Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was angry. His hair was a mess and he stopped for a second to fix it. Continuing his fast pace, he came into the corridor towards the great hall.

“That damned Potter” he whispered angrily to himself. He just lost his house elf and hasn’t been this angry for a very long time. He turned into a corner and he heard the bell ring. Classes were dismissed and the hallways filled up with students. Within a second, he gained control of himself. As one of the powerful pureblood families, he couldn’t let see that he, Lucius Malfoy, got mad over losing a house elf to a 12-year-old.

Some of the students looked at him.

‘Those damn mudbloods’

Others however greeted him and he nodded back kindly. Curving his lips to a small smile. He continued his pace and took out his watch. 4.30 pm, he missed tea at home. Looking at his watch, he noticed one of his rings glowing red. He put the watch away and looked at the ring.

‘Who is it?’ he thought to himself. Remembering the last time it glowed after he left Flourish and Botts in Diagon Alley. He was sure to find her now that he knew she is at Hogwarts.

His pace slowed down as he searched for his son. Slowly walking to the dungeons, he noticed the platinum blond hair in a small group

“Draco!” he shouted, looking at the back of the head of his son. Draco turned his head immediately, looking for his father. It took him a few seconds to spot him

“Father” Draco whispered and started to walk towards him.

“Hello, Mister Malfoy” Theo greeted, standing next to Draco.

“Good afternoon, Theo” Lucius replied softly “Do you mind if I take Draco for a while?”

Theo shook his head and made his way to the Slytherin common room.

“Father?” Draco asked, looking at his father’s eyes which were following Theo “Why are you here?”

Lucius’ eyes darkened as he remembered why he was here

“Why I am here is not important” he replied “We need to talk”

Lucius turned around and started walking. Draco followed him on his side

“What is it father?” he asked without waiting for a reply he asked his next question “Did something happen?”

Lucius kept on walking, not minding the questions of his son. Draco gave up asking questions, he knew better than to continue. Near the lake, Lucius stopped and turned to Draco.

“I need you to do something for me,” he said, staring deeply into Draco’s eyes
“Yes, father?”
“This ring” he took his ring off “It glows when a certain person comes nearby”

He breathed in deeply through his nose “I need you to find out whom it glows for. Today as I walked through the corridor, it glowed again. I need to know who it is”

Draco looked at him full of hope that his father would explain why he needs to find this person but after a second of silence, he realised he has to wait until the day comes.

“Of course, father” Draco replied, taking the ring and putting it on his finger. He took a closer look at it “Father? Why is there a “D” in the ring?” he asked curiously.

“I will tell you once you found this person” Lucius replied “I’ll be going now. Find her before summer ends” he said and turned on his heels and walked towards the forest.

Draco stood there and looked at his father walking away

‘Why does he never explain something completely?’ he wondered and looked down at the ring. The ring was gold with a big red stone. A “D” was engraved in it. Many questions went through Draco’s head but he knew he wouldn’t get an answer soon. He slowly walked back to the castle, deep in thought.

It was already time for dinner so Draco made his way to the great hall. The moment he came close to the open wooden doors, he noticed that the ring started glowing on his fingers.

‘This isn’t going to be easy’ he thought and sighed as he walked to his table. His friends were talking loudly but today he couldn’t focus on their conversations. His thoughts dwelled of on finding a quick way to find the unknown person. His father didn’t specify of which age this person could be or their gender. And since everybody was gathered in the great hall, there is no way of telling who was the person triggering the ring.

He shook his head and finally managed to talk to his friends, bragging about the perfect potion he made that day.

_

The next morning he got ready for charms class. He entered the class and sat down. His friends quickly opened their books to study last second for a small quiz. He joined his friends, looking up every time someone walked. Looking back at his ring to see if it started to glow. Once the doors of the class closed and Professor Flitwick came in, he knew it was definitely not his fellow Ravenclaw classmates he was looking for. Time flew by and he found himself again in the great hall, hungry for lunch.

“Draco?” Draco looked up and looked at Pansy
“Since when do you have that ring?” she asked, looking at the glow
“Father gave it to me last time. I don’t know why though” he answered quickly before she could ask more questions. Pansy seemed to accept his answer as she didn’t ask anything more about the ring and asked for help in potions instead.

After lunch, they had potions with the Gryffindors. Everybody was always too early. Nobody wanted to be late for Professor Snape’s classes. The Gryffindors almost came into the room altogether to avoid getting bullied by the Slytherins.

In the dark atmosphere, Draco noticed the glow of the ring way quicker and cursed under his breath. He took off the ring and put it in his pocket.

