risk to me would likely extend to her as well.”

The room was suddenly too small.

In that moment, that single moment, Hermione could feel the weight of everything upon her shoulders. And for the life of her she didn’t know how she got here, to this point, where another’s life was somehow being placed upon her in this way.

If she said no- and she could say no- she could sentence Astoria to death. She could be the reason Astoria missed out on a potential cure. And if she died without trying everything… Hermione didn’t know if she herself could live with that.

But this was blood magic. Blood magic. So even if she said yes and they did try, there was a good chance it could go wrong, horribly wrong. And then it could all be for naught anyway.

It was different from the pressure of finding answers and experimenting. This was something else entirely. Almost tangible with the sheer weight of its implications, Hermione felt like she was falling.

Down,

down,

down.

Somewhere deep and dark and completely hopeless.

Astoria’s voice was small when she finally asked, “It could kill us both then, yeah?”

Yes.

But how could Hermione say that? Couldn’t that sway her decision as well? But if she didn’t, if she wasn’t up front about the potential dangers of this, was that better? Each thought, each decision, each action, it all felt impossible.

Everything always felt so fucking impossible anymore.

Swallowing, Hermione settled for the truth. “There’s a chance.”

Astoria sighed, her head dropping into her hands at the words.

“There’s always a chance, Astoria,” Hermione continued, “I’m not saying we shouldn’t do it.”

“Well I am,” Astoria huffed, jumping up. She looked to Hermione with wide eyes that overflowed until tears began to slip out and fall. “It’s too big of a risk for you, Hermione, when you’re not even dying anymore.”

“But you are.”

“This isn’t what you signed up for.”

“Yes it is,” Hermione assured her. “When you came to me in my office and asked for my help, I knew, firsthand, everything I went through before. I knew this might happen. I knew there could be difficult decisions and risky magics involved. It’s exactly what I signed up for.”

“No,” Astoria persisted.

Hermione sighed. “Astoria-”

“I said no.”

“Then what do you propose we do?” Hermione asked.

“We find another way,” she insisted.

“And if there isn’t one?”

Tears were falling freely now, so many they became unending riverlets on her cheeks.

“Then there isn’t one.” And then Astoria was gone in a swirl of floo flames.

–

“Maybe we’re missing something.”

It was the second time Hermione had suggested such a thing, and she was met with as much silence as the first. Truthfully, she felt silly suggesting it, but really, she didn’t know where else to turn.

“It’s possible,” she continued, musing aloud. “Maybe we’re overlooking something.”

“Seriously?” Theo asked, taking pity on her and her one-sided conversations.

“Maybe.”

“What could we be missing?” Draco asked, joining. “We’ve triple checked everything we have. You know as well I do how thorough we’ve been throughout this. We’ve already been through every step.”

“What about the wound-”

“Including the wound progression,” Draco interrupted. “Even wound acquisition and after-care. There is nothing about these injuries that we have not thoroughly examined.”

An idea struck at his words.

He was right. There was nothing about these injuries they hadn’t covered.

“The day you came to my office to ask for my help, you said there were other instances of this curse, yes?” Hermione asked. “Tell me about them.”

Theo sighed. “I mean… There isn’t much to tell, pet.”

“But we’ve never talked about them before,” Hermione pointed.

And if that observation, that measly statement, wasn’t enough to pull not only Draco and Theo’s attention but Pansy’s as well. Everyone in the room bought in immediately, marking their place in texts or setting documents aside. Pansy even gathered a notebook from a shelf in the corner and opened to a page near the front.

Really put into perspective how fucked they all felt they were if we haven’t tried this before was enough to rally the entire room instantly.

“We only found information on five separate instances,” Pansy said, finger skimming down a page. “Two were merely referenced in ancient texts.”

Theo groaned. “Blaise and Daphne spent weeks deciphering those.”

“Another died while they were characterizing the curse,” Pansy continued. “And one poisoned themself while trying to create a potion antidote.”

Draco’s eyes slid to Hermione, his brows notching in the slightest. She could practically hear him taunting that could have been you. She flipped him the bird. She was more than aware.

“And the final one?” she asked, trying to move the conversation back to safer water.

“Charlotte Oliver, thirty-seven years old, living in London in the 1950’s,” Pansy said mechanically, as if reciting a passage she had read one too many times. Her finger finally found the entry, and she elaborated, “The only person on record who was successfully able to remove the curse, though they conveniently left out how. And then she passed shortly after from…complications.”

“Complications?” Hermione asked. She nodded. “What does that mean?”

“There weren’t many details beyond that,” Pansy replied, voice empty as she closed the notebook. Her eyes looked off in the distance, as if not truly seeing what was before her. She was too lost in her thoughts, likely of Charlotte’s story, likely worrying it would become Astoria’s, too.

“I’m working a theory around those, but it’s too early to-”

This caught Pansy’s attention. She snapped back to herself, turning abruptly to look at Theo.

“Explain,” she demanded before tacking on a subtle and lacking please.

“It’s too early, Pans,” Theo hedged. “And last time I-”

“Last time? I don’t recall having this conversation before.”

Halloween.

Hermione knew he was referencing Halloween. The weight of delivering that bit of heavy news had weighed heavy on Theo relentlessly since, no matter how Hermione tried to soothe him.

“Pansy,” Theo sighed.

“Theo, please. If you have anything, any ideas of any kind, please share them. I don’t care how underdeveloped your theories are. We have nothing.”

If the look in Pansy’s eyes or the presence of her begging wasn’t enough, the tone she used would seal the deal for anyone. The desperation that oozed off the woman was suffocating.

“Fine.” With a flick of his wand, Theo summoned a potion vile full of translucent, pearly liquid.

“What is that?” Pansy asked, potioneer mind running through possibilities.

“Nothing of substance. It’s just for demonstration of a concept,” he replied. Once Pansy nodded, eyes glued to the demonstration about to take place before her, he continued. “So, let’s say this represents Charlotte. She was cut with a similarly cursed blade, which we know causes this specific poison to spread.”

Another flick of his wand allowed for black liquid to seep in from the glass bottom of the vile. It edged its way upwards, curling and unfolding, resembling smoke as it overtook the clear contents. The vial was soon completely black.

“They were able to remove the poison…”

The vial turned upside down, the black contents pouring out to the ground below, leaving behind an empty vial.

“...But in written statements, loved ones described her as devoid of life. Empty, even. This aligns with my Hollow theory; curses take over space, and once they are removed, a void remains. To fully and successfully break the curse and return to full functioning, something needs to take that space. Otherwise…”

Theo’s wand dropped. The vial fell to the floor and shattered amongst the potion remnants.

“A bit dramatic, no?” Pansy asked.

Theo shrugged, shamelessly. “No one listens to my theories at the Ministry. I have to really capture everyone’s attention.”

“Believe me, you already had ours,” Pansy assured him, glaring.

“So that’s the problem then…” Hermione said, still processing what he was suggesting. “...even if a curse can be removed completely, it leaves you…”

“Hollow,” he finished.

Hermione blanched at the thought.

Was she, herself, hollow?

Yet, the description of Charlotte didn’t fit her. Sure, she had anxiety. And if she were being honest with herself, she should likely see a professional, muggle or otherwise, about depression. But, she had life to her. She could feel it, even if some days it was harder to find.

But if she wasn’t hollow like Charlotte-

“The curse isn’t removed,” Hermione whispered, looking to Theo. “Just as you suspected might be the case. I’m just a fire that’s been contained.”

Theo met her eyes and nodded, intensely serious now. “Never miss a dose of your potion.”

“Understood.”

Silence fell over them. The new information was a great deal to absorb at one time, and Hermione knew she at least was not doing so very well. Or very quickly.

“Let me get this straight,” Pansy edged. “So not only do we have to find a way to remove the curse from Astoria- which we don’t know how to do- but we also have to find something to replace it with- which we also don’t know how to do since Hermione likely never actually broke the curse herself.”

Theo reluctantly nodded.

Pansy clutched at her chest as she…laughed? Tears streamed down her face unendingly, laughing beyond control as she clutched at her stomach until it eventually settled.

“Now we have nothing-” Pansy’s voice gave out, descending into sobs that wracked her entire body. Hermione immediately went for her, sitting in the chair beside her as she tried to do anything to help soothe the witch.

A chair scooted across the floor sharp enough it fell to the ground, and Hermione thought someone was coming to help. But instead, Draco’s form retreated towards the floo, not stopping even as Hermione called out to him.

“Merlin, help us,” Theo whispered.

–

Draco didn’t return that night.

Eventually, Theo set off to find him and Pansy went home to Astoria. And Hermione went home, alone. Theo owled her to let her know Draco was safe but indisposed at this time, whatever that meant, and she shouldn’t come over the following day.

So Hermione picked up a bag of his favorite apples, a handle of firewhisky, and a large container of chocolate hats, all to be sent over via owl.

That evening, the owl returned with no response.

On Tuesday, in between a meeting with Kingsley to discuss budget estimate adjustments in her department and a floo call with the Magical Transportation Department Head, Hermione owled him again. It was a simple letter, short and sweet, hoping he felt better and inquiring about Pansy and Astoria since she hadn’t yet wanted to bother them directly or barge over.

There was once again no response, and Theo assured her over lunch on Thursday that Draco was fine and simply needed time. Which made little sense, especially considering she was the one who had just been told her life was dependent on taking the potion. But pointing this out only resulted in Theo descending into sadness and providing shorter responses, and she ultimately had to give up.

Friday came, and she floo’d over ready with a mental script ready to recite to him. But Blaise and Daphne were there already with him, discussing some new text that they had received from a friend in Thailand. Blaise played soothingly with Daphne’s hair as she read from the book, until she started to cry mid sentence, and he took over for her. When she finally excused herself to the bathroom, he explained the latest news about Astoria was really taking a toll.

A trend common amongst them all.

Draco steadfastly ignored her during the meeting. She would look at him, and his eyes quickly shifted away. She would edge near, and he edged further away. Even when Blaise and Daphne had left for the evening, he made some half-arsed excuse to leave as well. Poppy had seen Hermione out.

Frustrated, Hermione went home, alone. Again.

She sat in the bath until the steam faded away and the water ran cool to the touch. Then she made tea and sat in the window seat to watch the stars outside. And she cried. She cried for Astoria. For the uncertainty of the future. For herself. She tried to let herself feel, let the emotions freely come, but they were painful, and she was tired of trying to carry them alone.

So instead she drank her last bottle of fairy wine while laying in bed, staring at an enchanted ceiling. And when her eyes caught on the green journal by her bedside, she didn’t think before picking it up. She immediately saw their previous messages, reminded of their conversations when she had been at Durmstrang, and her eyes flooded with tears again. Because tonight, she felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

She felt truly isolated.

H: I wish you would talk to me.

She waited. Left the book open and within eyesight, casting glances every few minutes only to be let down by an otherwise blank page.

H: Please, Draco.

When enough time had passed and the page remained blank, she threw the book across the room. It landed on the floor with a thump and slid on the ground under a chair in the corner. And that’s where it remained as Hermione finally, finally, fell asleep.

And when she awoke, the pages were still blank.

–

“Has anyone seen Astoria?” Daphne yelled, managing to be heard over the pulsating beat of the club music.

Hermione pointed behind her and mouthed the words loo and Pansy. Apparently it didn’t matter if the jumpsuit was muggle or magically made, they were a bitch to get in and out of. And the location of the snaps in the crotch meant this particular one required help.

Daphne levitated the drinks to the table they hovered around, standing close enough to Hermione to ask, “Blaise?”

Even leaning over to speak directly in her ear, Hermione still felt like Daphne was yelling to be heard. Hermione made a motion of drinking and pointed towards the front of the club to where the main bar was located.

“Again?” Daphne asked.

Hermione shrugged and nodded. It was Theo’s big night for his promotion. If he wanted to get beyond pissed from alcohol every one else kept buying him, then that was his prerogative. Plus, she had seven more sober up potions in her extended clutch, so that was comforting in and of itself.

“Neville?” Daphne asked.

Hermione smiled. “Where else would he be?” she yelled.

The two had truly been inseparable since their first date, and luckily for Hermione, she was close enough with them both to hear all the sickeningly sweet details.

She heard of the weekends spent at Neville’s cottage near Hogwarts, mornings spent sipping coffee in the gardens and evenings lounging atop his roof. Of the dinners Neville was teaching Theo to cook and the subsequent ones Theo had messed up beyond repair. Of the silly bets placed on how long it took Neville’s colleagues to pick-up on their relationship. And even that of the day Theo got an entire drawer at Neville’s- which included a lengthy conversation in Hermione’s office of what one keeps in said drawer since this was not familiar territory for the man.

And now he was here, meeting Theo’s friends, celebrating Theo’s big promotion at work at the latest club to open up off of Knockturn. And it should have been great. They were all trying so damn hard to make it great.

But it wasn’t.

It felt fake. Wrong. As if slipping into someone else’s skin and trying to pass it as your own. Because Astoria was still dying. They still had nothing to go on. It was all a mess, and everyone was too busy pretending to bring any attention to the truth of it.

“Draco?”

Daphne’s inquiry pulled Hermione back to the present. Swallowing down the last drink from her glass, she shrugged. He still had yet to speak to her, going out of his way to avoid her that evening, and fuck if it didn’t sting.

“He’s awful sometimes,” Daphne yelled. “But he’ll come round. He always does.”

A real consolation as his fuck you was heard loud and clear.

“And it’s not personal,” Daphne added.

Not personal. That was a laugh. It felt bloody personal. For the first time, Hermione leaned over to Daphne to yell back.

“Why are you so pressed about it?”

“Just think you should know.” She shrugged, innocently.

Astoria and Pansy returned then, blessedly- because truthfully Hermione didn’t want to talk about him any longer. They quickly joined Daphne, accepting the drinks the witch had fetched for them and shouting about some witch in the loo.

And then Theo and Neville were rounding the corner and coming back into the room, hand in hand. Theo looked properly pissed, but he also looked sinfully happy. And she had never before seen Neville looking this genuinely joyful, this alive. She smiled and waved as they joined the group.

“We’re heading back to the floor,” Theo yelled. Turning to Hermione he asked, “Changed your mind about that dance yet?”

“Afraid not.”

“But it’s my party,” Theo pouted. “And you are the only one who hasn’t danced with me yet tonight.”

A flash of blonde pulled her eye as Draco returned to the room with Blaise. Much as he tried to hide it, Hermione noticed him noticing her. After all the hours spent working so closely together, she had long ago picked up on his tells, and he was currently broadcasting them all as he pointedly ignored her.

“And what if-”

“Let’s dance,” Hermione interrupted. Setting her drink on the table harshly, she grabbed for Theo’s hand, who grabbed for Neville’s as they worked their way towards the floor.

Letting the pulsating music and flashing lights overwhelm her senses, Hermione gave herself over completely. They danced and danced and then danced more, lost completely in the moment. And by the time Hermione came up for air, she was a sweaty mess.

Needing a break but unable to stand still, Hermione headed towards the hallway that led to the other rooms of the club. There was a main room with the bar and dance floor, but the excitement was everything that lay beyond, and she had yet to explore.

Winding her way through the club, she found room upon room in the endless maze of building. Part of the pull for this particular club lay in the different themed rooms. Amongst her favorites were the chocolate room and the Weasley Wizard Wheeze room. The most surprising was certainly the non-magical music room. And the worst, in her opinion, were the ghastly Hogwarts house themed rooms, which were all painfully on the nose with decor options.

Making her way through, Hermione took note of just how few people were around. The other pull for this particular club was the privacy it could offer. Truly, the building was bound to have filed for an extension license because the space just kept going, never requiring more than a handful of people to populate a single room at any given time.

She had just walked into a navy coloured room- theme of which was unknown but she would have guessed the Black Lake- when the other couple in the room moved towards the exit. In their absence, Hermione could now see Draco, sitting at a tentacle shaped table top and staring at the drink he was stirring.

Her feet had already stepped towards the exit when she stopped herself, refusing to play this game any longer, and instead turned towards him. The sudden movement caught his attention, and he stood to rise, already looking for an escape. But Hermione was quick, and she pulled her wand.

The sticking charm worked well- maybe too well- and Draco was halted mid step, pulled back against the wall behind him harsh enough that his drink splashed up over his glass and down his shirt. He looked from it to his hand stuck to the wall and back again.

“Was this entirely necessary?” he droned.

“Apparently.” Hermione took one last drink, set her cup on a nearby tabletop, and made her way to stand directly in front of him. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I don’t think this is the proper place to have this conversation.”

“Well, you won’t speak with me anywhere else.”

Draco huffed, physically huffed, as if she were the unreasonable one. It only angered her further. She watched silently as he tried to pull himself from the wall, groaning and flailing about.

“How sloshed are you?”

“Not nearly enough.”

Judging by the sheen of sweat visible on his brow and the unfocused gaze in his eyes, she highly doubted that.

It was unclear how helpful this would be. Maybe it wasn’t the proper place or time. After all, would he be truthful? Would he even remember? And here in this night club for fucks sake? But it was the first chance she’d had to approach him, and no one else was in here, and damn if she didn’t feel like she had to take advantage of that.

“Did I do something?” she asked.

“No,” he bit out. “Of course not.”

“Then what is going on?”

“A party. Theo got a promotion and-”

“Stop it,” she demanded, nerves frayed. “I’m too tired for this bullshit.”

“Then don’t ask a question you know the answer to.” The smug look on his face infuriated her.

“Deflection. Occlusion. Dry wit and sarcastic humor. Come off it, Draco. It’s really tiring.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want the truth! I want you to be real with me, for five minutes! I know we have hit a wall with Astoria and the odds are nowhere near our favor and everything hurts, but I can’t help unless you talk to me.”

“Just…” He looked on the precipice of saying something, something she knew would be important. Those mournful silver eyes searched her face, parted lips seeming to already be forming the words. But then he looked away, muttering, “Just leave me alone, Hermione.”

It made her blood boil.

“You’re infuriating, do you know that? I thought we were- well, I don’t know what I thought exactly. But, I did believe you respected me enough to not treat me like this.”

Looking to him, she refused to look away. He eventually met her gaze, and though he flinched as if her look alone had burned him, he held it. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe, just maybe, she had finally started to wear the man down. She could swear she could see cracks forming in his typically impenetrable wall, and she wasn’t honorable enough to ignore that.

“After everything?” she asked, measly voice surprising herself.

Her throat itched and her face was hot and truly it was a miserable moment. She felt vulnerable and naked in the worst way. And he was still fighting to not say whatever it was that was threatening to break free from his lips.

“Would you put the damn walls down for five fucking minutes, Draco? Why are you-?”

“Because I’m in agony, Hermione!”

His outburst left him panting, gasping for air in the quiet of the room.

“I watch everyday as she gets worse. And we’re not getting any closer. There’s no good answer here, no simple cure.”

“Draco,” Hermione sighed, but he continued.

“And every day I’m watching her fade away because we can’t do better. Because I can’t do better. And amidst it all, I’m so distracted and consumed by worry…”

Of course he was. They were all worried for Astoria.

“Because I’m reminded it could easily be you.”

And there it was.

The reason he had been avoiding Hermione so steadfastly was not because of Astoria, but because of…her?

His admission made every thought stop, the music around them stopped, hell time itself may have stopped.

And a jarring moment later it kicked back to life. There were voices behind her, but all Hermione could focus on was Draco. She so desperately wanted to soothe him, reach out and help him, but he yanked his free arm away from her grasp.

“Draco, you’re pissed, please just let me help you with the sticking-”

“I don’t want your help!”

Physically recoiling from the outburst, Hermiond stepped back. Draco slid down the wall, even as his wrist remained pinned, until he fell into a heap on the floor with one arm extended upwards.

“Draco,” Daphne sighed, her voice sounding from somewhere behind Hermione.

“Come on, mate.” Blaise made his way over to Draco, speaking to him as he worked with his wand to unstick him from the wall and help him to his feet. Hermione couldn’t take her eyes off the two, Draco disintegrating as he cried, Blaise quite literally the only thing keeping the drunken man standing.

“What happened?” Daphne asked as she came up to Hermione, concern etched on her face.

But Hermione couldn’t form words. She was trying to see around Daphne, to make sure Draco was okay. And she sure didn’t know how to begin to explain everything to the woman in front of her. But Daphne was persistent.

“Hermione? Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she managed to reply, eyes following Blaise and Draco until they rounded the corner and were out of sight. “I’m fine.”

Chapter Text

Hermione considered herself many things.

Creative and dedicated. Dependable. Good with details and an excellent organizer. Occasionally funny. Strong-willed and stubborn.

And importantly, intelligent.

Which meant her reactions to Draco over the past few weeks hadn’t fully escaped her notice. Every time her heart raced just at his proximity, eyes drifted over his body as they worked, felt that desire to just get closer to him, she was reminded she shouldn't be feeling this way. And try as she may to ignore everything, it remained in the back of her mind, begging her to examine it all closer.

Which she had pointedly not done over the weekend. Busying herself with anything else, she had stayed distracted. But now her morning meeting had just been cancelled, all paperwork was somehow caught up, and there was nothing to do but sit and stare at the wrapped present on the far corner of her desk. The one that had been sitting there all morning, taunting her.

Eyeing it from her seat, she took a sip of steaming chai.

Even still wrapped tight, the notecard tucked into place under the twine binding, it wasn’t a complex mystery. She need not unravel it to know who it was from. After all, Ursa had been the one to deliver it, quite literally first thing that morning. Hermione had arrived at her office to find the owl already pecking at the window to get inside.

But opening it somehow felt much larger than simply opening a present. It felt like she would be opening up the door to examine everything. And that she wasn’t ready for.

A sudden knock on her door made her jump, spilling her tea on her desk.

“Come in!” she yelled, even as she grabbed for her wand to clean up the mess. Then grabbed for paperwork, any paperwork, to appear busy.

To her delight, it was Harry.

“Bad time?”

“No, not at all, please come in!”

“I thought we could speak over a morning cuppa.” Two steaming mugs were in his hands, and he smiled brightly as he gently held them up. But his step faltered as he noticed the cup already sitting before her. “Or maybe I missed the boat on that one.”

“Early start today, but you’ll be delighted to know I just evaporated half the contents off my desk, so this is perfect.”

“Excellent.” Harry attempted to settle into the seat across from her, and Hermione eventually took pity upon the man and magically altered it to something she knew he’d find more comfortable. The answering smile was reward enough.

Hermione was still working to declutter her desk from the paperwork she had hastily thrown upon it when Harry said, “You have a present.”

“Oh! I do,” she exclaimed, trying desperately to sound surprised to find it there and not at all like she had been staring at it all morning.

“Here.”

Scooting along the top of the desk, the wretchedly perfect looking thing stopped right under her nose. Unable to think of an excuse, even as she took extra time pretending to struggle with the card attached, she eventually relented and forced herself to open it.

Apologies. It was undeserved.

Draco

Five words.

It took the man five words and her mind was already threatening to go down the Draco-shaped rabbit hole.

And yes he had been an arse avoiding her, and yes he had been an even bigger arse when they fought at Theo’s party, and yes she knew an owled apology shouldn’t suffice. But damn if it didn’t pull at her heartstrings. Not only did he have a history of struggling with the intimate and pride-swallowing act of apologies, but to now understand he had avoided her because he was upset about her well-being…

Misplaced and imperfect, but it made her heart ache all the same.

And damn if that didn’t make any sense.

This was Draco. Draco Malfoy. The same git she spent countless hours bickering with and pestering, who she hadn’t spoken to for years prior to this work arrangement, who had once been a boy that hated her very existence.

That man should not be the same one who made her forget how to breathe, damn it.

“Anything good? What’s it for?” Harry asked, peering over the desk. Folding the card over quickly, she smiled to cover the movement and shook her head.

Lie.

“Did DMGS a favor.”

But Harry perked up at that. “Oh really? Was it for the League?”

Lie better.

“Pushed an inquiry to the top of the list, reached out with questions.” Hermione stirred her tea casually. “Not even sure if it’s much of anything until I learn more.”

“Business details, eh?” Harry’s scrunched nose spoke volumes of how interesting he found that. “Well let me know if it progresses to the good stuff.”

“You’ll be the first.”

Trying to reel in her panic, she mentally chastised herself for lying to one of her best friends. And made a note to write to DMGS herself, just in case Harry should speak with anyone stationed with them.

“How’s work?” Hermione asked, seeking refuge.

“Surprisingly good. We’ve had less calls than usual, less arrests, less court involvement. It’s been…tame, even.” He paused to take another sip of tea. Hermione was still basking in the levity of this newfound topic when he added, “And Draco has been the best addition to the team.”

“Oh. Yeah?”

“Absolutely!” Harry smiled brightly over his mug. “He’s already earned every bit of his pay. Saved my arse after a nasty incident or two-”

“Harry!”

“And I just feel safer knowing we have him on call now,” Harry continued, ignoring her completely. “Really, his niche skill set is unmatched. I can-”

Ariana’s knock blessedly interrupted Harry’s raving, and Hermione immediately let her in. Standing over the desk, she waited, silent and still. After awkward silence that felt like several minutes but realistically was only a few seconds, Hermione caught on and waved off Harry’s presence.

“He’s fine. Go ahead. What is it?”

“You have a visitor.”

Hermione looked to Harry. “Yes-”

“Another visitor,” Ariana clarified, blushing.

“Oh.” Pulling her wand, Hermione brought forth her schedule to double check. “I didn’t think I had anything until this afternoon.”

“Unscheduled but with breakfast,” Ariana replied, piquing Hermione’s interest. She wasn’t used to being showered with this much food love in a single Ministry morning. “Draco Malfoy stopped by. Are you available this morning?”

Seriously?

For days Hermione hadn’t been able to track the man down. And now, as if the universe heard her decree for a Draco-free morning and took it as a personal challenge, she couldn’t get away from him. Truly, it was bordering on ridiculous.

“Tell him I’m in an important meeting.”

Ariana offered no comment beyond a silent nod, and then she went back out the door, quick as she came. Though he said nothing, Hermione could feel Harry’s eyes on her, even as she drank her tea and tried to wait him out.

“Don’t ask,” she demanded.

“Trouble in paradise?”

Hermione glared at him. “That qualifies as asking.”

“Fine, fine. Just at least tell me if I need to hex him next time I see him.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she assured him. Because Harry didn’t understand. He wasn’t the problem. She was.

Those auror eyes fixed upon her. “You okay?”

“Just tired.” But Harry didn’t let her get away with the comment alone, and she was forced to elaborate. “Things with Astoria aren’t great, and work around here as we approach the holidays-”

“Only gets worse,” Harry finished, nodding. “No department is safe from that, I’m afraid.” He gestured to her schedule, which still hovered before her. “What else do you have today?”

“Only a check-in with my Medical lead this afternoon, a couple meetings with Kingsley and various department heads, and a floo call with the Irish Ministry. Oh and Ariana and I have an organizational meeting together.”

“Only,” Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes at her use of the word. “Why don’t you reschedule?”

“Reschedule? Would you like me to go through the list again then, explain how impossible that would be for each?” After considering this, she added, “Except Ariana. I think she’d be open to it.”

“I’m serious, ‘Mione.”

“As am I.”

“When was the last day you took off?”

“Last Thursday and Friday,” she responded, immediately.

He glared. “I meant for yourself.”

Shrugging non-comittantly, she replied, “It’s been a while. But it’s hard to get the time off.”

“Would it help if you used my name?”

Hermione scoffed. “I thought you didn’t want special circumstances.”

“I don’t. But if I’m going to have this power, we may as well exploit it a bit.”

This gave Hermione pause. It’s true Harry’s name could move mountains, even this long after the war, so it would easily work. He was already nodding, as if he could read her mind, smiling devilishly.

“Go home. Relax. Heavens above, if anyone deserves time off, it’s you.”

“What would I do?”

“What would you do? Blimey,” he laughed, rolling his eyes.

“It’s a fair question!”

“Relax,” he reiterated. “Come on. I’ve already talked myself into it.”

Standing, Harry magically vanished the mugs and transfigured the chair back before she had even stood from her own. Waiting for her to collect her things, he ushered her towards her door and out to the waiting room beyond. Ariana did a double take upon seeing Hermione with Harry.

“Clear her schedule today, please, Ariana,” Harry requested. “Cite myself as the reason, and if anyone has anything to say on the matter, I expect them to come to me rather than either of you.”

Looking hesitantly to Hermione, she waited for the confirming nod before nodding herself.

“I can do that.”

Hermione smiled at her sweet assistant. “Thank you.”

“Don’t forget this.” Ariana levitated over a wrapped parcel; Hermione knew there would be a buttered crumpet under stasis inside. Harry collected it from the air and wandlessly, wordlessly levitated the lot alongside them as they headed towards the floo network and into the green flames.

Try as she might, she could not get him to stay and enjoy a lazy day with her, but he didn’t leave without first kissing her temple and reminding her once again to relax. Floo locked behind him, she settled into the peaceful silence of her home, Harry’s word repeating in her mind like a mantra.

Relax

It sounded better and better each time.

–

Hermione jolted awake to the screeching of alarms.

Grabbing her wand, she checked for intruders in the house. None. It was then she realized it wasn’t her warding alarm going off but the one Pansy had just installed.

Astoria

Hermione was jumping out of bed, unable to move quick enough as panic flooded her system. She didn’t need to check the time to know it was late. She hadn’t been asleep for long.

Which meant something was very, very wrong.

Grabbing her emergency bag, she headed straight to the floo. There was no time to change or even look herself over in the mirror. She couldn’t waste a single moment in trying to get to them. Not when it could mean life or death.

As she collected a handful of floo powder, she tried to mentally steel herself for whatever she may find. And though she didn’t mean to, she suddenly pictured hypotheticals. Daphne collapsing to the floor in agony, wailing. A screeching Pansy, on the ground, clutching a broken Astoria.

Literally shaking her head to try and shove that image out, she called out for their manor and threw the chalky powder.

Moments later, she stumbled out of the fireplace, still coughing from the soot. And she was greeted with...laughter?

Wait, what?

Hermione stumbled to a stop in the middle of the room, looking around her. Astoria sat on a chaise with Pansy, looking completely fine?

“What the…”

Pansy sat with her legs tucked under her, hair tied up on her head, wearing a matching navy satin sleep set. Astoria was beside her, hair braided, sitting in a yellow satin and lace nightgown. Her cheeks were pink, eyes wide, looking absolutely fine.

“Forty-seven seconds!” Pansy called out, waving her wand to stop a glowing timer that hovered near her head. “That’s the fastest yet.”

Fastest? Fastest what?

Fastest time?

Hermione’s head was buzzing as she tried to understand. The thick layer of sleep that still hovered over her mind was making it even more difficult.

“Well, I would have been faster, too, if I hadn’t taken time to get dressed,” Ginny said bitterly.

“Ginny?” Hermione whispered.

Hermione turned to find Ginny sitting on a chair, legs tossed over one arm, head leaned back against the other. Harry was on the ground in front of her, resting against it. They both look ruffled in their wrinkled pajamas and robes, especially Harry with his hair sticking up in every direction.

“Ginny?” Hermione repeated. Because apparently it was the only word her stalled out brain could produce.

“Awh honey, you came over immediately!” Astoria cooed, giggling and looking to Hermione with a love-filled gaze. Her hand clutched her chest. “And with a bag! Pansy, she brought supplies!”

“Bloody hell, well now we know who to call. Hermione prioritizes, unlike someone,” Pansy said pointedly.

“I sleep naked. Did you want me to come over naked?” Blaise asked. Hermione turned to find him on a chaise behind her. He looked the most put together of anyone in his pajama set, robe, and matching slippers.

“Well it would have been quicker...” Pansy replied.

“...And I sleep on the opposite side of the flat as the floo!” Blaise added.

“It still shouldn’t take seven minutes and three seconds,” Pansy scoffed.

Hermione’s head was whipping back and forth between the two as they argued.

“And what if my son had been home tonight? What if…”

“We knew he was at your parents,” Astoria interrupted.

“Yeah, we aren’t complete monsters,” Pansy added.

“My arse,” Blaise muttered.

When Hermione turned back to look at him, movement caught her attention, and her eyes slid over to find Draco sitting next to Blaise. His hair was delightfully disheveled and his face was still flushed from just waking up, and he was wearing lounge pants.

Just lounge pants.

In the most delightful image Hermione had seen in a long time, she was able to soak in Draco lounging back with his lean torso on full display. His scars were visible, and Hermione had to quelch the overwhelming desire to trace her fingers across them. Maybe even lick one.

She recognized the depravity of that thought a moment too late, barely recovering from choking on her own spit and making a complete arse of herself, in front of everyone.

And then she realized she was standing there ogling him.

And then she was suddenly very, very aware she was standing in front of him in an oversized shirt and knickers.

Turning away to hide the flush that must be consuming her, she faced Pansy.

“Bloody hell,” Hermione whined, letting her emergency bag fall to the ground. “What is happening? You’re fine. Fine!” She gestured to Astoria.

“Which is a good thing,” Pansy reminded Hermione, who just glared. Pansy smiled back, knowing she was being wicked and reveling in it anyway.

“Pansy…” Hermione sighed.

“Don’t be mad at Pansy,” Astoria said quickly. “She was just trying to cheer me up.”

“And look how well it worked!” Pansy smiled, bouncing in her seat as she looked at Astoria. “She was having a rough day, and I thought it would make her feel better, feel loved, to see that all these people cared enough to come over in the middle of the night.”

Astoria smiled at Pansy, as if it was the most romantic gesture. Hermione balked.

“It needed to be tested anyway,” Pansy said with a shrug as she turned back to Hermione.

“In the middle of the night?” Hermione emphasized.

“I told you,” Harry supplied, “she wouldn’t be happy if…”

“Harry James Potter,” Hermione interrupted, turning her wrath on him now, “you told them what about me?” He quickly closed his mouth and held his hands up, surrendering.

“Don’t be mad, Hermione,” Astoria begged, smiling. “I’m honestly quite touched you would forgo trousers for me.”

Astoria’s bloody hand was on her heart again, and Hermione could see in her eyes that she really and truly meant it. And it was so damn hard to be mad at her. Without saying anything further, Hermione walked to the nearest chaise and layed down.

“Alright, you know who is next then?” Pansy asked. Astoria was already nodding enthusiastically. “I still think he’ll take five minutes, at least.”

“No way,” Astoria laughed, pulling a galleon out. Pansy pulled her own, and both were placed between the two of them.

Apparently this misery was also deemed bet worthy.

“Here we go,” Pansy smiled, flicking her wand. The timer reset and began, and the blaring alarms Hermione had just heard in her own home were reduced now to a measly ringing.

“Hermione’s still our reigning queen,” Astoria sang as the timer ticked onward.

Watching as it passed one minute, then another, the floo finally activated at two minutes and thirteen seconds. The green flames died down to reveal a very, very disheveled looking Theo. Apparently the extra time was enough to find trousers and a shirt, but not to button anything up all the way.

“Circe, Theo,” Pansy smiled, taking in his look. Astoria was vibrating with laughter beside her, too far gone to comment on his appearance.

“Wasn’t that the emergency alarm?” Theo asked.

“Just a test,” Pansy replied, Astoria collecting her galleons in the background.

“Oh. Okay.”

He shrugged and nodded, as if he had just been told the weather and not been dragged from his bed in the middle of the night. Looking round the room, he started saying hello to everyone who had gathered, too excited when he found Ginny amongst them.

But the peace would never last, Hermione knew it. Really, it was only a matter of time before-

“Merlin, what did I do right to be greeted by Hermione’s delightful arse this evening?” Theo asked, amusement loud and clear in his voice.

Without verbally replying, she held up her left hand and flipped him off.

“Ouch! That’s really painful, you know,” Theo said, feigning hurt in his voice. “Besides, it was meant to be a compliment…” Theo muttered under his breath.

But Hermione still heard it. She slid her right hand out to join her left in the air.

“Her-mi-one,” he whined, taking a seat on the chaise atop one of her feet. Pulling it out from under him, she gave him a harsh kick to the side. “Ow! Where is your good morning mood?”

“It’s the middle of the night, not the morning,” Hermione scoffed. “And you want to put me in a good mood? Waking up with blaring alarms roaring in my house is not amongst the ways to do that…”

She trailed off. The part of her brain that was finally waking up was trying to keep the part of her brain that was still half-asleep from saying too much.

“Oh so there are ways to wake you up in the middle of the night that you enjoy?” Pansy asked, positively gleaming.

“Interesting, very interesting,” Astoria nodded with a vicious smirk. “Tell us more.”

“I hate everyone here,” Hermione groaned, shoving her head under a pillow.

A pop of apparition sounded next to her head, pulling Hermione back out. She was greeted by the sights of Lolly, clutching a steaming mug in her hands. She had had enough of these specific chais by now to recognize it by sight and smell alone.

“Morning- or evening- Ms. Hermione Granger.”

“Hello, Lolly. Good to see you again, even under these circumstances.” The elf was smiling bright, already extending out the mug. “Is that for me?”

“Yes. Mr. Harry Potter told Lolly Ms. Hermione Granger would…”

“Lolly!” Harry gasped.

“...be needing something for her foul mood after being woken up…”

Hermione eyed Harry, who was smart enough to look embarrassed.

“...and Lolly knows Ms. Hermione Granger prefers this.” Lolly smiled up at Hermione.

“Thank you, Lolly,” Hermione said, actively trying to not let her anger towards Harry seep into her conversation with the elf. “I didn’t realize you were the one who made these for me all this time. It’s quite good.”

“Oh, thank you Ms. Hermione Granger for your generous words. But Lolly must admit Lolly didn’t make the recipe. Lolly got it from Poppy.”

Poppy? Draco’s house elf?

Hermione looked at Draco, whose cheeks had the faintest pink color to them.

So it had been him.

All along, since that very first day in her office.

Hermione turned back to the elf. “Thank you, Lolly. Much appreciated.”

With a bow, Lolly apparated away. Hermione took a sip and sighed. It was delicious, as expected, and exactly what she needed. And the warmth in her chest was certainly only from the drink and nothing else.

Nothing else at all.

“Alright,” Pansy smiled, pulling her wand. “Daphne’s turn.”

–

Waking up with her face smashed deeply into a furry tangerine pillow was disorienting. Sitting up to find a cherry patterned wall only made it worse.

It took Hermione several moments to collect herself, remembering the alarm test in the middle of the night, the party that had gathered in the living room of Astoria and Pansy’s following, and the subsequent sleepover.

Daphne and Blaise were still fast asleep on the far chaise, which had once been occupied by Astoria and Pansy. Harsh snoring sounded from Ginny, who had ended up passing out on the floor alongside Harry. And Theo had at some point snagged the other chaise to himself.

Activating the floo would likely wake them, and knowing she personally wasn’t awake enough to have any desire to travel yet, Hermione stood and headed down the hall towards the loo. Though she didn’t have any of her things, she had her wand, and that was enough. Casting enough glamours and charms to feel semi-collected, she headed towards the kitchen for water or coffee.

Or maybe both.

And though she was surprised to not find Lolly or Poppy there, she was more shocked by who was there.

“I see you found trousers,” Draco said in greeting.

“Blessedly.” Hermione could feel the blush rising on her cheeks and mentally thanked herself again for transfiguring a spare towel from the cupboard into clothing. “Not my finest moment.”

“You made Astoria happy.”

“Worth it then, I suppose.”

Silence settled as Hermione watched Draco add measured out sugar to a bowl and mix what looked to be a batter of sorts. While she felt out of sorts, he appeared fresh as a daisy. Proper attire and hair perfectly mused in that semi-ruffled way he always wore it. Casually making breakfast as if the chaos of last night hadn’t occurred.

“Sorry,” Hermione said, suddenly feeling her presence may be impeding his morning. “I didn’t expect anyone to be up yet.”

She was turning to leave when he replied, “You can stay, if you’d like.”

Stopping in her tracks she turned to face him. “So you’re done avoiding me then?”

“Are you?” he asked. Those silver eyes finally slid up to meet hers for the first time that morning. Silver eyes that were blissfully clear.

“Touché.”

“I apologize for how I acted.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” At his look of confusion, she quickly added, “Once was more than enough. And besides, now we’re even on the embarrassingly drunken behavior front.”

“Oh? Did I check to see if you were made of marble?”

“No, nothing like-” Hermione stopped as his words were fully absorbed. “Wait, what?”

He smiled a small smile. “I’ll show you later.”

She watched as he levitated berries under the running sink water, rinsing them, then shaking them gently and laying them out on a clean cloth to dry. It always interested her to watch magical born witches and wizards cook, seeing what they would choose to do by hand and what by magic.

And it was simpler to watch than to break the silence with any of the multitude of things they should talk about, so she kept on.

It was only as he was drying the last of them that he finally spoke. “I’ve been having a bit of a tough time, I suppose, since… well, realistically since birth…” Hermione smiled at that “...but especially as Astoria’s condition worsens.”

“Show me someone who’s handling it well.”

“Fair enough.” His fake smile didn’t reach his eyes and was gone in an instant.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she offered, even though she knew he wouldn’t.

But to her surprise, he seemed to truly be considering. She watched the indecision on his face in an uncharacteristic, straight-forward display. And just when she believed he had changed his mind and shut down the idea for good, he spoke.

“I underestimate how difficult it is, I guess. To cope with the guilt.”

Guilt?

“Why do you feel guilty?” He just looked to her, as if he shouldn’t have to say it, as if it should be obvious. “It’s not your fault, Draco. You didn’t cut Astoria or make any of this happen.”

“No,” he sighed. After levitating batter over to a waffle iron, he laid his wand down on the counter and leaned his hip to rest against it. “But I was part of the problem that allowed it to. It was my family that perpetuated the use of the curse. My family that housed my aunt, supported her, welcomed her with open arms.”

Gripping at his right hand, he twisted and turned harshly until she was sure he would break the skin. Hermione watched him peer at something…small? It rested between his fingers, just out of her line of sight.

“Growing up I believed my family to be this great, powerful force. Our actions, our contributions, our place in Wizarding Society. It was an honour to be born into this family and a birthright to carry on the great ways of it.”

Circular and shiny, she now recognized the item as his signet ring. The one he wore every day, mindlessly twisted round his finger when he was deep in thought, always clean and shining bright. The metal clanged against the countertop as he laid it down.

“But that was bollocks. Suffering. Torture. Death. That is our legacy. And there is no making peace with that.”

Slow enough he could stop her if he wanted to, she reached for the ring and picked it up in her own hand. It was the first time she’d really got a good look at the thing, and she took her time inspecting each aspect. Golden band decorated with twisting carvings, ornate family crest, scripted M in the center.

It was beautiful, painful as it was to admit, because she too knew the legacy of this ring. She knew it had come from his father, a man whom Draco seemed to both love and hate. And the phrase scripted into the metal was the family motto, one born of hatred and bigotry.

And though it was all those things and more, it was also one of the last pieces of Draco’s family that was still his. It didn’t surprise her that he had worn it for so long, despite its history.

Setting the ring on the table in between them, she pushed it towards him.

“I won’t try to make you feel better about your family. A lot of them have been horrendous.”

Draco smirked, “They have, haven’t they?”

“But,” Hermione continued, “I will say the man I have gotten to know isn’t anything like the rest.”

Clenching his jaw, he couldn’t meet her eyes. She couldn’t tell if he was truly listening, couldn’t see if any occlusion walls were now up and standing in the way of feeling this moment. Still, it felt worth it to continue. The words were true in her mind, and he deserved them long ago.

“And guilt over this?” Hermione gestured to her scar. “I don’t blame you, Draco. And I feel confident neither does Astoria. This guilt isn’t yours to carry.”

She slid the ring back across the countertop. He could decide what to do with the heirloom.

“Just…” Shoving the ring aside, he pulled her forward and wrapped her tight in his arms.

The hug caught her off guard, but after catching her breath, she quickly returned it. Though typically a man who rarely acted so intimately, he didn’t let her go immediately. Instead he nestled his face against her neck and took a deep breath, sending shivers up her spine.

“Sorry,” he muttered, though he didn’t let go.

“It’s okay,” she smiled. “You can hug me, you know. Even worry about me. Though, you should know I do draw the line at avoiding me.”

He pulled back, making Hermione almost regret her words, even if they needed to be said.

“I know. I didn’t handle that revelation very well either.”

“No kidding.” She elbowed him gently, but the joke fell flat, and he didn’t respond.

An alarm from somewhere beeped, but he must have wandlessly and wordlessly turned it off, because it shut off seconds later. Finally catching his eye, she saw the look of pain on his face, the transparency there… It made her ache. His occlusion walls were missing or fractured, and it left her shaking.

“Hey, I’m fine, alright? You don’t have to worry about me.”

“You have to take your potion.”

“I do,” she assured him.

“You can’t miss a dose.”

“Theo already warned me…”

“It can’t even be late.”

“I never have, you know. Give me some credit for all these years.” She smiled, but he didn’t match it.

“I’m serious, Hermione.”

As was she.

“I know.” Meeting those silver eyes, she held his gaze. “I’ll make sure, Draco. I swear it, alright?”

A hesitant nod. “Alright.”

The alarm sounded again, and Draco was suddenly moving. “I actually do have to answer that one. Unless you fancy extra crispy waffles.”

Even getting it out then, she wouldn’t have described the brown to be golden. But it smelled divine, and the look of achievement on his face upon seeing it was so wholesome it hurt.

“What is it with you and breakfast anyway?”