‘Why of all people, does it have to be a Gryffindor? What does father want from any of them? Wha-’

His thoughts got cut off by the slam of the door and the quick pace Snape walked in

“Silence” he whispered, even though everybody became silent once the door fell shut
“Last time” he said silently “most of you messed up your potions” his eyes resting on Ron “Therefore” he walked to his desk “We will repeat the Fire Breathing potion before we move on”

His eyes rested on some other Gryffindors “This potion requires the skills for the next one… Don’t mess this up again” his eyes resting on Harry “Begin” he said, letting the tone fall on the n.

All students quickly got to work.

Draco was panicking while making his potion, it was flawless last time but he didn’t want to mess up this time. If Snape told his father he was lacking, he would have a horrible summer spending time with Professor Snape in the manor.

He quickly glanced at the Gryffindors. Everyone there was panicking and double-checking too. Only Granger stood out. She was calm as ever and whispered instructions to her friends, who were mimicking her every exact motion.

‘That bloody mudblood’

How could she excel in everything he did? He looked down at his potion and almost missed a crucial step. He cursed under his breath but managed to save his potion on time. The summer was going to be terrible indeed.

The class was finally dismissed and Draco walked to the library. Taking some time sitting there and writing a letter to his father. He knew at least what house the person was in and maybe his father will give him some more information about the ring and what this all is about. He send off his letter and went back to the common room. Practising with his friends the spells for the next class review.

In the great hall, he looked at his fellow Gryffindor classmates. Wondering which one of them it could be. He was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice his owl returned with a letter. His letter came on his plate which was full of food.

‘For merlin’s sake!’

He was a bit angry that the owl dropped it off instead of offering it to him. He took the letter out of his food and cast a quick cleaning spell. He read the letter quickly. He looked with disgust at the letter. His father literally told him to continue searching and that he would come to Hogwarts soon. Why didn’t he provide him with more information?

He ate from his plate angrily. Ignoring the questions his friends asked him.

A few days passed, and Draco found a new strategy to figure out whom the ring was responding to: he would wake up and arrive at the great hall before everybody else. He could eat there and then study there in the company of his friends and every time someone would walk in, he could look at who it was and if the ring started to glow or not.

He woke up at 5am. Already standing at the doors of the great hall at 6.30am. The doors opened and he took a seat. Reading a book first. It took almost half an hour until the great hall slowly started to fill with people. Looking at the people who entered, he realised he didn’t know most of them by their names. Only those whom he knew from childhood or from gatherings.

He stared at Granger walking in. He looked back to his book and noticed his ring was glowing now.

“For merlin’s sake! Why does it have to be the filthy mudblood?” he hissed under his breath. He immediately wrote a letter to his father. He better has a very good explanation for this!

After classes, Draco was sitting in the library. The library was the only place where his friends didn’t come often and he could study in silence.

“Mr. Malfoy” a voice interrupted him in a whispering manner “You are asked to go to the Headmaster’s office”

Draco looked up, thanked Madam Prince and made his way to the headmaster’s office.

‘Why would the headmaster want to see him? Did his friends do something and they just assumed he was the one leading them even though he was in the library all this time?’

He climbed the stairs and knocked on the door

“Come in” he heard an old voice say

Draco opened the door. The warmth of the fireplace greeted him immediately and a bitter and sweet smell filled his nose.

“Professor, why did you ask me to come here?” he asked questioning
“Draco” his father called him and Draco walked to the seats at the fireplace. His father had disappeared into those old-fashioned seats
“Father! It is nice to see you” Draco said exited
“Please have a seat” Professor Dumbledore offered one of the three remaining seats “Would you like a cup of tea?”

Draco nodded and with a flick of Dumbledore’s wand, tea got served and floated toward Draco

“Milk or sugar?”
“Yes, please Professor”

Draco could feel his father’s eyes rest on him. He looked at Dumbledore and thanked him friendly, feeling his father’s stare leave him.  It became really silent. Everyone was drinking their tea.

“Did you bring the ring?” Lucius asked
“Yes, father” he showed the ring

Lucius held out his hand and Draco placed the ring on his palm. Draco stared at the ring for a second and heard a knock on the door

“Come in” Dumbledore replied and the door went open slowly, a head peaking in first. Hermione looked at Draco and back to Dumbledore. She slowly entered, unsure of what was going on. The ring on Lucius’s hand started glowing and Lucius smirked. Draco looked questioning at Granger and his father.

“You know what this means, Albus” Lucius said in a sneery voice. Dumbledore nodded politely and took another sip of his tea.
“Miss Granger, would you like to join us for tea?” Dumbledore asked politely and gestured3 to the empty seat next to him. Hermione walked silently to the seat and sat down.

“Milk and sugar?”
“Yes, please”

She took the floating cup and took a quick nip, looking at Dumbledore, Draco and Lucius.

“Tell me something about yourself, Miss Granger” Lucius demanded in a soft voice. Draco and Hermione looked as if they were hit by a bus. Why would he be interested in her?