“Many people actually partake in the meal.” Try as she might, she couldn’t help but smile at the jab.

“I meant,” she said, doing her best to glare, “it just seems rather important to you. Feeding people in general, I suppose, but particularly breakfast.”

“Well,” he started. She braced herself for whatever version of snark would follow. “I had trouble eating.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

Of all the things she expected, it wasn’t that.

“When life really started going to hell, I wasn’t coping very well then either. I’m sure you’re shocked to hear it.”

He busied himself chopping the berries slowly as he spoke, making sure never to look at her. She had spent enough hours in his brewing room to know that spell could have been done five times faster, maybe even in his sleep. But if that’s what grounded him, so be it.

“And during the worst of it,” he continued, “after he was living with us, my mother came to my bedroom early one morning. They did these daily meetings each morning, dreadfully early, and mother and I were never deemed important enough to attend.”

The timer dinged, and this time, the waffle he retrieved was bronzed and perfect. Carefully, ever so carefully, he plated it and topped it with neat berry slices. With a flourish, he added a dusting of sugar on top.

“And she took me to the kitchen. And she told me, ‘If we’re going to survive, Draco, we have to fuel our bodies every morning. Give ourselves energy for the day. And you’re going to survive.’ And then she made me breakfast.”

“And it helped?”

He nodded, slid the plate closer to her. “And it helped.”

“This your mother’s recipe then?” Hermione asked as she pulled a piece off with her fingers.

“These? Merlin, no.” Draco laughed at that. And to her surprise, he also tore into the waffle between them, fork be damned. “The woman hated waffles.”

Hermione gasped at the first bite, never knowing waffles could taste like this. “Merlin, these are good. Poppy’s recipe?”

Draco nodded. “Story’s favorite. I thought she may want some this morning. Particular sugar used in this recipe carmelizes and- ”

Hermione watched the man before her drone on and on about ingredients as they shared the rest of the waffle, pinching bites off in between sentences or posed questions. It was messy and sticky and truly divine. And then Draco was fixing more waffles and telling her more about shared meals with Story and Pansy and even his mother. And the sweetest little smile stayed on his face the entire time, the one he only had when he spoke of someone he loved.

And Hermione felt warm and light. Happy. It was the feeling of absolute peace, the sort of pure contentment that seemed to lighten your very soul.

Because she was here, now, sharing this beautiful moment with the man before her. Someone who was considerate and generous. Trustworthy. Funny and honest and a little bit quirky. Surprisingly open-minded and selfless to a fault.

And everything he wasn’t supposed to be.

“You’re a good person, Draco.”

He paused, sugar coated strawberry half-way to his lips. Smile still there when he finally came back to himself and ate it, licking his fingertips gently afterwards.

“That painful to admit?” he joked.

Her heart, traitorous bitch that it was, beat loudly in her ears.

“Yes.”

More than you know.

Then before her mind could carry her even further away, she redirected herself. “Need some help finishing these?”

–

“What are we going to do?” Hermione sighed, looking at the stars glamoured to her living room ceiling.

There were stacks and stacks upon finished texts surrounding them with no progress made. At least, nothing beyond making her brain feel thoroughly melted following so many hours of strenuous translations.

“We’re going to find something,” he replied.

“What if we don’t?”

“We will,” he insisted.

“But we haven’t found anything new to try yet.”

“Yet being the important word,” he said quickly. “You know I have that batch being sent over from Romania tomorrow.”

“What if there isn’t anything new in them either?” Mind too loud, Hermione sighed. “The blood magic ritual scares me.”

The words tumbled out before she could stop them. But it was the truth, and it had been eating her alive. She needed to tell someone.

“We’ll find something else.”

“I know it shouldn’t,” she continued, “I know I should be more brave, but-”

“We’ll find. Something. Else.”

Tone sharp, words cutting, she sat up to look at him better. Taking a long pull from the wine bottle they were passing back and forth, she considered why her statement would have angered him.

Wait.

“Answer me something?” she asked, taking another drink of wine for courage.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“And you’ll do so honestly?”

Eyeing her now, he considered this. “Potentially.”

Courage having evaporated but the wine bottle already passed off to him, she hesitated. But truthfully she wanted to know if she was correct in her assessment of him. She needed to know. So finally, she posed the question, “Does it scare you, too?”

Silver eyes met hers. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Silver eyes looked so afraid. So vulnerable. “You know why.”

“I don’t.”

Draco sighed, took a drink, cradled the bottle. His thumb traced along the label. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Of what?”

“Pretending you don’t know what you want.” Looking to her as his words settle, Hermione couldn’t breathe.

Yes.

But how could she say that? How could she admit it? Somehow, one word had taken on such heavy meaning, and she didn’t know how to let it.

“I don’t know what I want,” she lied.

With a nod, Draco took another drink. “If you say so.”

Holding the bottle out to her, she reached for it, heart threatening to burst from her chest when her hand accidentally landed atop his. He turned to look at her when she didn’t immediately remove it.

“I’m tired,” he admitted, sitting up further. She watched as he leaned forward, took the wine bottle from both their hands and placed it on the floor.

“Of?” she whispered, breathless, panicking because he was now close. Too close. Close enough to hear each breath, see each fleck in his eyes. And there was no reason in the world for him to be this close to her with the bottle no longer held between them.

Those silver eyes flicked from her own down to her lips.

“Pretending.”

Then Draco was pulling her sharply against him, sharp enough she gasped for air, and immediately she forgot everything as his lips met her own.

It was but a spark. Quick and consuming. He had pulled away too soon, leaving her aching. And it didn’t matter that they’d brushed against intimacy before. No this was something else, something more.

And Hermione wanted more.

She launched fully into his arms, Draco barely catching her before the collision. Their lips met, kiss deepening as he pulled her against his chest and atop his lap.

And it was everything.

Intoxicating.

All-consuming.

Gone was the simple spark. No, this was fire. This was flames.

And Hermione would gladly let it consume her.

This close, she felt him hard against her, and she ground her body against his, unable to help herself. He groaned into the kiss, pulling her harder against him, fueling her desperate need for more.

A woman starved, she couldn’t get enough.

He ran kisses across her neck, nipping at the skin, pulling at it gently with his teeth, building the tension inside her until it hurt. She arched up against trying to push her body even further against his, desperate for him to touch her. Desperate for anything as long as it meant more of him.

Finally, mercifully, his hand slid up her thigh, and she eagerly opened her legs wider for him.

She felt the smile against her neck. “Can I?”

“Please,” she groaned.

His fingers slid against her, teasing her, caressing the sensitive skin of her thighs and then back close, so close, before retreating away again.

Hermione was about to beg when he finally slid his fingers along her slit.

Moaning, unable to keep quiet any longer, his fingers rubbed against her clit. Pleasure building, Hermione couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but feel.

“Fuck,” she gasped, overcome with waves of ever building pleasure.

Two fingers slid against her before slowly, ever so slowly, pressing inside. She gasped at the feeling, overwhelmed with pleasure yet still aching for more, when he pressed against that spot inside.

“I could live and die between these legs,” he whispered against the shell of her ear.

And she melted at his words long before he laid her down on the couch to slide down her body, kissing down her chest and over her thighs. Running his tongue up her skin, he was careful to never touch the most sensitive parts of her before repeating the painful teasing process on the other. The tension built and built, leaving her feeling wrung out to dry, so desperate to feel him that she couldn’t help but move her hips against him, body begging for release.

“Can I taste you?” He smiled devilishly.

“Draco, please.”

Hermione gasped for air, jolting upright. She sat atop a thin sheet, sweat soaked and clutching blankets that pooled at her waist, looking around her bedroom.

A dream. It had all been a dream.

Longing consumed Hermione as she collapsed against the bed. She wanted her dream to be real. Her nipples were still hard, and each gasp of air raked them against the soft silk of her top. Without even touching herself she could feel how wet she was. And the ache, the longing to be filled, was sharp as ever. She was about to give up and head towards the shower when a thought struck.

Even better.

Her toys. Turning over, she opened the side drawer and pulled out her toy box. As she turned to lay back in bed, her eyes caught on the bedside table where her wand rested.

I couldn’t…

Could I?

Picking up her wand before she could talk herself out of it, she settled back in bed. Her other hand slid down her body to find her throbbing clit.

Closing her eyes, she remembered her dream. Gently circling her clit, she pictured Draco’s hand doing it as he watched. Each circle, each flick, each glide against her was in time with the Draco inside her head, touching her. With a flick of the wand, she levitated the dildo until it was at her entrance, then still picturing him, she slowly inched it inside.

Panting at the sweet relief of finally being filled, she paused to adjust. Then with a flick of her wand, she set a slow tempo, pulling out almost all the way then slowly pushing back inside. One hand on her clit, the other came to her breasts, tugging and rolling her nipples between her fingers.

And amidst it all, her mind conjured images of a blonde man with a sinful mouth.

Needing more, she waved her wand, setting a quicker pace. Her hand sped up on her clit as the pleasure built.

And when she finally came, hard enough it left her shaking, his name fell from her lips.

As the high died down and awareness returned, she realized she had just got herself off to the idea of shagging Draco Malfoy. After having a sex dream about Draco Malfoy. And worst of all, a part of her wanted it all to actually happen.

She collapsed back against her bed.

Well, fuck.

Chapter Text

“And why are you working on this now?” Hermione asked.

She placed a dollop of raspberry almond filling in the middle of each of the pastry triangles before her. Astoria stood to her right, thoroughly dusted in a fine layer of flour, already working on rolling them up. It was their Thursday morning weekly baking lesson with Poppy, but the kitchen had become more crowded than usual.

“Very good,” Poppy smiled from her place hovering over the baking station. “That is perfect, just as Poppy showed you.”

“Thank you,” Astoria smiled.

“Because it’s due this afternoon,” Theo explained, finishing off the final Florentine from last week’s bake.

“Of course it is,” Astoria laughed. “Glad to see you’re staying on top of things.”

Theo glared. “I’ve been busy. Is my presence a hindrance to the three of you?”

Beside him, Draco cleared his throat pointedly.

“Sorry mate. Is our presence a hindrance to the three of you?” Theo corrected.

“You’re fine, Theo,” Astoria laughed. “You as well, Drake.”

“Yes, I just love an audience when I’m looking a thorough mess,” Hermione assured him, gesturing to her own flour-covered person.

“Well, I needed you to teach me the incantation,” Theo groaned.

“Which I’ve done now,” Hermione pointed out.

“Besides,” Theo continued, as if he hadn’t heard her, “if Draco, here, ever finishes his translation of the text, he has requested I look it over. ” He gestured to the blonde sitting on his left with his head buried in a tome.

Looking towards Draco, she asked, “Something promising?”

When he didn’t answer, Theo did instead, in his best mock Draco impression. “Perhaps, though I couldn’t say for sure just yet. Not until I’ve thought it over excessively, brooded a proper amount, and maybe even tested it on myself first.”

“Bite me, Nott,” Draco muttered.

Theo sighed. “Tempting… But alas, my heart belongs to another.”

“Yes, and I need details. I haven’t had a juicy update in weeks,” Astoria pouted. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Deepest apologies. Especially considering what we were up to last weekend…” Theo’s eyes glittered with the promise of a particularly blush-inducing story. “It all started when he-”

“Hey,” Hermione interrupted, pointing her filling spoon at him. “What did we say? No getting off task until you finish this one.”

“Hermione,” Astoria pouted.

“Not even that is going to work this time. Honestly, he’s been attempting to do this since we started these croissants.”

“And that was two proofs ago,” Poppy offered up.

“Poppy,” Theo gasped, clutching at his heart as if he were hurt.

“Thank you, Poppy,” Hermione said, appreciating that someone was on her side.

“Fine, fine,” Theo sighed dramatically. He picked up his wand, ready to cast the spell when Hermione quickly stopped him.

“Don’t do that until you’ve decided who you’re picking,” she suggested.

“Why?”

“Just trust me,” she urged. If he hadn’t heard yet, she was not going to be the one to bring up what had happened in the Transportation Department last year.

“Isn’t it just picking a healer?” Astoria asked as she separated an egg. Hermione stood with a bowl held out to collect the shells to discard.

“And an auror,” Hermione replied. “If Theo is severely harmed or suddenly goes unconscious, the auror is sent in to assess the situation and declare it safe. They then call for the healer to apparate in.”

“What counts as severely harmed?” Theo asked.

“The characteristics and exemptions are in the manual,” Hermione answered, then stumbled realizing who she was talking to. “Wait, you’ve worked at the Ministry for how many years now? Have you really not read the manual?”

Theo looked at her as if she were daft.

“Alright then.”

“So I can just pick an auror?” Theo asked.

“Sure,” Hermione shrugged. “Everyone in the DMLE knows to keep up with their list.”

“Any auror I want?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Harry has to approve it. Otherwise the Saviour would be on everyone’s.”

Theo thought this over then shrugged. “Then he will just have to reject me as well.

“If you need a quiet place to cast, our study is open,” Astoria said with a gesture towards the hall.

With a nod, Theo headed towards the doorway, but he stopped a few steps short. Turning back, he asked, “Can my healer deny as well?”

“I suppose, though they’re made aware upon graduating about the protocol, and most of the time it's not unforeseen,” Hermione replied. “Who are you picking?”

“My primary one.”

“You that difficult a patient?” she asked, smirking.

Theo made a face. “I’m not the most cooperative of patients.”

Of course he wasn’t.

“If they reject you, I’ll help you find a replacement.” Happy enough with the offer, Theo headed back out. “Need help?” Hermione offered.

“No, thank you, mother,” he yelled, already out the doorway.

Hermione grimaced. “Lovely as ever.”

“Done!” Astoria laid down her brush, still dripping egg wash, and smiled at the perfect looking pastries.

“Excellent, excellent!” Poppy clapped. “Poppy will place them in the oven for Mrs. Astoria and Ms. Hermione.”

Astoria smiled bright at the elf, who was already taking away the tray. “Thank you, Poppy,”

Heels clicking against hardwood, Pansy appeared then. Astoria visibly lit up at the sight of her wife, rushing into her arms. Pansy was squealing about the flour and Astoria was laughing as she kept on and Hermione was trying very hard to be very busy elsewhere in the room and give them their moment together.

Eventually, Astoria called for her, asking, “How long did Poppy say the bake was for?”

Hermione tried and failed to hide her smile at Pansy’s ruffled and flour-covered appearance. “I believe roughly ten based on their size.”

“Daphne will be here any minute,” Astoria whined. “I wanted to try them whilst they were still hot.”

“I’ll put them under the strongest of stasis charms and swear not to let anyone try them until you're back,” Hermione promised.

“Not even Theo?”

“I’ll personally tackle him should he try.”

Pansy smirked. “Here’s hoping he tries.”

“Hey, Pans, you have a little something,” Hermione said, gesturing to her entire body, “...all over.”

“Then we match,” Pansy said with a smile.

Witch

“Finished,” Theo exclaimed, re-entering the room. “And with that, my orientation is complete.”

“Congratulations, Theo! It’s so deserved!” Astoria was jumping into his arms, and he caught her before swinging her round in circles, screeching and laughing the whole time. She held onto him tight even once they had stopped. “Your mother would have been proud, you know.”

That caught Draco’s attention. For the first time all afternoon, the man looked up from the text and towards Theo, who was doing his best to look unaffected by the comment.

“Story!” Daphne yelled through the house.

Astoria groaned but still answered, “In here!”

Daphne rushed in, looking more natural disaster than woman. “I’m sorry I’m late, but…what are you covered in? Is that flour?”

“Oh calm down, Daph,” Astoria sighed, pulling her wand and casting a cleansing charm.

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Daphne studied her sister with a vicious glare. “Did you just tell me to calm down?”

“I know you hate it, but it was needed. You’ve been here thirty seconds and already-”

“I did not ask for this-”

“Here we go,” Pansy sighed. Taking a deep breath, she stepped towards the bickering witches. “Alright, alright, off you go. The specialist won’t wait forever.”

Though still fighting, Pansy managed to usher them both out the door and down the hallway, talking over one another the entire time. They fought often, and it oddly made Hermione sentimental every time, longing for the noise and chaos of the Burrow again.

She wondered if maybe she should take Molly up on her offer.

But she was pulled from her thoughts when Draco turned to Theo, put a hand on his shoulder, and said, “She really would be proud.”

Theo smiled a sweet, sad smile. One he tried to play off and hide. “Doubt she’d have believed I would make it this far.”

Hermione didn’t know much of Theo’s mother. He didn’t speak of her often, and no one else would fill her in on everything that had happened. There was talk of course, rumours amongst those in the wizarding world. But the only thing Theo had confirmed thus far was that she was a loving woman, a wonderful mother, and Theo’s dearest friend growing up.

She wanted to offer assurances, but Draco was already there, as he always was for Theo. “She would.”

Though Theo smiled, Hermione thought she saw the edges of occlusion walls forming. It was hard to tell. With Draco, someone so experienced and proficient at it, there was never question. The way he was able to shut everything down at a moment’s notice, an icy edge to it all, the walls were crystal clear to Hermione. Especially now that she knew what to look for. But Theo’s were messy and running all over the place. And he had to physically turn his head to hide his glassy eyes.

“Besides, you must be mistaken; believe you’re thinking of your father,” Draco offered.

Hermione was about to scold the man for being so insensitive- even if Theodore Nott Sr. was a monster, was this the time?- when Theo cackled.

“Ah, Father… he would have been so proud,” Theo taunted, with a cheers of his glass towards the ground. Hermione eyed him questioningly, to which he shrugged. “What? I don’t care what anyone’s beliefs are, no one thinks he went to any of the Heavens.”

“Theo,” Hermione laugh-scolded, Draco trying to hide his smirk.

“Finally got them sorted,” Pansy sighed in relief- or maybe exhaustion- as she came back into the room. “How was she?”

“Great,” Hermione assured her.

“Good, good. She’s seemed so strong as of late.” Pansy nodded before turning to Draco. “Anything?”

“Working on it.”

“Pans, why don’t you come sit down for a minute.” Theo pulled out the chair on his other side. “I was just about to update Hermione here on things with Neville.”

“You were about to update me and Astoria. She’ll murder you in your sleep if you tell it without her.”

“Or it’ll just give me an opportunity to talk more about him,” Theo smiled.

And talk he did.

He told them of everything. Dates and plans and dreams. Hours spent with one another, learning one another, wrapped so thoroughly with one another that it physically ached to be apart.

Heartbreakingly enough, Theo spoke of how he didn’t think he’d ever have a love like this one, that maybe he hadn’t even deserved it. At which point, Hermione had melted and all but snuggled up to Theo on the single person stool he was perched on. And Pansy had nosily asked if they had actually told one another yet, at which point Theo told them one of the most romantic stories Hermione had ever heard in her life.

But the loving atmosphere was immediately ruined when Poppy brought in the croissants, and Hermione did in fact have to use some magical restraints to keep Theo away. But once they were safe and sound and stasised, Hermione finished cleansing the kitchen as she listened, giving Poppy the time off to spend with Lolly.

And it was so very clear that Theo was extraordinarily happy. So happy he seemed to be radiating it from his very pores. The sort of infectious form of happiness that not even Pansy could resist.

And as always, everything was perfect. Until it wasn’t.

Somber as ever, Draco laid his quill down and looked up from the text. “It’s finished.”

“Brood a little louder,” Pansy sighed. “What is it?”

“Theo should really check this over.”

“I will, but you know enough, mate. What is it?”

“I could be off base, but I…” Draco looked from them to the text and back again. “I believe this is core magic.”

–

“I’m sure we all remember my Hollow Theory explanation,” Theo said.

He stood in the middle of the room, thoroughly reviewed text levitating off to the side nearby. He had gathered Draco, Pansy, and Hermione as soon as he had finished translating, and though Pansy had initially wanted to wait until Astoria was home, Theo believed it wasn’t a good idea, muttering about not getting her hopes up.

A heart wrenching statement if she’d ever heard one.

With a flick of Theo’s wand, two corked vials appeared, both full of a pearlescent liquid as they levitated in the air before them.

“The spell Draco found relates to life energy. Some call it our essence, others our soul. I’m sure we’ve all heard of this, regardless of what title it held. It’s illustrated here by the translucent liquid.”

A representation of two lives, they were both identical to the models in his first demonstration. Though Hermione hoped this one had a better ending.

“Now, the subtype of dark curses that drain the life from their victims, similarly to how Bellatrix’s curse appears to operate, do so by impacting life energy.”

Theo flicked his wand, adding a drop of black to one vial. Like smoke spreading, it wrapped itself around the vial, choking out the pearl liquid, taking over completely.

“We already discussed removing the curse…” Theo extracted the black liquid, leaving an empty vial. “And in the specific case of these kinds of curses, this leaves someone hollow, empty of life energy.”

“Yes, yes, we know this,” Pansy spat.

Theo hummed, “Patience is a virtue, Parkinson.”

“One I don’t have, Nott.” She crossed her arms and glared. “Now quit giving us the recap and explain the spell.”

“No one ever lets me have my fun,” Theo muttered, mostly to himself. “Fine, fine! So this spell would allow someone to give of their own life energy to another…”

He flicked his wand, uncorking both and raising the full vial over the empty one. It turned and began to pour its contents in the other, slowly.

“...Until the spell is completed. At which time, if done correctly, the connection is severed and secured. Stopping the transfer…”

Both corks levitated back into position over their corresponding potion vials, thus ceasing the flow of clear liquid.

“But now neither has full life energy,” Pansy said quickly.

“True,” Theo nodded. “But, it doesn’t take much. This spell allows for the caster and the receiver to rebuild their life energy from what they each have after the transfer. So what-”

Hermione stopped paying attention, something nagging at her mind. Theo’s words from moments earlier replayed in her mind, begging her to look closer.

If done correctly.

The two vials in front of her were now replenishing their own clear liquid, just as Theo said they would, rebuilding of their own energies using what was shared. The transfer had been successful. But what made it successful?

One could maybe argue it was sharing the life energy in the first place. That likely wasn’t a particularly easy task. Perhaps the process of sharing was a challenge? Hermione was still pondering this over when it hit her.

But what of the cork?

Currently, it was a perfect fit. But any smaller, and it wouldn’t be able to keep the liquid inside; it would surely all spill out. Or should the cork be too big, it would burst the vial. Any alteration that wasn’t a perfect fit would allow for the remainder of the liquid to flow out… leaving it as empty as the first vial Theo had smashed.

“And if it isn’t done correctly?” Hermione asked, interrupting.

Her eyes flickered to Theo. “Why ask if you already know the answer?”

Hermione shrugged but didn’t take her eyes off him. Finally he relented, and with a sigh, he altered the cork size. With a final flick of his wand, the vial turned over and the liquid poured out, leaving it as empty and hollow as the original vial.

Unable to help himself, Theo shattered it against the floor.

“Wait,” Pansy gasped, eyes trained on the remaining vial before them. It was still corked, liquid safely tucked inside. “What about this one?”