“Well…” she started “I grew up with my parents…” she looked at Lucius with a frown “They are both muggles and…” she became silent, not sure what to say but Lucius kept looking into her eyes, wanting her to continue “They are dentist”

“What’s that?”
“They work on people’s teeth”

Draco’s eyes flashed between his father to Hermione. He didn’t understand at all what was going on. And especially why this was happening. What does Hermione have in common with a ring?

“Draco” Lucius said “you should go back to studying”

Draco looked at his father as if he just gotten hit in the face “Pardon?!”
Lucius’s eyes went dark and he looked at his son saying in a demanding voice “You should go back to studying”

Draco looked at his father, he could feel his heartbeat getting quicker. He got up and thanked his professor for the tea and walked back to the library.

‘What was this all about?’ Hermione looked at the door closing and her eyes went back to Lucius who was looking at Dumbledore.

“You know” Dumbledore started in a vague way “sometimes things don’t turn out as one hoped they would be”

Hermione looked at her headmaster in confusion. At the same time, she could hear Lucius take a deep breath through his nose. She looked at him and saw how his eyes narrowed and looked with an angry expression at Professor Dumbledore. The silence fell and Hermione was still lost.

“What is this all about?” she asked and broke the silence. Lucius’s expression changed and Professor Dumbledore was still staring into nothingness.

“This ring” Lucius held it in his fingers “is a ring I received 12 years ago”

Hermione lifted her eyebrow ‘so what?’

“One of my best friends gave it to me as a promise that his child will marry mine” he continued while Professor Dumbledore was humming.

“It starts glowing in the presence of that child. Unfortunately, the dark Lord killed my best friend after he messed up a mission” Lucius breathed in strongly through his nostrils “his wife and his child disappeared before he got murdered”

Lucius held out the glowing ring to Hermione and she took it shakingly.

‘Does that mean this ring glows in my presence?’ she wondered and looked at the glow ‘it cannot be’

She looked at the red stone and the engraved D in it. “What does the ‘D’ stand for?” she asked, glueing her eyes on the ring

“Dumbledore” Professor Dumbledore said with a smile. Hermione couldn’t add two and two together in this conversation. Lucius looked at her with big eyes.

“You are the promised daughter of my son. And you are a descendant of the Dumbledore family” he replied, fixing his eyes on hers. Hermione’s eyes grew big and she stared into nothingness.

‘Me? But I was born to my parents. They even had pictures directly after my birth? What does he mean by being a descendant of the Dumbledore family? What is this all about?’

More and more questions entered her mind until a hand gently touched her knee. She looked at the owner of the hand who softly spoke.

“Basically you are the daughter of my niece” Dumbledore kindly said. Hermione looked at her professor. ‘How could this happen? Why did this have to happen?’

“This summer you are staying at the manor” Lucius announced “Albus agreed on escorting you to the manor. You get to say your goodbyes to your muggle parents first”
“Goodbye?” Hermione asked with a big gulp going down her throat “I won’t see them again?”

Lucius’s eyes narrowed but he changed his posture quickly “Probably you’ll see them each summer. I need you at the manor this summer first…”

She started to feel at ease again and watched how Lucius took out his watch

“I have to return to the ministry now” he announced “Albus, thank you for your time and for the tea. Miss Granger, we will see each other again at the manor”

Lucius got up and so did Dumbledore who nodded kindly. As Lucius stood at the door his eyes fixed again on Hermione “Don’t tell anybody what happened today” he said in a warning tone “Including your friends. The right time will come eventually to let your friends know”

Hermione stared back at him “And what if I do?”

“You don’t want to know” Lucius’s lips curved into a grin and closed the door behind him. Hermione turned to Dumbledore unsure if she should leave too.

“You are free to come back anytime you want” Dumbledore replied to her unasked question. Hermione smiled and left the headmaster’s office. It was time to go back to the library and look up information about the Dumbledore family.

Once she arrived at the library, she felt a hand around her wrist that pulled her away from the other people. She shot a look at the person who was attacking her, only to find the back of Draco’s head. Once he found a place where no one could hear them he let go of her and turned to face her, shaking the hand with which he held her.

“What did you talk about once I was gone?” he sneered immediately. Hermione shook her head
“What do the ring and you have for connection?” he hissed angrily. Again a shake of her head. Draco took a few steps closer to her and she finally opened her mouth “Your father told me to not speak about any of this”

Draco turned around and punched the table in front of the window.

“He never tells me anything” he whispered under his breath
“Malfoy, I am almost as confused as you are” Hermione whispered “Everything is quite a shock to me. And I cannot share it with anybody” she continued, her eyes slowly looking down to the ground.