“What about it?” Theo asked.

“Even if there is error, it’s…fine?” It was somewhere between a question and a statement, and Pansy offered no other elaboration.

“Does it really matter, Pans?” Theo sighed.

She didn’t respond. Surprised to find Pansy silent, a lack of a biting remark being thrown Theo’s way, Hermione looked over at her friend. Pansy sat with her hands twisting around each other, unable to meet anyone’s gaze.

She whispered, “Perhaps.”

“You don’t understand.” Theo turned back towards the vials, wand raised, ready to do another demonstration.

“No, I think I do.”

Theo turned to her sharply. “It would kill you. If it wasn’t cast absolutely perfectly, it would kill you, Pans.”

“I know. But it would save her.”

“Enough.” Draco’s voice was sharp as it cut through the room. It was the first time he had spoken since Theo began his demonstration. “Are we really considering this?”

“No, not considering. Decided,” she corrected.

“Pansy…”

“Drake, we can do this. You’ve always been exceptional at spellwork, so precise… If anyone can help me practice and figure out how to do it perfectly, it’s you.”

“And if we don’t?” he asked. “If you don’t?”

“Then Story lives, as she deserves to.” She was inches from Draco as she spoke, staring him down. “She’s the best of us all, Draco. She, out of anyone, should get to live, and you know it.”

“She would never let you,” Draco replied.

“That’s why she’ll never know.” There was threat to Pansy’s voice.

“Whoa,” Theo said, taking a step forward. “This isn’t something to go into half-cocked.”

Pansy waved him off. “Going in without one at all, should be fine.”

“Bloody hell,” Draco sighed. “This is serious, Pansy.”

Theo agreed. “It’s under the umbrella of core magics. Something like that would be far more dangerous than-”

“I don’t give a damn about the danger of it, Theo,” Pansy seethed.

“Where is everybody?” Daphne’s too chipper voice echoed throughout the house. Footsteps echoed from the main hall. “Hello?”

With a flick of his wand, Draco vanished all traces of the vials and the liquids that had been inside. Pansy watched it vanish, gaze sharp, jaw set and fist clenched tight around her wand.

“We’re not finished,” she growled.

“Yes,” Draco insisted. “We are.”

“Here you are! What is everyone doing in here?” Daphne asked, Astoria’s arm wrapped through hers. “We’ve combed the house over.”

Pansy turned towards her wife, plastering on a forced smile as she did so. “Sorry, darling. How did it go?”

Astoria was beaming. “Good! They were so kind, which I guess I didn’t expect since most of the specialists we’ve seen have been so awful. But they were wonderful, and they said I actually appeared better than expected.”

“Excellent!” Pansy gushed as she threaded her arm through Astoria’s open one and headed downstairs. There may have been discussion of lunch or what to do to celebrate, but Hermione couldn’t focus.

All she could picture was a lifeless, limp Pansy.

A spell gone wrong.

A mourning Astoria, forever carrying the weight of her death.

Because Draco and Theo were right. This was a form of core magic. This was serious and very dangerous magic. And realistically, it was very likely that is exactly how Pansy would end up. And what would Astoria do with that?

What would she have done?

“Hermione, are you alright?” Astoria asked.

But there were no words. There weren’t even active thoughts Hermione was aware of. Rather, she already knew what she was going to do, knew without considering if she should.

“You should tell Astoria.”

Pansy visibly shuddered. Stopped where she was, in the middle of the room, as if she had been on a string that just pulled taut at the end of its reach.

“Tell me what?” Astoria asked, looking from Hermione to Pansy.

No one answered.

All eyes remained on Pansy as the witch’s fists clenched. Hermione could see each breath as it racked her body.

“How dare you.”

It was quiet. A blink-and-you’ll-miss it sort of subtlety, it would have been easy to shrug the sound off as a whisperer of imagination had it not been for the venom dripping from each word.

“How dare you! You absolute, insufferable bitch!”

“Pansy!” Astoria gasped.

Theo stepped forward, hand reaching out towards Pansy, but she shrugged it off. She only had eyes for Hermione. “What right-“

“Pansy,” Hermione interrupted, trying to keep her voice calm. “She deserves to-“

“What right,” Pansy repeated, yelling over Hermione, “do you have to force my hand?”

A twinge of guilt curled in Hermione’s stomach. Pansy wasn’t wrong, per se. it wasn’t her place to do this. And yet, she couldn’t say nothing. She couldn’t remain quiet. Not when she had once been in Astoria’s shoes. Not when she knew so personally the other side of this.

“With this kind of magic?” Hermione asked incredulously. “You have no idea any of the number of things that could happen.”

“And I’m the one who would be dealt the repercussions.”

“And she’s the one who would have to live with that.”

With your death, Hermione wanted to add. But she didn’t.

“Like I wouldn’t have to live with it, without her, if we did nothing? How is it different?”

“Autonomy. Choice. Fully understanding the decision before-“

“She is my life, my soul. I don’t give a flying fuck about understanding decisions.” Pansy advanced towards Hermione. “This isn’t your place. You aren’t involved in this.”

“Like hell I’m not,” Hermione laughed. “You asked me to be. You are the one who came to my office and asked for me to be involved.”

“Yes, in finding bloody solutions. Not in forcing conversations and decisions you have no right to.”

“What is going on?” Astoria attempted to ask, but her pleas fell on unlistening ears.

“If it were me, I would have wanted to know.”

“If it were you?” Pansy gasped loudly before laughing, echoes of cackles falling from her lips as she reared back dramatically. “That’s rich.”

“Pansy,” Draco warned.

“Don’t Pansy me, Draco,” she spat. “Although I guess I should have known you’d defend her now that you’re best pals.”

“Stop,” Theo pleaded. “It’s-”

But Pansy was bullheaded and persisted. “Tell me Hermione, if it were you, why would you even have to have this conversation? Who is performing this spell for you?”

Hermione took a deep breath. Tried to picture Pansy’s words rolling off her like the rain. “I know you like to lash out when you’re feeling defensive and-“

“Lash out? Feeling defensive? Darling, I’m just speaking the truth. Tell me, who would do the spell for you, Hermione?”

Pansy’s arms crossed, she eyed Hermione with a particularly cruel grin.

“No significant other or partner to speak of, and I doubt your arrangement with Wood would have extended that far. Potter would never risk leaving Weasley. And her brother… well he showed just how much he cared when he left you…”

Fuck.

Hermione had to physically brace against the bite.

“You might have friends and loved ones, Hermione, but you don’t have a person. You are alone where it counts. Bless Merlin it isn’t you in this predicament, yeah?”

“Enough!” Astoria’s shrill voice filled the room.

No one else moved. No one else dared speak. Though Astoria’s scream had been enough to call off Pansy, the woman was still standing there panting, glaring at Hermione as if mentally planning the poison already.

And Hermione wanted to bite her back. She wanted to think of any sort of scathing remark to leave Pansy with, something to give her the final words, but nothing came. Her mind was an empty cavern: nothing to pull from, every attempt to hold words together leaving her grasping nothing.

Astoria said something, but Hermione didn’t actually hear it. Someone yelled something, and she thought she had even heard her name, but Hermione was done.

Absolutely done.

She floo’d out without looking back. As she stumbled through in her apartment she locked the fireplace behind her.

And she fell to the floor and wept.

Chapter Text

What did it mean to be alone?

A question that plagued Hermione, she thought on it often.

And thought and thought and thought.

She thought of her family, lost during the war. She especially thought of her mum who truthfully had always been her person growing up. Her best friend, the one she turned to for everything. If there had ever been an emergency, a hypothetical or literal body to bury, her mum would’ve been the first person she called.

But she was gone.

And she thought of her friends, both new and old. Of trials her friendships had overcome and those they had been lost to. Painful lessons taught to her when she worked on healing her own curse and those she learned now as they worked on Astoria’s. Of everything from the mundane to the extraordinary and the painful.

Hermione wondered how much the war had impacted her, her friends, and the friendships they tried to maintain. How much surviving had truly cost. Because maybe they had spent so long fighting, it was hard to stop. Maybe they had lost the chance to spend their youth learning about themselves and each other, now having to play catch up and constantly pieces themselves back together. Maybe they had been traumatized, so fucking traumatized, that everything was so much harder than it should be.

Maybe that was why she always ended up alone.

Maybe.

Work went by slowly. The weekend, even slower. After ordering takeout from her favorite pub down the street and managing to get a hold of a bad order, she spent the entire weekend sicking up in the loo and sleeping on the cold tile floor.

Floo remained locked, owls left unopened and unanswered, Hermione took time to care for herself. She knew she felt awful, and it had minimally to do with the weekend prior. So she baked her favorites and got caught up on work both at home and the Ministry. Each morning and evening had dedicated time carved out to eat real food, and she had started walking to and from work. Though she knew she could use apparition to shorten the journey, she had come to enjoy her walks, particularly in the evenings.

And tonight, with the setting sun casting brilliant colors across the cloudy sky, was all the more enjoyable. Hermione took her time walking home, only slowing when her front door came into view.

“Pansy?”

The witch stood from the stoop, dusting off her skirt and taking time to tug on the fabric until it was sitting just right.

“About time. Do you always get home this late during the week? I was two seconds from conjuring up some sort of suitable chair.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Well…” Pansy looked about, eyes flickering across every nearby person before coming back to focus on Hermione. “Can we talk?”

She watched Pansy watch her. Silence persisted, but she didn’t break. Instead, she stared at Hermione, clearly willing to wait as long as it took.

“Go on,” she prompted

Pansy huffed. “Inside? Bloody hell, first the dirty stoop and now this. You’re a right terrible host, you know.”

Hermione briefly wondered why Pansy’s words didn’t cut deeper, why she was unlocking her door and letting the woman inside while completely unfazed. It was as if she had been wrung out too tightly, nothing left, though still acutely aware that there used to be something there.

There used to be more feeling.

“Nice place,” Pansy said politely. “Quaint.”

“Pansy,” Hermione sighed. “Must we do this? I know it isn’t your taste. Can we skip to why you’re here?”

“Alright, alright. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Pansy looked physically pained as she forced out, “I’m… sorry.”

Hermione studied the witch. “Did she force your hand?”

Pansy had the audacity to look affronted. “And what if I want to be here?”

“Be that as it may, was it her idea originally?”

“Originally, perhaps, but-”

“Well you can tell Astoria mission accomplished. Are we done?” Hermione turned and left for the kitchen, ignoring Pansy’s exasperated and sharp comments behind her. Even as the click of her heels on the hardwood indicated she had followed her into the kitchen, she didn’t turn to face her. Instead, Hermione reached for her last bottle of fairy wine.

“Hermione.” Pansy’s hand reached out and clasped Hermione’s, pinning them to the glass bottle in front of her. “Please. Let me…I’m just not good at this…this kind of thing.”

“What, apologizing?” Hermione asked. Pansy nodded. “Seems to be common amongst you Slytherins.”

“Well, I am. Sorry, that is. I know it doesn’t excuse my behavior, I just… the idea of living without her is impossible. I’m desperate to save her.”

And that Hermione understood.

Anyone could see the depths of Pansy’s love for her wife. It was evident in the way she looked to her as she spoke, the way her fingers would twist with her own as they sat snuggled together, the way Pansy gravitated towards her when they were in the same room. The sharp corner of the kitchen counter was always wrapped tightly in freshly cast cushioning charms- because Astoria kept bruising her hip on it- and her wellness potions were always resting atop a handwritten note- because Astoria’s face would light up as she read them each morning. Everything Pansy did was so damned intentional. And Astoria was at the center of it all.

“As wrong as it was to make that decision for me, it doesn’t mean I can say such vulgar things to a…” Pansy struggled but managed, “...a friend. Someone I care for.”

And it hurt.

It hurt to hear Pansy so openly admit that Hermione was her friend, because she knew how difficult it was for her to speak of such intimate things. It hurt knowing she cared for her, too, regardless of what words were exchanged. It hurt to realize just how enmeshed all these people had become in her life, a vulnerability unlike any other.

It all fucking hurt.

And for a moment, just a moment, Hermione almost missed feeling numb.

“You’re right,” Hermione admitted, unwilling to overlook her own fault. “It wasn’t my place to make that decision for you, to force your hand.”

“I know.” Pansy smirked. “But I still shouldn’t have said what I said. Now, how would you like to save that,” she suggested, eyeing the wine, “and come with me for a real drink instead?”

“Where?”

“You know where.”

“Who’s there?”

Pansy rolled her eyes as she followed Hermione out of the kitchen and back towards the front room. “As if you don’t know that as well. Now, come along. I show up alone and Story will filet my tits.”

Hermione scrunched her nose at that bit of unnecessary and foul imagery.

And though a part of her wanted nothing more than to collect her belongings and shuffle out behind her, something held her back.

It may have been easy for Pansy to overlook everything or move past it, but Hermione was still aching. Sure, she truthfully forgave Pansy, but it was harder to forget. The wounds were still fresh, and the witch had unknowingly targeted some of her deepest ones, and she hadn’t quite figured out how to nurse herself back.

“Maybe another time?” Hermione suggested.

“You leave for Hogwarts in the morning, no?”

Hermione nodded. The holiday program. An effort to make Hogwarts homier during the holiday season, when many students were isolated and alone on the otherwise silent campus, professors and graduates would stay and help, hosting events and bringing life to the castle. Hermione had volunteered since its first year.

“It’ll be your last chance to see everyone. Before the hols,” Pansy observed.

And she knew she should go. But everything inside her screamed to curl up and hide, to stay far away from anyone and everything. To stay home, in the safety and serenity of this space.

“I have a lot to catch up on.”

Pansy eyed the suspiciously thin satchel Hermione had gestured to, which did not in fact have any work materials inside.

“Very well. You know where to find us should you finish your work.” Though she had wasted no time in making her way to the exit, she now hesitated in the doorway. “You know… you aren’t alone, Hermione.”

Aren’t I?

Out of everything Pansy had said, that was what haunted her the most. It wasn’t commenting on her failed relationship with Ron or the biting names and degradations. No, it was the realization that maybe there was some truth to what Pansy had said, that she was alone where it mattered. And that was what left her awake at night, thoughts lost, feeling empty.

“Have a good night, Pansy.”

And then she was gone.

Hermione locked the door tight behind her and checked the wards. As much of a relief as it was that she was now gone, a part of her longed for the witch to come back. And if that wasn’t wrong. She had been the one to send her away. She had been the one to decline her offer. But it felt wrong to accept it. Not necessarily a pity invite but some cousin down the line that felt close enough to count. And Hermione was too tired to deal with it tonight.

“You’re not alone,” Hermione said aloud, hugging herself tightly.

Looking round her quiet apartment, she settled in.

–

Hermione sat by the fire, curled in on herself, drinking the chai that had been waiting right outside her door. The kitchen elves still remembered.

The castle was quiet. Though already half past eight, the holidays seemed to shift everyone’s schedules, and the chaos of the days never started until much later. Which was fine with Hermione. It meant evenings were spent wandering through the library, reading texts until the early hours of the morning guilt-free, and she could have a lie in after. If her body ever learned to cooperate, that is. Thus far she was operating on caffeine and sheer willpower.

“Morning.” Neville’s sweet voice was loud in the quiet common room. Though he had his own place close to Hogwarts now, the years before acquiring the home were spent staying with the other volunteers in the previous eighth year dorm, and he had apparently gotten a taste for it. Something about community building and fostering the holiday spirit.

Hermione wasn’t sure it was worth giving up the luxuries of home, but he always had been more sentimental than she in that regard.

“Good morning.” He settled into the couch nearby, and Hermione tossed the extra blanket over to him. “How’d you sleep?”

“Too well. Bit of a struggle to get up this morn’.” His hair was a mess atop his head, voice groggy, pillow lines still red on his cheek. Hermione couldn’t hold in her laugh.

“I can see that.”

“Shove off. You’re supposed to be nice to me until I’ve had my cuppa.”

As if summoned, a kitchen elf apparated in with a steaming cup. Neville made conversation and it was only after the elf had ensured he had everything he needed, and hassled Hermione into a refill she hadn’t entirely wanted, that they disapparated away.

Neville eyed her mug with a grin. “It’s funny isn’t it?”

“What?”

“How little things can change.”

Hermione shrugged. “And how much others do.”

How many years had they spent here, morning chatter over steaming mugs, waiting for the castle to awaken?

She could picture it so clearly- the first year Hermione had helped out with the Hogwarts Holiday Initiative. Her department had headed up the event, which at the time was a department of one, and she had required extensive help from Hogwarts staff volunteers. Of course Neville had been amongst the first to sign-up, and they spent their free time catching up over shared meals and steaming drinks.

Then there was the holiday they had been together, when moments alone were spent nestled under the moonlight. Each morning began with lazy stretches and whispered words while they soaked in the first rays of sunlight from their place on the bed. Or the couch. Or the floor. And the night Hermione spent bound beside his bedroom fireplace, edged for hours.

To now. No longer lovers but friends once more. The comfort and care remained, as did the intimacy that could only come from knowing someone else’s body so thoroughly. But the rest had fallen away.

“You alright?” he asked.

She nodded. “Memories, even good ones… sometimes they hurt.” Hermione poked lightly at her chest, where her heart lay beneath.

“Nostalgia’s tricky like that.”

Neville looked to the castle around him- a place that had been home, then a battleground, then back again- and she knew he understood that better than most. And then he looked at her.

“We were good together.”

“We were,” she smiled. “Not quite you and Theo good together, but good nonetheless.”

Neville blushed, unable to meet her eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

Warning bells sounded in Hermione’s head, but she willed herself to remain calm. There really wasn’t anything to panic about. Yet.

“Always.”

“It’s about Theo.”

Oh, Merlin.

Please be good please be good please

“I figured.”

“There’s something I want to- no, something I need to do. And I’m at a bit of a loss as to how.”

No

No, no, no

The way Neville couldn’t meet her eyes as he spoke, the way he was twisting and turning with anxiety, the way he spoke. And All Hermione could picture was Theo’s face radiating joy every time he spoke of Neville. All she could think of was him telling them updates in the kitchen, his ramblings of how well everything was going and how he had never thought he deserved a love like this. And now-

“I want to ask him to move in.”

Oh.

Relief flooded Hermione’s entirety.

“Or I could move in with him,” Neville said quickly. “Or we could get a more neutral place to move in together. I truthfully am not too worried over the logistics of it all, I just- what?”

Hermione looked to him incredulously, not sure she heard him right. “You’re going to ask him to move in?”

“You think it’s a bad idea?” he asked quickly.

“No, I think it’s a wonderful idea,” she reassured him. And it must have worked because she could visibly watch relief flood the man. His shoulders must have dropped actual inches from where they had hovered around his ears.

“You don’t think it’s too soon?”

“I think if it feels right to you two, that’s all that matters,” she replied. “Besides, our childhoods were largely robbed fighting in a war. I don’t think anyone gets to judge how we choose to spend our time now.”

And if that didn’t extend entirely to Neville.

He made out well after the war, as beheading a snake with the sword of Gryfinndor will tend to lend itself favorably for one's reputation. Sure, he was a member of the DA, fought tirelessly by choice alongside them for years, led the rebellion at Hogwarts in year seven, and was one of the bravest people Hermione had ever known, but the snake bit…that really got everyone talking.

And somehow in the face of it all, Neville had never wavered from who he was. Hermione had changed, and though she thought much of it was likely for the better, she also had immense respect for those who remained so solid. So sure.

No, Neville deserved the world. Everyone else’s time table be damned.

“Hermione, if I may…” he took a breath, steeled himself, “what do you think he might say? If I asked?”

“I think he’d say yes,” she replied immediately.

“Yeah? You’re not just saying that to spare my feelings?”

“I swear, Nev, I honestly think so. You should hear the way he talks of you.”

“He…” Neville’s face reddened further with each passing moment. “He talks of me?”

“All the time. The man adores you.”

“Oh. Well.” Smiling bright, he was fumbling with the mug in his hands, practically dancing in his chair. Hermione was overwhelmed with the way he seemed to be gushing joy. “Alright then. Brilliant.”

“I’m so happy for the both of you. Truly.”

“I owe a great deal of gratitude towards you for that one. It was you who got us together in the first place, reluctant as I was initially.”

“I’m sure you can think of a way to repay me one day,” she joked.

“I do still remember your shoe size,” he said, nodding.

She clutched her chest dramatically. “The way to my heart.”

“Or…” Neville hedged, “I could maybe possibly be working on gathering professor support and input for the Muggle Studies Curriculum Standards you pitched…”

Hermione gasped. “Now you’re talking.”

“I thought that would get your attention,” Neville laughed. “Though I briefly debated trying to set you up with someone as well-”

“Nev-ille,” Hermione groaned.

“-I ultimately decided against it. I rather like keeping all my body parts attached, thank you.”

“I’m not that bad,” she laughed.

“And,” he continued, eyeing her mischievously. “You don’t exactly appear on the market, if you catch my drift.”

The prickling heat of embarrassment and panic edged up Hermione’s spine. Because apparently, apparently, she wasn’t the only one who had come to the realization she had feelings for someone. But Merlin above, surely he didn’t know who that someone was.

“No drift needed. I’m far too busy to be with anyone at the present,” she insisted.

“Mhm. Too busy even for a blonde someone? Tall, broody type perhaps, if that rings any bells…”

He knows.

Bloody fucking hell he knows.

It had taken her how long to question if she had feelings for the man, even longer to accept them, and here sat someone she barely saw anymore who was fully aware of it? Panic consumed her, which must have only encouraged him further.

He smiled, devious side showing. “Not even for-“

A door opened somewhere down the hall, cutting Neville off. They both turned to see who was heading to join them but instead only caught a glimpse of Susan Bones’ back as she headed towards the loo at the far end of the hall.

“Not even,” Hermione hissed, trying to end the debate before someone really did join them. It wasn’t worth them speaking of let alone anyone actually hearing.

“I know you, y’know? And if I may…?”

If I may my arse.

As if Neville hadn’t been very pointedly blunt the entirety of their conversation. As if he hadn’t all but called her out already. And now he was finding manners and asking for permission?

Hermione was just about to scold him when he gently added, “I see the way you look at him.”

“Oh yeah?” She could feel the blush. Her entire body felt on fire, and all she could do was pray the castle itself may swallow her whole and let her avoid any further discussion of this. Trying to lighten things, she joked, “I used to look at you that way?”

But Neville was serious.

“No.” He smiled sweetly, if not a touch sadly. “Never.”

There was so much Hermione wanted to say, so much she wanted to ask, but the newest volunteer- some Blythe something or other- had come out of their room and was heading to the common room. And Neville was suddenly chatting them up, talking about heading to the Great Hall shortly. And life was moving forward, ever moving forward, regardless if Hermione was ready for it or not.

–

Christmas came and went.

As did Boxing Day.

They had fewer participants in their program this year- something that was fine with Hermione since it meant more people had homes to return to instead- but it was as festive and beautiful as ever nonetheless. Snow fell both magically inside the castle and naturally outside from the Heavens. Flitwick had really outdone himself with the decorations, and the elves had created a feast more remarkable than all the years combined, and all the ghosts and ghouls that roamed the castle halls invited everyone to a Christmas party to celebrate amongst them. And Hermione would never ever forget the sight of McGonagall leaving said party, having one too many glasses of egg-nog, being helped out of the hall by Hagrid himself.

After leaving Hogwarts, Hermione had returned home to a pile of presents. It was a simple charm, really, once one had learned it. One of Harry’s designs, it rerouted all her owls to her home and allowed contactless delivery safely inside.

Eyeing the stack, she decided to take a hot bath first. After getting dressed, she unpacked her trunk and did a wash of clothes, drying and neatly folding them from whence they came. Then she set about making food, burning said food, and ordering delivery.

It was only once she sat on the couch of her living room, pizza slice in one hand, glass of red in the other, that she looked at the stack of presents. Year after year, the sharp pain of the holidays eased ever so slightly to a dull and throbbing ache, one that persisted regardless of her attempts to ease it. She had long ago accepted that without her family, she was doomed to this fate, doomed to hate holidays.

And oh how she fucking hated holidays.

But there were presents to open, and she was thankful for the care her loved ones put towards selecting her gifts. She started with Harry and Ginny’s: a pristine cauldron, large sack of sugar quills, IOU for another day off work- without exceptions- sponsored by Harry, and a set of baking books collected from all the various cities Ginny’s Quidditch games had taken her. A new quill set from Kingsley and a new tea set from Ariana. Even a handmade H sweater from Molly, with a note attached to come visit soon.

She was just about to open Luna’s present, which was resting on the most peculiarly shaped one from Dean and Seamus, when a stack of unopened owls caught her eye. Collecting them, she flicked through, immediately recognizing Draco’s handwriting, Pansy’s wax seal, Daphne’s pressed flowers, and Theo’s ridiculous color-changing ink.

They had written to her. All of them. And Hermione had stayed silent.

Picking up the first from the pile, Hermione opened the P sealed envelope and read.

Hermione,

We missed you tonight.

Pansy swore to me everything was worked out, but it would have been such a relief to hear it from you as well. I know things escalated a bit, but I do want to say thank you for standing up for me. You and I are in a unique position of understanding each other. They will never get it, but I do. And I can’t thank you enough for standing up for me, even against my wife.

I know you’re headed to Hogwarts, for the hols, but what of New Years? Say you’ll be back. Say you’ll spend it with us.

This message need not require an immediate answer. Just think on it, alright?

Astoria

Droplets fell the page in her hand, the page which now shook slightly.

Who was she kidding? Hermione wasn’t done. Far from it. Her survival instincts had pushed her to run, flight being the only foreseeable option that would actually allow her to protect herself. Not that it had. Not really. But at some point, isolating herself had become Hermione’s default. Pushing people away had become her preferred way to cope.

And as painful as it was to admit, if Hermione was alone now, it was at least partially her own doing.

What she needed to do was apologize. And maybe she should have been a Slytherin because fuck all if that didn’t feel an insurmountable obstacle. But she would do it for them. For the people who were a very strange, very vital part of her life. A family of sorts. And she wouldn’t let herself stand in the way of that.

Swallowing her pride, and more wine than was advisable, she worked on a plan.

–

The owl at the window was relentless.

Groggy and hungover, she tried to remember where she was. Apparently her living room was the answer, where she had fallen asleep atop her letters. After disabling Harry’s charm upon returning home, the owl had nowhere to drop off what it carried, leaving it pecking insistently at the glass across the room. Stumbling to her feet, she eventually made it over.

Hermione didn’t recognize this one- small with disproportionately large wings and bright, black eyes. Grabbing for a treat from the cabinet, she then opened the window, food in hand. But faster than her eyes could track, the bird napped the treat, dropped a letter, and was soaring away. Her hand stung, and she found a small spot of blood where she had been nipped.

What the bloody hell was that?

Picking up the note, she found a majestic, overly indulgent P shaped wax seal holding it together.

Hermione,

You wouldn’t know this, but we all gather every year on the anniversary. We’ll meet at the tomb at 11.

He’d never ask, but I think he would appreciate you being there.

Astoria

The note was too much for Hermione’s still asleep, hungover brain to comprehend. She wracked her memory for what anniversary it could be. Too late in the year for anything related to the battle, but it was clearly in reference to someone passing. And he? Who could that be referring to? Unless it-

Draco.

The thought hit her quick and hard. And in the moment she knew, she knew with absolute certainty, that was who Astoria was referencing. And unfortunately, she believed she knew the anniversary the witch spoke of as well. With a flick of her wand, she summoned the Daily Prophet from its spot on the floor, right under the mail slot.

The True Story of What Happened at Malfoy Manor

The headline made Hermione’s stomach clench. Apparently Rita Skeeter still had no bounds, and calling anything she wrote a true account was laughable. Hermione had heard the story, because honestly who hadn’t? They covered it every year, with each and every columnist and author who dared write about it adding their own twist to the tale. The rumors had grown and circulated together until the truth was likely long ago lost. But perhaps that was the greatest kindness Draco could be afforded. No one would ever know for sure.

Hermione stumbled upon remembering him.

Every grand gesture, every apology, every calculated plan Hermione had made the night prior immediately went out the window. All she knew in that moment was she needed to get to him, to help him. And it didn’t matter she had no idea what to say or do. Hell, she didn’t even know if he would want her help.

But she had to try.

She knew the pain of an anniversary like this one. It was a different form of grief, but she knew. And she had to go to this for him.

Looking to the clock on the wall, she found it to be 9:42. Simultaneously plenty of time and nowhere near enough. After downing two sobering potions back-to-back as well as a pepper-up, she proceeded to chug a large glass of water. Though still feeling like rubbish, it would have to do for now, and she prayed getting ready would do the rest.

After a scalding shower, she struggled for the better part of an hour to find something to wear, eventually settling on the grey dress with the billowing short sleeves and slightly tiered, tulle skirt. Formal but not too showy. Comfortable but still elegant. A little too muggle, but everything she owned likely would be. Then she made a quick stop at the flower shop two blocks over and apparated to the tomb site.

It was a subdued morning. The brilliant shades of blue typically found in the sky were replaced with various greys. The birds were quieter. Even the wind had died down since yesterday. It was as if the day itself knew today was one of sorrow.

It was dreary but not raining, all too silent, as she headed down the path. Her heels clicked lightly against the sidewalk, beating in time with the pounding in her ears. Palms sweating, she tried to wipe them on her dress as the bouquet switched hands, but it wasn’t enough.

Truthfully she was terrified.

Yes it was the first time seeing everyone since the argument, and yes it was the first time being around them all after she had ignored them for so long, but what really left her shaking in her platform wedges was arriving on this specific day to Draco’s family estate on this specific anniversary, sans his invitation. And to do so to a private man like Draco? Truly a recipe for disaster.

She got lost, twice, but eventually she found her way along the treeline until she swore she heard voices. Unable to see them until she rounded the last curve, she suddenly stopped. Trying to breathe, she reminded herself that it would be okay. She was here to support her friend, here because she needed to stop running, here because if she were him, she would need the support.

And If he asked her to leave, she would. Without hesitation.

With one final, very deep breath for courage, she walked forward out of the treeline. Blaise and Daphne saw her first. Blaise had looked up from where they stood on the outside edges of the group and leaned down to whisper in Daphne’s ear. Upon visually finding Hermione, she had softly smiled, shifting the wrap circling her shoulders so she could motion for Hermione to join.

Next was Pansy, draped in all black. She was on the opposite side of Blaise and Daphne, still on the outer edges, but only a step away from Astoria. Close enough to reach her should anything seem off or she require assistance, Pansy was always only a step from Astoria. She had eyed Hermione upon seeing her, as if she were the protector of the pack scanning for threats, and the sudden appearance of someone else put her on edge. But her hostile gaze faded, and she eventually gave Hermione the slightest of head nods before turning her attention back.

There in the center was Theo and Astoria, one on either side of Draco.

And he looked dreadful. Poor thing was quite literally being held up by the two of them. Purple bags lived under his swollen, red eyes. Tears flowed freely down his face, even as he clutched at his friends.

Astoria smiled upon seeing Hermione. The one who had actually invited her, she was the only one who didn’t appear shocked to see her.

Theo’s face seemed to register confusion and surprise and then what she hoped was contentment.

Finally, those silver eyes met hers. And then Draco was rushing towards her, everything else forgotten, likely driven by his fury at her unexpected arrival.

She knew what would come next. Cruel words. Demands to leave.

I should have known better.

This was not my place to come here.

He was a step away. And Hermione couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think of anything except how inappropriate it was to show without first reaching out to him, and at the tomb site no less.

And then he was throwing himself at her, and her arms were wrapping around him, and he buried himself in her chest. Hermione gasped. The force from the contact was hard enough to make her stumble, and she clutched him against her as she fought for her balance.

“Sorry,” he squeaked, tears falling and wetting the skin of her neck.

Hermione smiled, even as her own eyes welled with unshed tears. “Would you stop apologizing for hugging me?”

“It’s just so-” Draco gasped for air, whatever retort he had tried to push through instead died on his lips.

Rubbing his back soothingly, Hermione ached for him. Losing a parent that you’re close to, it was a unique sort of pain. One that didn’t let up. One that insisted upon being felt fully and often. It was a hell she understood, one she wished she could spare him from.

But they had survived a war. And it, as wars often do, made an orphan of too many.

“I know. It hurts,” she said, feeling she needed to acknowledge it.

Flowers forgotten on the ground, Astoria appeared in Hermione’s peripheral, crouching to pick them up and then standing. She dusted them off, and Hermione gave her a smile of gratitude. Theo stood beside her, waiting and ready, and as the attention turned to them, she was made more aware of her interruption.

Mentally fussing at herself for not just picking a bloody outfit and arriving earlier, she whispered, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

But Draco shook the thought away even as he pulled slightly away. “Should’ve known you’d make an entrance.” Astoria handed Hermione the flowers, and upon seeing them, he smirked. “I would have preferred whiskey.”

“They weren’t exactly for you, but I’ll remember that. Flowers and whiskey.”

He didn’t return her smile. Instead he studied the flowers in her hand. “Orchids?”

“You once told me they were her favorite, no?”

Draco nodded, stunned, wordless. And though Hermione made to move towards the tomb to deposit the flowers, Draco held tight to her arm. Mournful silver eyes looked to her, silently pleading. More vulnerable than Hermione had ever seen the man look.

His voice was but a whisper on the wind. “Please don’t go.”

Something in Hermione’s throat caught, but she managed, “I’m not. I’m right here.”

And there, at his side, she stayed.

She stayed through the ceremony at the tomb, which was incredibly beautiful. Through the gathering at Draco’s place, where he pretended to eat and everyone fussed over him and they took turns telling their favorite and most hilarious Narcissa stories. Through the clean-up of the house when Draco had disappeared elsewhere and the day eventually passed into the night.

She even stayed after Blaise and Daphne had to floo over to retrieve his son and Pansy took Astoria back to their place to rest, and Theo and Draco had disappeared entirely, leaving her sitting alone. Out of place. Every instinct urging her to leave.

But she could still hear his sweet voice.

Please don’t go.

And she couldn’t go. Not yet. Not until she saw him again, at least. Not until she was sure he was okay. Or as okay as he could be on such a day.

The place was darker than usual. The curtains had been closed, candles no longer illuminating the space. Poppy had long ago retired, and the floo had gone silent. It was quiet and empty and, perhaps it was her imagination, but she could have sworn it was cold.

Gathering the last remnants of her courage, she stood. It didn’t appear he was returning to this area, and if she wanted to check on him, she’d need to seek him out.

“Draco?”

Her voice bounced around the space, unanswered. Continuing on towards the hall and through it, she listened, walking until she heard noise. A voice.

“Drake, please.”

It was Theo. He stood at the study door, forehead resting against it, looking utterly devastated. He heard her approach, angling his head to see her but not yet moving.

“Is he?” Hermione gestured towards the door. Theo nodded. “What is he-?”

“I don’t know. Won’t let me in,” Theo replied.

But Hermione wasn’t willing to leave without at least trying. “Draco?”

Her plea was met with only silence to answer it. She craned her neck, willing her ears to pick up on something, anything, but there was nothing.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Theo sighed. “Some howlers managed to get through…”

Gut clenching at the thought, Hermione was consumed with fury. She would never understand how some people could be so cruel to one another. How humanity could be so easily forgotten. As if Draco Malfoy, even amongst the mistakes and dark actions, wasn’t still a person.

“-and it’s not a good time, really.”

But the door clicked. The latch released, allowing the wood to slide open a couple of inches. Looking thoroughly shocked, Theo stepped back, mouth agape. When he looked at Hermione, he gestured for her to go ahead, stepping back and out of the way.

She didn’t hesitate.

“Draco?” she repeated, stepping through a doorway into his study.

It was quiet inside, the only noise amidst the stillness was the crackling of the fire. Paper edges were sticking out from the wood and ash, burning. Hermione imagined this was what remained of the shredded howlers and any other mail that had managed to get through.

Then she saw him.

He was sitting on the floor with his back against a couch, knees pulled into his chest. His head was cradled in his hands. She stopped walking, but the sounds of her heels on the hardwood echoed. Draco looked up, and Hermione could see his red and swollen face, tear trails still visible on his cheeks.

“I deserve this,” he whispered, turning back to the flames. “We deserve this...after everything.”

“Draco,” she gasped, heartbroken at the intimate scene she had just walked in on. “You don’t deserve any of this. You don’t-”

“I do,” he interrupted, looking to the ground. “I do, I do, I do.”

“Stop.” Hermione went to her knees, hands clutching at his sweet swollen face, eyes waiting to meet his because she needed him to understand. “You don’t. You deserve to mourn in peace.”

But he didn’t look like a man who believed her. He looked of a man who had been condemned. And Hermione was very aware that he had been far superior at being there for her when she had confided in him about her own parents. She was so bad at this, at knowing what he needed, and he had been so, so good, staying there for her as long as she needed.

And that’s when Hermione realized maybe that was it. She just needed to be there for him.

So Hermione settled in. She took her heels off and placed them on the ground nearby. And she scooted in close enough that their arms and thighs were touching.

Draco picked up his glass, took a drink, and then settled back beside her. He held the cup out to her, and she took a drink. It burned, making her grimace.

Hermione laid her head on his shoulder, and he laid his own on hers. And that’s how they stayed.

Even as she felt his body moving from the sobs wracking his body.

Even when the glass was empty. And so was the next one.

Even as the sun set, and the study darkened.

Even when the tears stopped and Draco’s breathing evened out.

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I didn’t- I can’t- I…” He was stumbling for words. Hermione could see the absolute devastation behind his eyes. Draco looked lost.

“Don’t,” she pleaded, “I’m here.” Her hand wrapped around his own, and those silver eyes found hers once more. “I’m here with you.”

But the words felt insufficient even as she said them. She didn’t know how to capture in words the deep empathy she felt for him, how to let him know how much she wished he wasn’t having to survive this grief today and everyday. How determined she was to be with him throughout it, to help him claw his way back.

Her words felt flat in comparison to everything she wanted to say. So instead, she let the silence linger, as she imagined he would do as well, and she squeezed his hand gently.

And she certainly hadn’t expected a response.

He squeezed back.

Chapter Text

Hermione was tired.

Really fucking tired.

Whatever life Hermione had left to her had been properly snuffed out by the anniversary of Narcissa’s death, and she had nothing left to give.

As if the pit of despair she had been lost in when she had worked on her own curse cure had returned, vengeful bitch that it was, dragging her back down.

Down,

down,

down.

And as she sat in her flat, wet hair from showering, cold cuppa that had long ago stopped steaming, she was so fucking exhausted.

And she felt so fucking wronged.

Despite Pansy’s apology, the wound hadn’t healed over. Though looking back on it, she didn’t think it had ever really started. Not the night Pansy apologized, when Hermione hadn’t wanted to see any of them after. Certainly not when she saw them again on the Anniversary, when she was not the focus of anything. No, the pain from the argument and all the things said, and not said, during was still persisting.

And damn it, shouldn’t they realize?

Throwing herself into work, because what else could she do, she ignored everything. New Years Invitations went unanswered. Unopened owls stacked up. Ariana was under strict orders to send Theo away, as well as any of the other Snakes, should they try and visit.

And she would work.

As she always did.

Days passed until New Years Eve had arrived in all of its dull and uninspiring glory. And Hermione went to work. Tried to put the finishing touches on the end of the year paperwork and start on the new parchments for next year. Organize her schedule better.

But everything was going poorly. She had already spilt lunchroom coffee on herself three times. Two different parchments had to be completely restarted because there were too many mistakes to salvage the lot. And she was spending so much more time running back and forth throughout the office without Ariana there to help, who was off for the holiday.

Finally giving up and about to file everything for review another day, Hermione tripped, falling flat on her face, paperwork scattered into the air and lazily raining down upon her and the ground. And if that wasn’t the cherry atop everything. What started as laughter quickly turned pained, eventually settling into tears and silent sobs that wracked her whole body.

Unable to stop. Not knowing what was wrong with her. She sat there and cried, accepting her fate to now live on the floor amongst all the paperwork, because getting up would require more energy than she could ever manage.

But then Ginny was there, walking through the door of her office, looking round panickedly until her eyes finally found Hermione’s crumpled form.

“Hey,” she whispered, voice cracking.

“Oh, Mione.” Ginny rushed forward, walking across the papers without a care, immediately dropping to her knees and pulling her into her arms.

And it shouldn’t make sense, but when she was held so very tightly, it was the first time she felt her lungs could actually fill with air, the first time she could breathe.

“You okay?”

“Slipped,” Hermione muttered embarrassingly. “What are you doing here?”

“I could tell something was off in your owl last week,” Ginny explained, gently rubbing Hermione’s back. She had learned long ago her fingers would only get knotted up in her curls if she tried playing with her hair, so she always opted for this instead. “And when Ariana said you couldn’t floo call yesterday, I just knew. I came as soon as I could get a portkey back.”

“But…” Hermione gasped for air, forcing off her sobs. “What about Prague?”

Ginny waved it off. “It’ll still be there tomorrow or next week or whenever Harry and I go to visit. This is what matters. You are what matters. Now tell me what happened.”

And if that didn’t make stopping the tears impossible.

No longer pushing, Ginny sat waiting, gently comforting Hermione until the sobs became whimpers and those became sniffling. And when she was finally settled enough, Hermione told her everything she had yet to hear of. About the Hollow Theory and the spell Draco had translated. About the fight with Pansy. The resolution that felt anything but resolved. The letters and the Anniversary. About Hermione pointedly ignoring everyone since that day, too tired to continue. Even about her own feelings, which she had pointedly been ignoring for too long.

All of it.

And she wasn’t exactly a patient or quiet listener, though Ginny never really had been. Interjecting several times with expletives or questions that didn’t truly require an answer, the woman eventually settled into a rage by the end of the story, feeling all the anger Hermione was apparently also too tired to address.

Then Ginny was scooping her arms around Hermione and helping her stand, quite literally peeling her body off the ground. And after sitting for several minutes and drinking two glasses of water laced with Calming Draught, Hermione tried to get her to leave, but the redhead outright refused. Instead, she cleaned up Hermione’s office and left a note on Ariana’s desk and only lectured Hermione one time about working on a holiday. And then she helped gather her things and head towards the front exit.

They were just plotting which takeout Harry was going to pick-up on the walk back from the Ministry when Ginny stopped talking mid-sentence, bringing awareness to the figures at Hermione’s door.

Astoria leaned against the door itself, Pansy on her right, fussing over something on the woman’s sweater. Blaise and Daphne were stretched on Astoria’s opposite side, wide stances and strange positions due to the large boxes at their feet. Though Draco had his back to Hermione as he rested against the railing, she would recognize that hair, that silhouette anywhere. And Theo was just below him, sitting on the stoop itself.

It wasn’t quite the artwork she had witnessed at their first meeting that fateful day in her office. No, this was a little less renaissance and a little more impressionist thanks to the haze of the evening and the mist that hadn’t quite turned to rain, but it was posh and effortless and reminiscent all the same.

And it hurt.

“Oh hell,” Ginny muttered under her breath, hooking an arm around Hermione’s and pulling her along, even as Hermione’s pace stuttered.

Astoria was the first to spot them. Her gaze landed on Hermione's eyes, her expression suddenly appearing pained, and Hermione knew it must be evident she had been crying. Surely she was a puffy, flushed mess, and there was no hiding it now.

“If you tell us to leave, we will,” Astoria said as they finally made it to earshot. Every head turned. Theo rose from his seat.

“What if I tell you to leave?” Ginny asked, claws already out. It didn’t matter if she was becoming friends with this group as well, Hermione knew Ginny would defend her against anyone.

“If that’s what’s desired, okay,” Astoria assured them both, surveying the group around her before turning back to Hermione. “But we’d really love the chance to come in and talk.”

Ginny looked to Hermione, saying no more, placing the decision in her hands.

“We brought champagne,” Daphne said meekly, holding up the box in her arms that must have come from the ground. At this, Ginny glared daggers, causing Daphne to bite her lip and avert her gaze to the ground.

“The good kind?” Hermione asked. Because honestly, there was enough money in the vaults of those that stood before her that it really was the least they could do, and if she had to tolerate any more of today, at least she could do it half past smashed.

“Theo picked it out based on the pretty label,” Daphne replied, raising one of the bottles slightly. “So it’s hard to say.”

Though it was weak, that brought a smile to Hermione’s face. She nodded towards the door, extending a silent invitation. They parted, allowing her passage, and she unlocked it before letting them inside. Ginny could be heard walking behind her, and if the sound of clinking was any indication, she had snagged one of the champagne bottles for herself along the way.

The rest followed along and inside, standing about until her loft felt too small. The atmosphere was tense and uncomfortable, making Hermione’s skin itself feel itchy. And her throat was still scratchy from all the crying earlier. Truthfully she felt a mess.

But thankfully Ginny took over, spouting out some rubbish in a sarcastic welcome.

Theo was the first to advance when silence had settled upon them. “Gin…”

“Don’t,” she warned, glaring. “Not now, Theo.”

He nodded, looking truly wounded.

Astoria stepped up, completely avoiding Ginny, turning to Hermione instead. “We were just hoping to talk.”

“Go ahead,” Ginny urged. She jumped up on the nearby table, crossed her legs, and popped the top off the champagne, taking a swig. Eyeing the label with a grimace- apparently pretty labels meant nothing- she grunted out, “Don’t hold back on my account.”

The redhead continued drinking the champagne, glaring at every person in the room, propped up and looking all the more terrifying with her sculpted Quidditch thighs on display as she did so. And if Hermione didn’t adore her friend even more.

“Alone?” Astoria pleaded to Hermione.

And though Ginny looked ready to blow a gasket, mouth already open, surely about to unleash actual verbal fire, Hermione cut her off before she could get further than If you think.

“Gin? Give us a minute?”

She studied Hermione, hesitant. But Hermione nodded to her friend, who jumped from the counter with a grunt of alright, gave one last warning glare to the room, and headed down the hall, champagne in hand. It was only after a door slammed, extra loud, that Pansy stepped forward.

“Hermione, I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t we already do this, Pansy?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, well,” Pansy looked to Astoria then back again. “After discussing things with my wife, it has come to my attention that I may have thoroughly mucked it up the first time.”

Discussing.

Hermione doubted it was a very civil conversation considering the look on Astoria’s face, but Pansy could call it what she wanted.

“I learned quite young that being a bitch was amongst my greatest defenses. A way to survive,” Pansy explained. “And on top of that, I have a bit of tunnel vision when it comes to Story. So the day of our argument, I lost my head a bit.”

“Pansy,” Hermione sighed.

“I know it’s not an excuse, I just wanted to explain. And tell you again, I really am sorry Hermione. You truly are someone I consider a friend, and I didn’t mean to hurt you, even if what I said makes that seem implausible.”

And if Pansy fucking Parkinson didn’t have tear filled eyes. It hurt to see the witch so pained, whether it was deserved or not. And Pansy was clearly genuine in how she felt, Hermione would know having spent so much time with her, and it left her aching for the woman.

But she made no move to comfort her. Hermione still felt too on edge.

“And we should have intervened sooner,” Theo said then, bringing Hermione’s awareness back to the others in the room. Blaise nodded in agreement. Draco could barely meet her gaze. “And we’re sorry for that, Hermione.”

“And,” Astoria added, grabbing Hermione’s attention again. “We’ve been trying so hard to figure out how best to apologize to you, we realized we never actually properly thanked you.”

That caught Hermione off guard.

“For what?”

“For helping,” Astoria replied, as if it were obvious. “We never thanked you for helping.”

Hermione took a breath. “You all donated plenty to the department, funded multiple department head positions, even donated to our Spring fundraiser. It’s more than what we originally bargained for.”

“Yes but what have we done for you?” Daphne asked.

What had they done?

Plenty, really.

She spent at least two days a week baking or entertaining or even just sitting with Astoria, which were always filled with Astoria showering her with her favorite treats while gossiping. Theo always came to her office, bringing her lunch at least once a week, and stopped by her flat for movie marathons regularly. And Pansy had taken it upon herself to design and brew a personalized wellness brew regime for Hermione, correcting it until it was perfect. Blaise always made her homemade stew when she felt unwell, complete with hand drawn cards created by Bellamy. And Daphne checked in on her flat when she was away on business, including watering all her plants…or she had before Hermione had accidentally killed them all. And Draco… She didn’t know where to even begin with everything Draco did for her. From breakfast hot and ready almost every morning to little gifts left on her work station when she was down and all the difficult conversations over pancakes and glasses of whiskey. There was too much to name, really.

And none of it, not a single one of the acts anyone carried out were meant for any devious purpose. There was no hidden price tag attached. No, they were considerate and personalized and done because they all wanted to, and Hermione knew that.

“You’ve all done a great deal,” Hermione finally answered. “Visits at work and dinner deliveries and…and oh, caring for my flat.” And she was really botching this explanation, but she was put on the spot and words were proving difficult and she’d already forgotten half the things she’d just thought of because she was so damn flustered.

Theo scoffed. “Great, we’re capable of being functioning people who give a damn.”

“What he’s trying to say,” Blaise said, stepping in, “Is that any of that is more of the everyday sort of thing you just do for one another. We wanted to actually say thank you.”

“But I still don’t understand why.”

“Hermione,” Astoria sighed, hand reaching for her. And Hermione still felt so fucking vulnerable as she looked to the outstretched palm, was still so hesitant to place her own there, but it was Astoria. Someone Hermione had really come to know over the last few months. A woman she didn’t believe would ever intentionally harm her.

Hermione took her hand.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen at the end of this. I don’t know if we’re going to find an answer for me.” Astoria shrugged, as if she were speaking of something trivial, like the weather, and not her own life. “It’s just the truth.”

Astoria’s other hand came out then, resting atop their twisted fingers, surrounding Hermione’s hand entirely with both of her own.

“But what I do know is we stood in your office, and we asked you for help. A roomful of snakes that the rest of the Wizarding World looked down upon. Who did nothing to earn your kindness. Who spent years making your life harder. Who you owed nothing to. And you said yes despite it all.”

Giving her hand a little squeeze, Astoria smiled sadly.

“You have quite literally put your entire life on hold and given everything to try and help us find answers. You have put your own feelings aside, your own mental health aside, to be there for us. And I don’t think I, or anyone else here, can ever find a way to properly thank you for that. Nor have we ever really tried to take the time and show you how much it means to us.”

Her bright eyes met Hermione’s.

“You’re a good person, Hermione. The best I know. And you deserve the world.”

With one final squeeze, Astoria gently released Hermione’s hands and took a step back.

“And we got you something.”

Turning, she met Draco, who had walked forward, hand outstretched with an envelope clasped in his grip. Handing it over, he stepped back, allowing Astoria to carry it back to Hermione. She extended it out, an offering.

“Is that what’s in there then?” Hermione asked, gesturing to the envelope.

“Not quite,” Astoria laughed, even as the tears finally fell from her eyes. “But it’s as close as we could get.”

With that, the envelope was handed over to Hermione. She took it with shaking hands, which despite her most fervent internal pleas, continued doing so even as she held the package.

It was simple. Light. Seemingly too light to hold the weight of everyone’s expectations. Her name was scrawled in a familiar script on the front, a golden wax M sealing the back. She looked to Draco as she opened it, the one person who had yet to speak to her. His gaze quickly darted to the envelope in her hands, giving nothing away.

But his unsteady voice offered up, “It’s from all of us,” as Hermione pulled a folded parchment from the envelope.

Reading the heading, then reading it twice more to ensure she had in fact read it correctly, her eyes hurriedly scanned through the parchment. But it didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. It couldn’t be…

“I don’t understand,” Hermione whispered.

“It’s that traveling housing system,” Pansy explained. She had wrapped her arms around her wife’s shoulders, who was making her best attempt to rid her face of lingering tears.

“Yes, I’ve heard of it,” Hermione managed to mumble, re-reading the document for the third time.

Of course she had heard of it. Everyone had heard of it. Hermione had actually received news of the project early on, before the official release. It had been Ginny’s birthday, and everyone had gone out to the pub, and Seamus’ lips were always loosened when firewhiskey was involved. He had drunkenly informed them all about the moving flat idea his company had. And when it was finally publically released, initially, it was the joke of the magical world. Rita Skeeter had a field day.

But then it wasn’t. The logistics were finalized. They had managed to convince international ministries of the economic benefits a collaboration like this would bring for them. The complex spellwork was put under legal protection and locked up tight. The land was secured. And the luxury houses, or flats as Seamus had so humbly described them, were under production.

“And this is…?” Hermione stumbled for words.

“One of those, yes,” Pansy confirmed.

Astoria gave the smallest of smiles. “It’s yours.”

“Sort of a dual purpose present this one. We know you travel quite a bit for work,” Daphne explained.

“But we’re also hoping you might use it for some much deserved time off,” Blaise offered. Hermione’s head bobbing around the room to try and keep up with everyone. He humbly smiled at her once her gaze finally landed on him. “Go see a bit more of that big world out there.”

“You got me...a…” It was hard to form the words, seeming unreal and implausible, but Hermione forced them out nonetheless, “a house...for Christmas?”

“Merlin, no,” Astoria said with a wave of her hand. “Your Christmas presents are still at our place. This is a very, very belated thank you. Mixed with a tinge of we’re sorry,” she added, elbowing her wife behind her.

“I can’t…” Hermione traced her finger over the deed, thinking maybe touching the letters would help them sink in better than simply reading them allowed. But it was minimally helpful, and in the end she still was dumb-struck staring at something she had never dreamed of owning. “I can’t accept this.”

“Non-refundable I’m afraid,” Theo shrugged. “Guess you’re stuck with it.”

“If this is some way to try and buy my forgiveness-” Hermione hedged.

“It’s not,” Astoria promised.

“More than willing to grovel as long as it takes for that one, darling,” Pansy assured her.

Astoria nodded in agreement. “You have simply given so much, and we wanted to return that favor.”

She looked at them all, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for someone to tell her this was a joke. Waiting to wake up from the dream.

But she didn’t. And it wasn’t.

“No strings attached,” Draco said.

“And we promise you can still kick us out of here if you’d like. Be pissed or sad or anything else with the lot of us,” Theo assured her.

And maybe she should have been. Maybe it was silly to move on and maybe she forgave too easily and maybe she should be wary. But she was still tired, and she was really fucking tired of being so miserable. She found she didn’t have the energy to take away any moments of light.

“Do I have to be?”

Theo grinned. “You can-”

A muffled voice came from somewhere, and it took Hermione a moment to realize the call had come from down the hall. From her bedroom.

“Ginny?”

The door banged harshly against the wall, footsteps quick and loud echoed from the hall. “Bless Merlin! I didn’t think you’d ever let me out.”

Then Ginny fully appeared, a flurry of wild red hair and energy, sweeping the room until she found Hermione and barreling over. She held her hand out expectantly, which Hermione stared at.

“I’m still slightly pissed for you, nice as the apology was, but let me see!” Ginny exclaimed. “I thought Seamus was having a laugh that night. And I didn’t dare believe the articles until I saw further proof.”

Hermione was shocked at the outburst, which must have been reflected in everyone else as well.

“Oh I’m sorry,” Ginny scoffed. “Was I supposed to keep up the illusion that I wasn’t eavesdropping from the bedroom with my ear pressed to the wall?”

Theo snickered beside her. “Can I love you again?” he asked, already reaching for her.

“If you must,” she replied, though she let him wrap his arms around her, not forcing him to move even when she took the deed from Hermione.

Reading it with wide eyes, she gasped and commented every now and then, still muttering about Seamus the entire time. And Pansy was explaining something about the location and Blaise was defining a statement from the fine print of the contract and Theo was making cracks the entire time, earning elbows from Ginny.

“If we aren’t being kicked out,” Astoria hedged, “We do have one request.” Hermione waited for her to continue. She looked to her wife for courage then voiced, “Can we spend New Years here?”

That caught everyone’s attention.

Deed forgotten, everyone stopped speaking, Theo finally released Ginny. The focus of the room turned entirely to Hermione.

“We brought all the decorations,” Astoria continued. “And Poppy and I baked a bunch of biscuits this morning and made mulled wine. Because yes, we do know you drink other things besides chai. And we will do every bit of the set-up and clean-up, you will not have to lift a finger. And if you don’t want us in your space we can floo somewhere else right now, anywhere else you’d like.” Astoria was babbling, words coming out of her mouth quicker than she could form them, misspoken versions of major cities being offered up as possible destinations.

Blessedly, her wife interrupted. “What we care about is ringing in the new year with our loved ones.” With a breath, Pansy looked to Hermione pointedly. “With everyone we love.”

Theo came to Hermione’s side, wrapping his arm ‘round her, kissing her temple lightly. “And tomorrow we’re going to make you breakfast and spend all day having a lie in watching the moving pictures on the non-magical telly.”

Daphne hugged her other side, face laying against her chest. “And we pinky swear not to take you for granted anymore. We feel awful about it, truly, we didn’t mean to.”

“And we-”

“Okay, okay,” Hermione interrupted. “Alright.”

“So… we can stay?” Astoria edged.

“Of course you can stay.”

Then Astoria was screeching and she and Daphne were tackling Hermione. Theo quickly joined, and, not to be left out, Ginny was painfully cannonballing atop them all. And Theo was covering her cheeks in kisses and Daphne had blatantly refused to stop hugging her, even when Pansy begged let the poor woman breathe. And Hermione was crying, but it was from laughing too hard this time, til her belly hurt and she was bent over at an odd angle.

And she never would have dreamed this is where she would have ended up this evening, but it felt good, and it felt right, and she was going to let herself have this happiness. Let herself accept this love that maybe she truly did deserve. And take reassurance that her fiery friend- who currently had her arms wrapped around Hermione’s legs and refused to move- would always, always be there for her.

And when they finally parted, breathless and sweaty, they set to decorating.

Truthful to their word, Hermione sat back with a bottle of the horrendous champagne. Streamers were levitated and the floo was unlocked so food could be brought over and the room was magically filled with Astoria’s signature floating party glitter. And though Ginny tried to sit back and relax with Hermione, it was all inevitably being done incorrectly, and she kept having to step in and make alterations. And of course she magicked the ceiling into a glittering universe.

Then Harry floo’d over with pizza and ranch dressing. Music played and board games were pulled from Hermione’s shelves. They played all her favorites, rotating out players as needed, turning them into drinking games as the night progressed. And Theo was pulling her up to dance and Daphne was mixing cocktails in the kitchen and Hermione thought she smelled burnt gillyweed floating out from under her bathroom door.

Midnight came and went.

Ginny was Hermione’s New Years kiss, quickly followed by Harry, who was as good a sport as ever. Poppy sent over fresh baked goodies and whatever Daphne had mixed was stronger than expected, and soon the room was full of laughter and slurred lines and too much dancing.

And everyone eventually passed out.

No longer feeling drunk but not entirely sober either, Hermione woke from her stretched out position on the couch to silent chaos. At some point Ginny had transfigured the entire floor into a giant bed, and she was tucked in with Harry on one side, Theo on the other. Astoria and Pansy had squished in beside him, Blaise and Daphne sharing the chaise above them.

And at the opposite end of the couch, her feet resting in his lap, was Draco, still sound asleep.

And as light as she had been before, as happy and loved as she had felt earlier in the night, she now felt pained at the reminder of him. He had largely stayed out of her way all evening. Able to ignore it in favor of chasing whatever light and happiness had managed to worm its way into her day, she ignored it. But now she couldn’t, and she knew it had all been purposeful. Her whirling thoughts only added to her growing nausea, which she was pretty sure was only minimally related to the alcohol consumption.

Because even if he wrote to her after the argument with Pansy, why hadn’t he stood up for her then, when it happened? Why hadn’t he done more?

And why had she ever expected he would?

And possibly most important of all, why was he so fucking cowardly about it all now?

Knowing she should get some more sleep but unable to regardless of how many sheep she counted, a fresh cuppa called to her. Carefully, ever so carefully, Hermione removed her legs from his lap and stood. She grabbed her wand from the side table, casting a quick charm to alleviate the weight of her steps, allowing her to walk across the bedding without waking anyone.

In the kitchen, Hermione took her time filling the kettle and manually setting it on. She filed through her various teas, picking out the caffeine free varieties- because she did hope to sleep at some point- and narrowing down the selection. The debate was raging between lemon ginger and spiced chamomile when she heard footsteps behind her.

“Can’t sleep?” Draco asked.

“Nope.”

“Need anything?”

You to talk to me.

“Nope.”

Draco sighed. “Can we talk?”

“Talked earlier.”

Or some of us did.

“Hermione.” And he had the audacity to sound frustrated with her. “Would you just look at me?”

Taking a deep breath, she set both tea bags on the counter and turned, hip resting against the counter, arms crossed. And there he stood near the doorway, still ruffled from sleep, looking so fucking vulnerable it made her itch. But she stood resolute, feelings for him be damned. Because right now, this was about her.

Those silver eyes regarded her with such sadness. “I know you might be nearing your apology quota for the day, but do you have room for one more?”

And though Hermione had waved off Pansy’s words from earlier- because really, no one needed to grovel- she resolutely changed her mind at that moment.

He could grovel a bit.

“Perhaps.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

He shifted. She was very aware that short, blunt answers always grated at him.

“Not stepping in,” he finally answered.

She shrugged, going for nonchalant and unaffected. “You tried, briefly.”

“That’s rubbish and we both know it. Look I-” He searched for words, stepping forward towards her until she could make out the sleepy gaze lingering in his eyes and the patch of dried drool at the corner of his mouth. It was humanizing in an infuriatingly cute way and Hermione had to look away.

“It would appear I’m always finding myself either holding on too tight and trying to control everything or not doing enough and failing to help as I should. And I don’t know how to find the balance between the two.” His eyes, which had been trained on the floor as he spoke, slid up to look at her. “And I’m really making a mess of trying to be there for you properly.”

Deathly serious as he spoke, voice hurried and full of too many emotions. His gaze was set on her, expression uncomfortable and…and something else was there. Something heavier. It was a look she didn’t often see from him, so she almost didn’t recognize it for what it was.

Shame.

“I swear I’ll do better.” He nodded as he spoke, resolute and determined. “I’ll figure it out. And you’re fully entitled to yell at me when I’m being an arse, because apparently I will always succeed at that.”

He reached for her hand, which at some point had moved down to rest on the countertop. Stopping short, he looked at it. Those fingers were out and wide, almost as if he were reaching for her but stuck down to the surface instead. She thought she could see the slightest of shaking in his fingers, even as they rested on the countertop, but she couldn’t be sure.

“But I really will do better. I swear it.” With his promise, he looked at her again. And the raw emotion in those silver eyes…

Hermione had always considered him a hollow man. Empty. Occlusion walls standing strong to prevent anything from getting in.

But now she realized he was overflowing, so full of emotions that the tiniest of stressors could send all the contents spilling out, leaving the man rushing to put himself back together. He used occlusion with such regularity because he felt too much, too strongly. And no one had ever taught him how to deal with any of it.

It wasn’t an excuse, but it did help her understand him.

“Okay,” she whispered, turning her hand over.

“Okay,” he said, nodding, closing the distance and actually taking her hand in his own. “And I’ll get better at this. Seems I’m always saying either thank you or I’m sorry.”

Truly it was getting a bit ridiculous.

“Maybe we should come up with a new system,” she suggested, having mercy on the man. “Wine with every apology. Maybe some sort of candy could be involved.”

“Maybe.” The pained smile was there. Small but it was there. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“Been hurting a little.” She pointed to her chest with her other hand, added, “Like my heart hurts, if that makes any sense.”

Draco nodded, as if he truly did understand. His thumb traced over the sensitive skin of her hand, sending chills up her spine, and his eyes slowly swept up where they touched until they landed on her face. Sweet, soulful eyes, absorbing her every movement.

It was hard to breathe when he touched her, even as gently as this, when he looked at her so deeply like this. And she didn’t know what it meant, didn’t know how he had suddenly taken his hand in hers and held it so sweetly and looked to her as if she were the answer to some question he had never asked.

All she knew was she didn’t want him to let go.

“Please stay with me,” she whispered, not meaning to.

“I’m here,” he promised. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t earlier.”

“That one bottle of wine now or two?” she asked, going for levity, but not really able to bring herself any relief. He gave her hand a small squeeze, which she quickly returned.

And she didn’t feel light. She didn’t feel airy or weightless. But she did feel comfort. Reassurance. She truly believed him. And maybe in the harsh light of day she would come to find herself a fool. Maybe she was taking a chance befriending Draco Malfoy and trusting him… well, all of the Snakes really. Giving too much power to hurt her when she should be running, screaming, in the opposite direction.

Maybe.

But Oliver’s words from not so long ago were suddenly there, echoing in her mind.

All we have to give each other is chances.

A chance to hurt us or help us. A chance at forgiveness or betrayal, happiness or grief.

It always just comes down to where exactly you’re willing to place your chances.

And Hermione knew that here, in this moment, she would offer one more.

“Draco?” she whispered, voice small as she allowed herself to admit, “I’m glad you’re here now.”

Chapter Text

****Draco’s POV****

Sanctimonia Vincet Semper

Draco looked at the ring resting between his fingers. The same one passed down from his father and his father’s father. Entire Malfoy line, really, since they could use magic with each passing generation to maintain the shine and prevent wear and tear. Same metal with the same etchings, same motto proudly displayed.

Purity Will Always Conquer

Funny, really, how he had used to treasure those words. Vowed to always honor them. Whispered them to himself when he sought comfort, as if they were a blessing. As if they didn’t illustrate cruelty and ignorance, gifted from parent to child and taught as if an indisputable truth.

But it had never been purity passed throughout their precious bloodlines.

Bigotry. Biases. Prejudice held so tightly to one’s chest that it passed along the generations, as if the hatred itself was intertwined so deeply in one’s body, their soul, their core.

Opening his satchel, he pulled the small black box from the inner pocket.

The same one that had been hidden beneath its obnoxious red wrappings, adorned with a shiny golden bow. The same one he had opened with careful fingers, slowly, preciously. Because it had come from her, and he wouldn’t dare mess it up. And as the celebrations for the new year had rung out around him, all he could do was stare at the object he had just opened. Golden in color, the front a bare piece of flattened metal, it had rested in this very box as he had finally looked to her that night.

Even now as he gently plucked the ring from its shell, he could picture her blush under the starlight on the balcony, hear her explanation about the little shop run by a gentle and quiet man who specialized in custom signet rings, feel her fingertips brush his own as she gifted him the shopkeeper’s card.

Placing the family ring in the box, he closed it without hesitation, shoving it back into the confines of his bag to deal with later. Or perhaps he’d let Poppy destroy it; she would take great pleasure in the act.

Shiny, unblemished, precious ring now in his hands, he looked at the bare surface. A clean slate, she had called it. A way to honor where he had come from while reflecting the change he had undergone. And when he had hesitated at that, she had insisted.

You’ve become a good man. And this should reflect that.

And if that hadn’t been everything. As if the words falling so effortlessly from her lips hadn’t held such weight. Though, he really shouldn’t have been surprised. Hermione Granger had always been excellent at wordplay, and even the treacherous emotional ones couldn’t dare slow her down.

He envied that about her. How he wanted to be brave enough to stop occluding. To feel everything deeply. To say what he felt, when he felt it, no matter how messy the feelings may be.

But it was unendingly difficult to try and navigate such things.

His mother had always told him he held on too tight. Critiques were too often given from his critical eye. But he had worried over everything, afraid that if he let up from his strangling grip that he would lose someone he cared for. As if he could control it. As if despite his best efforts, he hadn’t lost his mother anyway. Daft, really.

But what was the other option? The only way he had ever found himself able to stop the incessant worrying was to not think about it at all. To distance himself. Throw up every occlusion wall he could manage to form. Distract himself until it inevitably went away. And it had worked. Not quite swimmingly, but sufficiently enough. It may have kept some of the more positive emotions and such at bay, but it had allowed him to survive the darkness. And if that hadn’t been worth it.

But as he slid the cool metal along his finger, he wondered if perhaps he was done simply surviving. If he wanted more. If he wanted to live instead.

And if he maybe possibly somehow actually deserved better.

But before he could get too caught up in that treacherous line of thought, there was movement. A figure suddenly sat upon his desk, paperwork pulled from the surface of it, a steaming cuppa dropped in its place.

“They were out of your usual. I got you Oolong.”

But Draco was still trying to adjust to Harry’s sudden presence, trying to identify the moment the man had entered the room and understand why he had completely missed it. And had he said Oolong?

“Thank you,” he managed, to which Harry eyed him suspiciously.

“What lodged in my foot Christmas two years back?”

The sudden shift in conversation left Draco’s mind whirling. “What?”

“Answer it, if you remember.”

And of course he remembered. Harry had only told him the story a few weeks back as they sat along some hidden beach shore under the stars, waiting for them both to calm after a particularly gruesome hex removal. And while Draco was about to make a snide remark about the entire thing, seeing Harry’s hand sliding towards his wand, he thought otherwise.

“Trick question. You broke your foot.” And though Draco hadn’t yet elaborated further, it seemed enough for Harry, who immediately nodded and removed his hand from his side. “What are you playing at?”

“I’m checking,” he corrected.

“For?”

“Polyjuice,” Harry explained, crossing his legs and turning back to the paperwork. “You hate Oolong.”

Fucking Harry and his fucking paranoia

“I do not.”

“You hate the one they brew here.”

“Well, yes, as should everyone. It’s dreadful.” But Draco took a sip nonetheless, attempting to hide his shiver afterwards. Grabbing for his wand, he cast a few charms to attempt and mask its trademark bite.

It helped only slightly.

“Hence the checking,” Harry replied, flipping the pages. “Merlin, you really did finish up everything for the entire Marywell case then?”

“As I said I would.”

“Yes but that was only four days ago. Merlin, Draco. Would you slow down?” He threw the paperwork back on Draco’s desk next to the tea, stood, and headed towards his own across the room. “If the rest of the department has to meet your speed, there’ll be a riot.”

“Not my fault you lot can’t keep up.”

Harry glared daggers from across the top of his own mug before he took a drink. Sighing dramatically, he set it back down, and leaned back with a large grin upon his face. “Nothing like Darjeeling in the morn’.” And if he didn’t look properly smug as he drank Draco’s favorite, the one he knew Harry only ever tolerated when they were out of English Breakfast.

“I despise you,” Draco seethed, picking up his mug of bloody bitter Oolong.

“Haven’t you always?” Harry smirked. “Now tell me, do I need to be concerned about your new, shiny distraction?” Looking to Harry, about to question him further, the man beat him to it with an answering nod towards his hand. “Honestly, you were distracted enough you didn’t hear me come in. What is that thing?”

Draco wanted to insist it was nothing, but Harry Potter was an unrelenting force of nature, and if he wanted to know, he would continue until he found out. So instead, he offered up, “a gift.”

“It’s…nice,” Harry managed to supply, even as he appeared to search for better words within his mind. “Must be honest, Draco, I expected something a bit more ornate from you. Who’s it from?”

“A friend,” he offered, and nothing more. “Tell me, you do know what those are, yes?”

But Harry didn’t bite. Interest apparently peaked, he smiled. “Now I really want to know. Tell me, what secrets are worth hiding at this hour?”

“I fear revealing all my secrets comes at a price not even you can pay.”

Harry stuck out his tongue, the petulant child.

“But what of-”

A knock on the door was left unanswered as it opened itself, Theo waltzing in as if it were his name on the office door nameplate instead.

“Morning gents,” he smiled, heading straight for Harry’s desk and plopping atop it.

Though he made a face, Harry’s eyes shined with amusement. “You’re here early.”

“Yes, well, it’s inventory day,” Theo huffed. Which not only explained his early arrival but his lingering in their office. Of course he’d try and put off that hell.

“Hey,” Harry gasped, slapping Theo on the arm. Who was too busy sneering in disgust at the stolen tea in his hands.

“What is- Is this Darjeeling?” he asked Harry.

“Unfortunately,” Draco sighed, mourning for the cuppa that should have been his, the one everyone else so harshly criticized.

Theo returned the mug to its original spot on Harry’s desk and asked, “What are we up to today?”

“Actual work. Heard of it?” Draco inquired.

Theo, looking disinterested as ever, studied his nails. “Faintly. Sounds dreadfully boring.”

“Don’t mind him. He’s grumpy,” Harry informed him, gesturing to Draco.

Hey.

“As if that’s unusual,” Theo sighed.

“Wankers, the both of you,” Draco sneered, picking up his mug and forcing another drink. He had just decided he was starting to get used to the taste when a devious smile spread upon Harry’s face. The one that appeared during his spontaneous, bull-headed moments, the one that never ever ended well for Draco.

“Say, Theo, you wouldn’t happen to know much about that ring on Draco’s finger?”

“Sure. It’s-” Stopping, Theo studied Harry. “Why do you ask?”

“Been absorbed in it all morning.”

Immediately, Theo’s disinterest became anything but. Standing, he walked across the room and plopped down on Draco’s desktop instead, grabbing for his hand.

“This one?” he asked, holding his arm up at an awkward angle, ring on his finger on display for the room. Harry nodded, even as Draco ripped his arm away from Theo. “Was a gift.”

“Funny, I don’t remember turning myself invisible this morning,” Draco spat, frustrated with the complete lack of response he was getting.

“I gathered. From who? Git won’t tell me,” Harry mumbled, both of them completely unaffected.

“That, my dear chosen friend, was from Hermione.”

Harry’s eyes flashed with something… Something Draco couldn’t read. “Really?”

“Christmas present,” Theo went on, not yet noticing Draco’s gaze nonverbally begging him to shut up. Or not caring. “Going to schedule an appointment soon, Drake?”

“Set for next week,” Draco confirmed, shifting so he could drive his elbow into Theo’s side without notice. And as obvious as the movement should have been to the man, he persisted.

Definitely not caring then.

Wanker.

“Good! About time. I’m so curious about the designing process,” Theo smiled, gushing in that way he usually only reserved for those he wanted information from.

Or whom he was toying with.

“As am I,” Draco replied hesitantly.

“Spectacular present, honestly. The witch is the best gifter amongst us. And yet all she got in return was some cloak,” Theo mocked, taking a sip of Draco’s tea and grimacing. “I don’t care if it is a weather adjusting one, doesn’t compare in my book.”

But Theo didn’t understand. He didn’t see how perfect it was for her.

“One of those new ones with the runes woven in?” Harry asked. Draco nodded, to which Harry appeared utterly shocked. “Those are top of the line,” Harry mused, thinking. “With the Bulgarian cloth lining as well then?”

Draco felt sheepish. Stuck somewhere between embarrassed and self-conscious, he didn’t know that he wanted to distribute the details of his gift. But pride won out.

“Well I wasn’t going to purchase the cotton blend.”

Harry smiled, shook his head as he thought. “Did she light up when she opened it?”

The memory of the sweet smile on her face, the little hop she did as she pulled the fabric from the box and immediately jumped up to try it on, brought a smile to his own.

“She did.”

“Good,” Harry sighed. “She deserves luxuries like that. And Merlin knows she’d never buy something so unnecessary and frivolous for herself.”

Harry’s words were spot-on, so perfectly capturing everything Draco knew Hermione would say, everything she had eluded to before.

Draco nodded in agreement. “Even if she needs it.”

“Yes!” Harry gasped, laughing slightly. “Ever seen her come in after a storm?” Though Draco nodded, smirking at the memory, Theo looked perplexed. Explaining further, Harry elaborated, “She absolutely hates wearing raincoats when it’s hot and stuffy. Says it makes her skin feel all sticky.”

“So she leaves it at home by choice?” Theo asked.

“Or forgets about it,” Draco laughed. “She’s either soaked through with rainwater or needing to defrost after a heavy snowfall.”

He could picture so easily, as if it were happening in front of his eyes, all the mornings they had met up and she required time to cast enough charms to fix what the weather had properly mucked up. The red tint to her fingers when she had just come in from the cold, when she wouldn’t stop shaking for several minutes, even after warming charms.

“Maybe it was a good gift after all then, mate.” Theo was ecstatic with the conversation unfolding before him, lit up as a First Year visiting Honeyduke’s for the first time. “Shouldn’t have doubted you. You two are so close and everything.”

And though Harry had been laughing moments before, he now looked to Draco with too much curiosity. It made Draco uncomfortable. After all, the man was good at his job, and having that critical eye turned on him was threatening.

“Seriously Theo, was there something you needed?” Draco asked, doing everything in his power to retain his calm demeanor, even as his entire body was flooded with adrenaline. “We have a scheduled site call this afternoon.”

“Headed to our usual tonight,” Theo informed him. “Maybe around eight.”

It wasn’t a question, but Draco still replied, “Should be finished by then. I’ll meet you there.”

Theo turned his attention to Harry. “Potter?”

“Can’t I’m afraid,” Harry sighed, actually sounding let down. “Gin and I have a dinner to go to.”

“Must you always turn me down?” Theo whined.

“I don’t. Always,” Harry said pointedly.

Hands held up, Theo backed up in surrender. “I swore I wouldn’t knock myself out just to get you to visit. Isn’t that enough?”

Draco had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the memory of them negotiating Harry’s placement as Theo’s listed auror for Department Head protocol.

“It’s the least you could do,” Harry bit out, though there wasn’t venom to his voice. No, he adored Theo, the two long ago getting on.

“And,” Theo emphasized, “I haven’t even complained about you skipping out on the Quidditch game with us tomorrow.”

“I told you already, Gin and I have-” Harry stopped, visibly stumbling. “Wait, we got you those tickets. Don’t complain.”

“I just want you to spend time with me, is that so much to ask?”

And though Draco knew he should step in, the bickering between the two was always too entertaining to threaten. So he let them continue, pointed fingers and roasting remarks, because if the heat was on each other it at least wasn’t directed towards him.

Eventually they settled, Theo admitting he was being childish and rude, painful as it appeared to be for him to admit such. And Harry apologized for his jabs that eventually became a touch too harsh, promising to get together as soon as they returned from their trip. And that was enough for Theo, who was propped up on Draco’s desk once more, stealing his tea and making a pained face once again, because apparently he hadn’t learned the first time.

But even now Harry was still looking at Draco so intently, and that would never do. Questions and comments would tumble from his mouth, quicker than Draco could dodge. Not that he’d properly be able to anyway. It wasn’t as if the cold, hard truth hadn’t been staring him in the face for months now, even as hard as he tried to shove it away. And this was certainly not the time to address them, and Harry was certainly not the person he wanted to do so with.

So he did the only thing he knew would fully capture the man’s attention.

“Did you receive the parchment for today’s call? The suspected curse and site set-up?” And staff. But Harry didn’t need that reminder. No, his brain was already redirecting itself at the reminder of danger. And better yet, danger that would direct itself at the department staff on-site, should they fuck up.

With a nod, Harry retrieved something from inside his desk and settled in, and Theo said his goodbyes before heading out and leaving them to it. The prior conversation was long forgotten, and Draco hoped whatever chaos today brought would sufficiently hinder Harry’s memory of it all. And if it didn’t, he’d find a way to re-route any and everything until they stayed in safe waters and safe waters only.

And he could do this. He could fight off Theo’s constant badgering and comments about Draco’s feelings. And he could keep up his own occlusion walls and shove out any and all frightening inquisitions his own mind may try to produce. And he could distract Harry from ever having any wonderings of his own. And there was no reason for anything to change and no one would know anything and everything was fine. Perfectly fine. He was in control.

“Let’s get started.”

–

“I see the date went...well,” Hermione smirked, so bloody proud of herself, as Theo adjusted the scarf around his neck until it covered the hickey.

“Shove it,” he said as he sat next to her, though he was smiling, and his tone was playful. She nudged him and he had the decency to flush.

“When is the big move then?”

He started to answer, but right then a goal was scored, and he waited until the noise of the crowd died down sufficiently enough to say, “Two weeks.”

“And did you-”

“I did,” he replied, not needing her to say more.

“And he-”

“Mhmm,” Theo confirmed, smiling as he turned various shades of red. And though Hermione rang out with glee, neither elaborated further.

Theo seemed reluctant to share, and considering this was Theo, that likely meant it was serious. And Hermione would never tell something he didn’t want revealed. Because of course she wouldn’t. Because she was too good to do something like that, even to Theo.

Draco’s eyes flitted to her as she laughed at something Theo said, extending her basket of chips out to him. He took one and said something else to her, winking at her, and she cackled. It was the laugh she always used when she was caught off guard by something funny. Her head would throw back, mouth wide, not even trying to cover it or quiet herself. It was his favorite laugh of hers, seeing her so unleashed.

She shifted away from Theo, holding her basket of chips away from him as he eagerly tried to snatch more, and the movement caused her to push closer up against Draco’s side. He flushed at the contact, turning his head towards her ever so slightly so he could breathe in that intoxicating floral scent she always radiated. He still couldn’t identify any specific notes, but he knew he could recognize it anywhere.

I’m...sniffing her?

His flush increased, and he quickly turned back towards the front.

Focus on the Quidditch game.

But then Theo did something that made Hermione laugh again, and this time, Draco felt a surge of jealousy.

It was so easy for them. Theo had quickly befriended Hermione, close enough they apparently had their own nonverbal language now. It baffled Draco how easy it was for Theo. They could sit together and share food and playful touches and laugh…

It was something Draco prided himself on, whenever he was able to make her truly laugh. He would try and try, and when he was finally successful, he’d hold onto that moment. Replay it.

Theo did something that caused Hermione to jolt away from him and towards Draco. She steadied herself by placing her hand on Draco’s thigh, sending warmth shooting through him at the touch.

“Oh, um…” Hermione turned towards him. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were wide and glistening from too much laughter. “Sorry, Draco.”

The movement caused her hair to whip around her and the scent of her to waft over him. He wanted to pull her closer, bury his nose against her neck to breathe her in and wipe the tear slipping from her eye and…

Stop.

Stop that thought, wherever it was going.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled, blushing, trying to grab ahold of himself. He forced himself to try and note the slight chill in the air and the announcer’s voice and the smell of fried foods that wafted around the stadium.

But he couldn’t get his mind to think of anything except her hand, which was still on his leg. It was warm, the touch gentle.

She finally lifted it up and brought it back into herself, using it to pick up a chip from her basket. Draco immediately missed her touch. It was rare they were this close, usually it was found through an awkward hug or held hand exchanged in the heat of an intense moment, making the loss of this more casual touch even sharper.

Taking several large gulps of his butterbeer, he turned away from her, but Pansy was there, of course, looking at him with raised eyebrows as she not so casually ate a chip of her own.

“You alright there, Pans?” he asked.

“Mhm. Just watching the game,” she said, innocently.

“Who are you for again?” Blaise asked.

“Blimey, Pans,” Theo complained, making a face at her. “We only come to a game or two a year. You could have at least dressed the part.” He gestured to the gaudy jersey covering his torso.

But Draco worried she wasn’t speaking of Quidditch.

–

The game was brutal. Weather shifting half way through the game, the temperature had dropped far lower than expected today, even considering the time of year. The wind gave the chill a biting edge to it that not even warming charms could seem to keep at bay. And after a sudden and very intense snowfall, which came upon them so quickly there wasn’t time to head for shelter but rather everyone was forced to throw up whatever shields they could manage, fans for both sides cheered upon someone mercifully catching the snitch.

Hermione shivered from where she stood next to Draco.

“Here.” Without thinking if he should, Draco removed his scarf from his neck and held it out for Hermione.

“Keep it,” she said quickly, shaking her head insistently. But he remained unmoving.

“I’m not even cold,” he lied, pushing it towards her again. “Honestly, take it.”

She gave him a humble smile and took it from him, quickly wrapping it around her own neck. It was an old emerald and cream scarf from years ago, but he found he couldn’t part with it, even as it began to fray. It was soft and deliciously warm, and it embarrassingly made Draco feel safe.

Though he found he liked the look of his scarf draped on her far more.

Turning to hide his blush, he stood straighter and worked to neutralize whatever facial expression might be hovering there. Thankfully, Theo was distracted talking to Daphne, and he didn’t even seem to notice the scarf when he finally turned back to say something to Hermione.

Unfortunately, Pansy and Astoria were decidedly not distracted, and he found both their eyes already trained on him. Upon meeting his gaze, Astoria smiled and turned away, but Pansy continued to stare. Head tilting to the side ever so slightly, eyebrows lifting, that smug look stayed on her face. He bit the inside of his cheek as he looked away.

As a young child, Draco’s parents hadn’t let him indulge in sugar often. They never kept it around the house, aside from a single box of sweets his mother ensured was always stocked with an assortment of confections, just in case anyone should unexpectedly stop by. And whenever she caught him, hand trapped in the box, lid suddenly feeling too heavy and sweets no longer appealing, he always felt so small.

Similar to how he felt now.

“No luck, mate?” Theo suddenly asked. Blaise had sauntered back over to where the group waited as he spoke to the ticket office, thumbs tucked in his pockets, looking utterly defeated.

“Sold out. Actually sold out. As in not any amount of money can produce them,” he replied, looking at the ground.

“I’m so sorry, Blaise,” Daphne cooed, a hand placed on his arm. He leaned into the touch immediately, seeking the comfort Daphne always provided him.

“I just know he would have loved it,” Blaise sighed. “And now…”

“Hey, we’ll find the perfect birthday gift,” Daphne assured him. She leaned forward until she caught his gaze. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he finally answered, nodding, never taking his eyes off Daphne.

Draco watched Hermione turn away from them with eyebrows raised and lips pressed tightly together as she tried to hide a smile. It was sweet how much she adored their relationship, the pure joy she seemed to obtain from even being in its vicinity. Precious, even.

“My-nee!” a deep voice called out. And though Draco didn’t understand the choppy utterance, Hermione must have.

“Vik?” she questioned, smiling before she even turned around. Eyes scanning furiously, she searched for the man. Then she let out a tiny, happy squeal of a noise, and she was jogging straight towards none other than the Viktor Krum, clad in his Qudditch kit. Arms already open wide, he caught her effortlessly, wrapping her tight in his embrace and spinning her in circles before finally placing her back on the ground.

Jealousy shot through Draco at the sight. He had never wanted to be the large, overly muscled jock before. No, he had a traditional seeker’s build, through and through. Naturally, whether he wanted to be or not, he had a very lean build, which was always fine with him. After all, it had allowed him to be agile on the Quidditch field, and he had never really been self-conscious about it. Possibly because he had more important things to worry himself with.

But regardless, he now couldn’t help but feel inadequate as he watched Hermione interact with Krum. While he was a seeker as well, Krum definitely didn’t have a traditional seeker build. No, the man was the sort of fit that came with an abundance of muscles, giving him a very large, very toned build.

And Draco felt very, very small.

As if the universe were taunting him, Krum said something then that had Hermione cackling. The one everyone but Draco seemed to be able to pull from her today.

Krum turned then and called out to someone else. Another man. Wearing the same team Quidditch kit, just as upsettingly well built. He wandered easily over to Hermione, pulling her into a fierce hug. They were clearly very familiar, just as she and Krum were, and his hand hovered on her lower back.

“I’m sure they’re all just friends,” Theo whispered to him, blessedly quiet enough he didn’t think anyone else had heard.

Hermione didn’t shrug him away. Instead, she almost seemed to lean into it further, entirely comfortable and at ease between the two of them. Friendly. Overly so as they talked and caught up, Krum’s hand casually touched her arm, her shoulder, even her hand in one instance.

“Or maybe not…” Theo grimaced beside him before finally leaving him be, alone with his thoughts.

Draco wondered how she would react if he did those things. If she would be comfortable if it were his hand resting on her lower back, holding her close to his side. But the thought had him blushing like he did as a young and inexperienced teen, high on adrenaline and hormones.

Bloody hell.

Hermione turned then, pointing towards the group, Krum and the other fellow turning to look as well.

“Blaise!” Hermione called, gesturing for him to join them.

Though initially seeming shocked, at her continued insistence, he joined the group. Hermione appeared to be making introductions as Blaise went round shaking hands.

“Careful dear, you’re looking positively green with envy.” Draco forced himself to tear his gaze away from Hermione and towards Astoria, who had at some point sidled up beside him. She had whispered, even though a glance around told him they were alone.

“What’s there to be jealous of? And where’s everyone else?” he asked quickly. But it was the wrong thing to say because Astoria immediately became excited.

“Conspiring in the merchandise shop. They announced it to the group, must have been too wrapped up in something else to notice,” she said, looking pointedly from him to Hermione and back again.

“We’re just friends,” he insisted.

“So you claim.”

“Story-”

“Draco, I know you,” she interrupted. “I mean, we all know you, but I know you.”

He looked away. She was right, of course. She did know him best out of anyone there. They had been married, lived together for years, even tried to start a family together once. Of course she would distinctly know him.

“Can I ask you something?” Her face was suddenly much more serious, making him even more anxious. The woman was naturally blunt enough, so anything that required permission couldn’t be good.

“Alright.”

“Are you afraid of how you feel about her, Drake?”

Was he?

Fear was not a topic he liked to dive into very often. He had never been particularly good at distinguishing his emotions from one another. After all, for so long he experienced so many negative emotions all mixing with each other, and he had never been able to fully separate them back out.

And what if he used his occlusion walls, possibly even with enough frequency and intensity that Hermione could sometimes seem to see them? So what if he was needing them more and more often when he was alone and his own thoughts threatened to swallow him whole? What if he was nervous every time she was near or mentioned or even simply thought of, because it always came with swirling, overwhelming feelings?

Did it matter?

Astoria was patient, watching his face as he thought. It made him feel vulnerable, and he tried to school his facial expression into neutral nonchalance, even though she had always been able to see through him.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, meekly.

Even though he did.

And he had lied to Theo every time he had swore it all meant nothing. Whenever they were apart, it made it so much simpler to deny everything. When the absence of her presence meant he could focus and think and breathe like any typical human could. Merlin, he could even sometimes convince himself there was nothing there, no feelings, no desires.

But if he were finally being truthful, he would admit he was lying to himself, as he had been for a long time.

Because Draco knew her.

He knew how she took her morning cuppa and all the signs that she needed to eat something. Knew she loved Sundays and sunrises and New Years Eve and anything that offered a fresh start or new beginning. When she was reading something- fully and entirely reading it- she’d become so pulled in she’d make faces at the pages, gasp and cry with the stories, eyes furiously stumbling over words quicker than she could actually read them because she had to know what was next. He knew she hated being gifted fresh flowers because it forced her to watch them wither, but her eyes would light up when she’d stumble upon wildflowers, especially the purples and blues that were so much harder to find. He could detail every amber colored fleck in those sweet honey eyes, tell you exactly where the dimple appeared besides her lips when she smiled, outline every almost-laugh-line beginning to etch itself into her skin.

And that, whatever it was, was something more than a friendly feeling.

As quick as he thought it, he started building his walls back up. It was so easy to settle back into old patterns. His occlumency walls went up effortlessly and easily, and though no one would invade his mind here, it still felt a little safer to box up all those emotions. Keep them at bay for himself.

“Maybe I am,” he admitted, more easily now that everything had been dulled down.

Astoria sighed. Sharp, bony fingers gripped his chin, tugging his face closer so she was looking at him as she used to during all their many, many conversations regarding his occlusions. The ones that almost always led to heated discussions and arguments and usually Draco sleeping in the guest room.

“You’ve got to let yourself feel it.” Those big eyes of hers stayed trained on him as she gave him a small, maybe even pitying, smile. “Feel it, Drake.”

But could he?

“I’m afraid to,” he whispered.

“I know.” Her hand gave him a gentle caress of the cheek before finally dropping. “But you’re a good man, Draco Malfoy. And you deserve to be happy, too. Let yourself be.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but Astoria quickly spoke over him.

“And what was that regarding?” she asked, too loudly. It drew Draco’s attention back to the space around them, which was soon enough filled by Hermione and Blaise.

“Just this beautiful, wonderful, brilliant goddess of a woman,” Blaise gushed dramatically, leaning over and giving Hermione a loud kiss on the top of her head. She rolled her eyes and elbowed him, but the blush across her cheeks and smile across her lips suggested she wasn’t actually mad.

Pansy and Daphne came back to the circle then, Theo trailing behind with two large bags in his hands.

“Yeah, what was that, Granger?” Pansy asked, smiling. “First Wood and now you’re buddy-buddy with these blokes as well… Gone and shagged all the Quidditch players, have you?”

Hermione’s mouth dropped as she gasped. “Pansy!”

“Bloody hell, Pans,” Theo laughed from behind her. The way Hermione blushed had Draco wondering if she actually had shagged Krum.

“Why is she brilliant, Blaise?” Astoria asked, redirecting before everything escalated. Pansy gave her a quick glare, but Astoria just ignored her.

“Because, I now have the perfect birthday present: an individual flying lesson with Viktor Krum and Alexi Montague. Bellamy will be positively gobsmacked,” Blaise bragged, grinning brighter than Draco had seen in far too long.

“No way!” Daphne was beaming just as bright. “Hermione you angel!”

“I did little to nothing,” Hermione said quickly.

So fucking humble. So purely good.

Draco’s chest clenched at the thought. It came so naturally to her. Likely because it was just a part of her. She was good. Plain and simple.

“Little to nothing?” Blaise gasped incredulously.

Hermione laughed. “All I did was introduce three of my friends to each other.”

Hearing Hermione refer to one of Draco’s oldest friends as her own was never something he imagined he would witness, but here it was. He felt his entire body warm at the sentiment.

Blaise smiled at her, suddenly much more serious. “Thank you, Hermione. I mean it.”

She smiled back. “You’re welcome.”

Theo cleared his throat. “Though we cannot compete, we- and by we I mean Daphne with Pansy and I only offering minimal assistance- also put together a present.”

Though Daphne was beet red as Theo offloaded the bags into Blaise’s arms, the man’s eyes lit up. Mouth agape, he looked at her, and then the others, in awe.

“For Bellamy?” he asked. Daphne nodded.

“It’s no meet and greet,” Pansy sighed, “But hopefully he’ll like it nonetheless. And let it be known, the jersey was my idea.”

“As if it was that novel of one,” Theo muttered. But Blaise was already thanking her profusely, swearing the boy would likely put it on and refuse to ever take it off. And then he was hugging them all, making Pansy squirm, and spending extra time on Daphne.

“Now, can we get out of here? I’m freezing my tits off,” Pansy whined, making a show of shivering, thoroughly uncomfortable by the affection.

“Yes, please,” Astoria agreed as she reached for Pansy, who happily obliged by taking her wife’s hand.

“I bet I know a way we could...warm up,” Pansy said to Astoria, throwing discretion to the wind. Astoria giggled, playfully hitting Pansy on the shoulder but leaning over to whisper in her ear as they led them towards the apparition point.

Draco had initially been unsure of how to handle being in such close proximity to his ex-wife. And her current wife. But truth be told, it was never as awkward as he thought it would be. Maybe some initial tense or uncomfortable situations, but it eased quickly and easily enough. After all, he had been friends with both of them for years, long before Astoria had married him. And though he loved her, that love had never really grown into anything deeper. From what she had told him, she felt the same.

Looking back, Astoria had never really been happy. When they were children, her parents were strict and cruel. She and Daphne had spent as much time as they could with Pansy, even though her parents were not particularly kind either.

When the war came, Astoria teetered on the edge of sanity. Hours upon hours were spent fretting over who her parents would wed her to, how she would be used for political power, what her future would hold.

With the ancestral curse not yet managed, a large portion of her time was spent inside resting. She exhausted easily and was frequently ill, overall miserable. And by the time it was managed, she was already married to Draco. A marriage of convenience that neither of them actually truly wanted.

Somehow amongst all of it, Astoria never let her warmth fade. She was the kind soul who seemed to radiate light and warm energy when you spoke to her. The first to hug you, the last to let go. Someone who fought for her loved ones with everything in her, just as passionately as she fought for herself.

And now she was so blissfully happy with Pansy. If anyone in this world deserved happiness, it was Astoria. For however long she could keep it.

“I need a drink if we’re going to be listening to you two go on all day,” Daphne called from behind Draco. Though Pansy glared, she agreed, leading them down the street and surely towards the nearby pub where a warm butterbeer called to her.

“So tell me, Granger…” Theo purred as he looped his arm through hers. They walked in front of Draco, their voices carrying so he could hear.

“Here we go,” she sighed, already seeming to prepare herself, likely because she knew him well enough to know last name usage was a warning sign.

“Have you slept with either of the ruggedly handsome Hungarian brutes?”

“No, I haven’t,” she replied immediately.

“See, I find that I don’t believe you,” Theo replied.

“Then why did you ask?” Hermione turned to him, amused.

“Fair enough,” he replied with a shrug. “Call it curiosity.”

“That’s between me and said brutes.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “At least tell me this: have you always had such a hard-on for Quidditch players?”

“The-o!” she cackled. Because apparently that was all Theo could do, make her laugh that way.

“I thought you didn’t even like quidditch. You certainly don’t like flying. But yet, it’s undeniably your type…”

“It is not my type,” she interrupted.

“Oh really?” he eyed her unbelievably. “Have you even dated a non-quidditch player?”

She thought this over for a few steps. “There was a muggle once. Oh and another witch whom… no, she was a quidditch player actually. But there is…” Hermione stopped talking and looked at Theo pointedly.

“Ah yes, he wasn’t I guess,” Theo said with a nod. “Seems a bit like the exception though and not the rule.”

Draco realized the two were close enough to one another that one simple look was enough for Theo to understand exactly who she was referencing from her past. Theo knew her so well…

“I’m just saying, should we be on the lookout for your next victim? Looking for something serious or just a rough shag? Is it only current players or can they have played in the past?” Theo turned after asking that question, throwing Draco a wink that Hermione thankfully, thankfully, had not seen. Draco didn’t feel like murdering Theo today.

“You’re awful,” she laughed.

“Is it the broom thighs? I bet it’s the broom thighs,” he agreed to himself, nodding. “I hear that’s a big turn on for some people.”

She shoved him, still laughing. “I hate you, you know that, right?”

“Nonsense. You love me, normal thighs and all.”

Theo was still giving her a hard time when Daphne and Blaise caught up with Draco, pulling him into their very cheerful update regarding another useless translation. Putting a further damper on his already souring mood, they blessedly finally made it to the bar. But it was overcrowded and loud, and they only stayed long enough for a single drink and to regain feeling in their extremities before Theo was headed off to see Neville and Blaise had gone to retrieve Bellamy. Bundling back up, they braved the cold once more, the group making their way to the nearby transport spot.

“Are you sure you can’t join us?” Astoria whined, lip pushed out as far as it could go, pouting.

“Sorry, darling,” Pansy sighed. She pulled her wife into her arms, kissing her forehead. It did little to change Astoria’s appearance. “I would if I could, but I need Draco’s help with the restorative potion. You know that one’s the trickiest of them all.”

“I still have two days worth,” Astoria muttered.

“Yes, well, remember what happened last time we waited until the last moment?”

Astoria only looked down in defeat. She didn’t need a reminder of the incident. None of them did.

“Do we not matter at all?” Daphne jested, elbowing her sister in the side.

“I think we should be offended,” Hermione agreed.

Astoria laughed, stepping away from her wife and rejoining them. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Have a good time for me, darling.” Pansy urged her wife, lying through her teeth. While Astoria and Daphne had long ago found a love for a certain magical restorative spa, Hermione more recently joining in, Pansy had never had a taste for it. Turning to Hermione and Daphne, smile still plastered on her face, she added, “Try to keep her out of trouble?”

Daphne looked to Hermione, who shrugged. “There’s only so much we can do.”

Then they were laughing, poking and prodding one another long after they headed towards their apparition spot. Pansy watched them go, eyes following, smile not leaving her face until they finally vanished.

“Shall we?”

Pansy looped her arm through his, leading them to the apparition site, saying nothing and waiting expectantly. When he didn’t make a move, she sighed dramatically, glaring at him, verbally saying nothing but eyes saying plenty. And eventually Draco took mercy on her, apparating them back to his place.

“Just so you’re aware,” he sighed, both of them passing his study and then the brewing room, heading upstairs to the sitting area, “I hate you sometimes.”

He didn’t know if he was kidding.

“I know,” she replied, disinterested. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Door closed, Draco cast the strongest silencing and detection charms he could manage. Pansy was still checking her reflection in the hanging mirror, hands only dropping from sprucing her hair when she finally turned to face him. Wand pulled out, she levitated over the tome between them.

“Ready?”

–

Draco knew he was in trouble.

The pub was loud and he was gathered amongst his dearest friends and he was doing everything he could to stay involved in the conversation, but every time the front doors opened or the floo activated, he looked for her.

The day after the Quidditch game, Hermione had been called away on a work trip. A two week work trip. Though she had remembered her journal, apparently the Irish Ministry had kept her busy enough she barely had time to eat and sleep let alone send any correspondence.

And Draco had stayed busy, truly he had. Most of his time was spent translating two new Fringe Magic texts he had just received, one of which was written in an ancient ancestor of French used amongst an isolated wizarding group and proved to be particularly challenging. But they were both largely unhelpful, particularly one seemingly helpful incantation that ultimately did not alleviate Astoria’s chronic pain and somehow did give her two black eyes and a migraine.

Pansy had blamed his translation, of course, and they had promptly sent off all other text translations to be reviewed- read checked- by an expert.

Three days in a row Draco was even called out to various dark magic sites, but the hexes were simple and easily broken, and not even the paperwork had taken very long. Harry had invited him over for dinner with him and Ginevra, which was better than expected, and they’d even went for lunch together twice upon multiple occasions after Ministry meetings.

But ultimately, Draco was restless.

And now, she was running late, which was really on par for her, but Draco wasn’t used to feeling her absence this way. As if it were there, tangible, close enough to weigh heavily upon him. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had started to feel this way, making it all the more uncomfortable. And his pride could be damned because now every time the fucking bell rang, his traitorous eyes immediately looked, searching.

And just when he had given up hope that she was ever coming at all, there she was. Hair a mess of curls piled haphazardly atop her head, lips rosy and slightly swollen, likely from her nibbling on them as was her bad habit, cheeks pinkened from the harsh chill of the winter air. Smiling bright as she joined the booth, she removed her scarf haphazardly- the scarf he had leant her and hadn’t the heart to ask for back- and began filling them in on every reason she was held up.

Sitting next to Blaise in the open spot, Draco hated how much he wished it had been him who had sat there, him who she had sidled up against. He wanted to feel the warmth of her next to him, and maybe he’d joke about how good she looked in his Slytherin colored scarf. Then he could ask about her day and poke and prod until she was glaring and a quarter to angry and then joke with her until she laughed that sweet beautiful light laugh that always left her breathless.

All these desires were swirling, uncontrollably and loudly, too present to be shoved away or ignored any longer. Because seeing her was like taking a deep breath, like breathing again, when he hadn’t even known he’d been out of air.

And everything was extraordinarily not fine because at some point amidst the hours of research and theorizing, the countless meals shared over his brewing stations and visits to the diner for pancakes, between sharing stories of their childhoods and comforting one another over shared tragedies, he had to come to care for her.

He may be piss poor at showing it, but he was coming to understand the depths of his affections for her, and all the occlusion walls in the world couldn’t hold that back.

Then she was rising, heading somewhere, and Draco was visually following her path, afraid she was leaving and he had missed his chance to say anything. But she was headed to the loo, and Draco tried to relax as he mentally ran through conversation starters when the silence around him became too loud.

“What is wrong with you?” Pansy barked.

Draco looked to Theo, sitting on his left, expecting the question to have been meant for him. But Theo was watching him, as was everyone, and it was clear the question had been directed at Draco. Not Theo. And everyone watched him expectantly as if he had done something, as if he had something to confess.

“What?” Draco asked, willing his body to cool off. The attention was very, very unwelcome. “I’m fine.”

“Insufferable is what you are,” she replied, sipping on her cocktail.

He rolled his eyes. “Delightful as ever, Pans.”

“Draco, please,” she scoffed. “I’m trying to help you, you wanker.”

“And if you have a point, could you arrive at it? Perhaps with fewer insults?”

“My point is we have eyeballs. And you can’t take yours off the poor girl.”

“Pansy,” Astoria chided.

“Oh come on, Story. You know I’m right,” she said quickly. “It’s a miracle Hermione hasn’t noticed herself yet. I mean, you aren’t even being discrete anymore.”

“What do you mean anymore?” he asked. Both Pansy and Astoria looked at him, as if he had grown additional heads.

“Oh, honey,” Astoria sighed. Theo sputtered, trying to hold back his laughter and failing terribly, earning a sharp and swift kick to the shin.

“Oh I’m sorry,” Theo mocked, loudly, “were we still pretending you don’t care for her? Carry on then.”

“Theo,” Draco warned, a hex on the tip of his tongue that would knot Theo’s sufficiently enough he couldn’t speak again for the better part of an hour. “I know with the quidditch game it-”

Pansy choked on her drink, coughing eventually turning to laughter. “The quidditch game? Darling, we’ve known. We’ve been betting on the two of you for ages now.” She gestured to Astoria, who had the decency to look sheepish.

“Good to see you’ve both remained shameless,” Draco muttered.

“What’s the current bet?”

“Theo-” Draco sighed.

“How long until he makes a move,” Story smirked.

“Certainly never,” Theo sighed, shaking his head. But soon enough the smile returned. “Can I get in on it?”

“Would you lot stop it!” Draco huffed. He looked to see how Blaise and Daphne were taking the information, but they looked surprisingly…put together? As if it were old news.

“You are starring a bit, mate,” Blaise acknowledged.

“It’s not subtle,” Daphne agreed. She gestured to her own face. “And you have a bit of drool. Around here.”

“You act as if you didn’t know we all knew,” Theo smirked, taking a sip of his drink. Draco studied him, hoping to any of the gods that may listen he was joking. Setting his drink down, Theo’s face morphed into a mirror of astonishment. “You didn’t know we knew? Bloody hell,” he barked, laughing.

“Oh shove off.” Draco picked up his drink, trying for all the world to appear more put together than he felt. But he couldn’t breathe. All the air in the room, maybe all the air anywhere, had been taken away.

“It’s just you two spend so much time together,” Daphne said quickly in a poor display of trying to soothe his ego. “And in such close quarters… We just assumed, you know? It’s nothing you did in particular.”

“You know she’s just being polite, right?” Pansy whispered.

“I’m aware,” he bit out, wishing for all the world he had befriended someone else when they were children, anyone else would do. “And now that we’ve all had such fun at my disposal, can we drop it? We’re just friends.”

Astoria and Daphne groaned in unison, Theo physically waved him off, Blaise shaking his head from across the booth.

“I don’t think so,” Astoria said brightly. “I think you stand a chance, Drake.”

“You know,” Theo sang, “she was there at Narcissa’s ceremony.”

Draco scoffed. “As were all of you.”

“True,” Theo agreed, nodding.

And though he appeared innocent looking enough, Draco knew it to be a facade. He looked at the man, doing his best to visually threaten the man, suddenly remorseful he had never taken the time to master any of the spells that would let him mentally broadcast said threats.

“But Drake,” Theo said, smiling devilishly. “Wasn’t she the only one that stayed?”

“Oh bloody hell-”

“She what?” Astoria gasped at the same time Pansy started screeching. Theo was grinning and practically dancing in his seat with glee, watching the chaos unfold like a fucking puppet master.

“Nothing happened,” Draco said quickly, but it was too late to reign in the panic.

Daphne clutched at her chest. “She stayed?”

“You’ve been fucking holding out on us,” Pansy spat.

Astoria motioned to the table. “She’s coming, she’s coming,” she warned, grabbing for her drink, failing entirely to look casual.

“Next chance,” Pansy warned.

“Nothing happened,” Draco hissed as Hermione rejoined.

“Sorry,” Hermione sighed, plopping back down besides Blaise. “The line for the loo was atrocious, and I only made it back so quick because I snuck into… “ Her voice trailed off as she took in the expressions of everyone around her, “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” Astoria said at the same time Daphne asked, “What do you mean?”

Pansy didn’t even pretend, smiling instead, shrugging as she said, “Everything.”

And Theo was many things, but amongst them was a good, real friend, because he loudly set his glass on the table and announced he was ready for another round. And Blaise was agreeing, Daphne chugging her drink as nonchalantly as she could manage in the background, and Astoria launched the menu across the table at Hermione.

And somehow, it worked.

“Feeling a little peckish. Anyone want to share something?” Hermione looked the menu over, contemplating.

“I’ll share,” Pansy volunteered. “We could get the skewers. Or maybe those fried fritter things.”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking spicy…” A loose curl fell in front of Hermione’s face, and she swept it away, only for it to fall back again. “What about those little pepper things?”

“Sure,” Pansy nodded, with a flick of her wrist.

“Alright, and how many drinks?” Hermione looked to everyone, counting. Those honey eyes finally turned to him.

He managed a nod. “Please.” And Hermione was up and bounding towards the bar, leaning against it as she spoke to the barkeep.

“You hate skewers and peppers, Pans,” Blaise said.

“Yes, well it’ll keep her busy longer.” Pansy turned entirely on Draco then, zeroing in. “Spill, Malfoy. What the hell happened?”

“Nothing,” he insisted.

“If someone doesn’t tell me, I’m going to have a proper strop, right here,” Pansy warned, looking back and forth from Draco to Theo and back again.

“She stayed with him. To help,” Theo replied, earning oohs and ahhs all around.

“Theo!” Draco’s voice was sharp. “Innuendo unnecessary. She came, she comforted, she left. End of story.”

“Ooh, she came?” Pansy smirked, making Astoria snort.

“You,” he glared, debating pulling his wand.

“Okay maybe nothing happened, but she was there,” Astoria pointed out quickly, ever the peacekeeper. “You let her be there! That’s bloody huge.”

“Would the lot of you stop before she hears you? She doesn’t feel the same,” Draco insisted, words tasting awful even as he spoke them. He downed the rest of his drink, hoping he could blame the flush of his cheeks on alcohol.

Pansy gasped, shoving her bony finger in the air and pointing it right at him. “Doesn’t feel what, Drake? The same? There have to be feelings present first before they can be not reciprocated.”

“Even if there were,” he said, trying to recover from the blush that had only further reddened, which Theo quickly pointed out to everyone, earning another round of jibes. “They in fact aren’t reciprocated. Let. It. Go.”

“Wait, we don’t know that they aren’t,” Blaise said quickly. He surveyed the table. “Do we know that?” Astoria shook her head no as Theo snapped his fingers at the thought, nodding in agreement.

“I think she does get a little flustered when Draco walks in. Especially in your suit, love,” Daphne agreed.

“That grey one?” Astoria asked.

Pansy shook her head. “I bet it's the black.”

“I meant the navy actually,” Daphne replied, causing both Astoria and Pansy to nod in realization and agree with the sentiment. And Draco was simultaneously embarrassed that everyone was so openly talking about this and desperate to know more.

“Besides, we’re ignoring an important point,” Blaise said as he slid out of his seat. “She went to him. She sought you out, mate, because we all know you well enough to know you didn’t ask. She came because she wanted to.”

“Good point!” Theo said immediately.

“Yes!” Daphne agreed, nodding.

“Ridiculous, the whole lot of you. She came because someone,” he said pointedly, looking towards Astoria, “told her about it.”

“I sent one owl, exactly one, at what…” she looked to Pansy, both of them throwing numbers at each other until they settled on half past nine. “And she came immediately. Because of you, Drake.”

Pansy was nodding next to her wife, an entire plot working somewhere in her mind. “I think you’re right, darling.”

“We are just friends,” Draco insisted, even as the words burned like acid on his tongue.

“Well then, speaking of…” Blaise directed everyone to the bar where a man was talking to Hermione. “Maybe you should go help your friend carry.”

Draco scoffed as he observed the man, whose eyes kept glancing at her chest. He stood too close to her and his outfit was too wrinkled. His posture was atrocious. And his hair had likely never seen a comb. She laughed at something the man said, but Draco could see it wasn’t her genuine laugh. This one was forced with her smile too tight and shoulders too tense. It looked nothing like her easy, carefree, untamed laugh.

And Draco liked that very much.

The man didn’t seem to notice. If anything he scooted closer. His hand touched her waist, which she looked at as she took a step away. Draco was out of his seat before he had fully made the decision to rise.

“Hermione,” Draco said as he approached. He meant for his voice to sound carefree, but it came out a tad more venomous than he wanted. At her name, Hermione turned around. At first she looked angry, but upon seeing him, her expression lightened.

She smiled. “Draco.” The man behind her shrunk back.

“I thought you may need help carrying,” he explained, leaning against the bar.

“That would be wonderful,” Hermione exclaimed, a little too enthusiastically. But she took a step closer to Draco, and he was not about to complain. The man behind her took the hint and made an excuse to leave. “Thank you,” Hermione whispered once he was gone.

“Anytime.”

“Where have you been my whole life when skeevy guys hit on me?” she asked lightfully, playing.

“My services are yours, anytime you need them.”

In any way you want them.

Merlin, control yourself.

“Thanks.” She smiled. “By the way, you don’t have to wait. I can just wave them over when it’s all ready.”

“No where else I need to be,” he shrugged. “Besides, Pansy’s giving entirely too many details about her and Astoria’s sex life…”

It was a lie, but it was a topic he knew she wouldn’t push him on.

“Ah. Dodged a bullet there,” she laughed. “Please stay.”

Dodged a bullent? Or a bullock?