This was just all too sudden for her. She wished it was already time to sleep and she could finally think her thoughts out. She quickly walked away and continued walking straight to the common room. She saw Harry and Ron sitting there, working on their potions paper.

“Hi Mione” Ron said happily and she sat down next to them
“Let me have a look” she said sternly. She read both papers and corrected some mistakes. A few hours had passed and she felt a lot better. Her friends were cheering her up and at the dinner table in the great hall, Fred and George improved her mood even more.

However, as soon as everyone was asleep, she went back to the fire in the common room. She sat in front of the fireplace, staring at the fire while being deep in thought. She felt very sad inside, knowing that her whole life was a lie. The fact that she might never see the parents who raised her. On top of that, her real father has been a Deadeater and she doesn’t even know what happened to her real mother. Maybe she will never really know either. The thought of having to live and even get married to the Malfoy brat wasn’t making the night easier either.

Her eyes fluttered open. She saw the fire right in front of her. It was still dark outside and she looked at the clock. It was 4.39am and she got up slowly. She realised now, that nothing that is going to happen can be changed.

Several days passed by. On some days she was cheerful, on others she remained silent. The last school week was especially hard. She had visited professor Dumbledore once to inform herself if there was a way that she didn’t have to go to Malfoy Manor but it seemed that there is no way out.

She was sitting in the library when one of her fellow classmates came to her and told her to go to the headmaster’s office. She went there slowly. Her motivation was gone. She just didn’t want her schooldays to end. She knocked on the door and entered once she heard an answer. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk and Lucius stood there with Draco.

“Hermione” Dumbledore started “Lucius wanted to see you”
Lucius nodded his head to her as a greeting and Draco looked at her with disgust. He still didn’t know after all.

“Draco” Lucius started “I told you about a friend of mine right? To his daughter, you would be married?”
Draco nodded but only looked at Hermione with annoyance all over his face

“Hermione is that daughter. She is a pureblood witch” Lucius said and smiled “This summer she will start living at the manor. I don’t want you to speak a word about it until I tell you that you can do so”
“Yes, father” Draco whispered “Is this the reason why I had to search for her with the ring?”
“Yes”

Lucius’ eyes met Hermione’s “Did you tell anybody?”
“No”
“Good”
“The two of you should have some time together” Lucius said and looked from one to the other “Without trying to murder the other” he warned.

Hermione knew that Draco wouldn’t mind killing her at that very moment but she had to admit that she would like to do the same too. Dumbledore gestured to the stairs behind him and the two of them went up the stairs.

“Malfoy I’m sorry” Hermione said almost so silently that Draco barely heard her.
“It isn’t your fault” Draco said back “If I didn’t find whom the ring belonged to, I could have avoided this”

Hermione stood next to him but at a safe distance. They stood there in silence.

“I am sorry for calling you a mudblood the past years and making your life hell” Draco said and looked in her eyes “I hope you can forgive me for doing that”
“It’s okay” she replied “We made your life hell too. And I must say that I didn’t mind trying to touch you and how you tried to hex me away”

Draco laughed a little and Hermione did too.

“From now on we have to get along better” Draco said “But until it is announced, we can continue the last few days to hate each other”
“I guess so”
“I cannot promise you that I can stop my habits immediately once we arrive at the manor”
“That’s fine. Changes require time and I am not sure when I can call you by your first name either. I am so used to calling you Malfoy. See? Even the annoyed tone is still included”

‘Maybe living at the manor won’t be as bad as I thought it would be. Draco might be a spoiled brat, but he apologised and the way he is to me now isn’t unpleasant’

They both turned around as Lucius called Draco’s name and told them to go downstairs again. After saying their byes, they both went in different directions and somehow didn’t bully each other the last remaining days at Hogwarts. Hermione was partly looking forward to the manor now. She only wished that she finally could talk about this all with her friends.

Chapter Text

Arriving at Kings Cross, Hermione couldn’t wait to see her parents again. She left the train and said bye to Ron and Harry. After all, it won’t take long until they would meet again during the summer holidays. On top of that, it’s also nice to have a friend to write to.

She looked left and right but couldn’t spot her parents yet. After walking a little through the crowd, she finally saw them and started running “MOM! DAD!” she yelled and ran into their arms.

“So much happened this year! Terrible things too but Harry saved us all! And everything was so exciting! I learned so many new things!” she told them with excitement.
“Welcome back, love” her mother gave her another warm hug “We missed you so much”

Hermione didn’t stop embracing them “Mother? Father? Did Professor Dumbledore write you a letter?” she asked, a sad undertone in her voice was detectable.

“Yes, he did” her mother confirmed and continued to embrace her too “We will have a wonderful evening until you get picked up. We made your favourite dinner too”

Tears came down her face as she looked at her mother and her father.

“You will always be welcome to visit us anytime” her father said and pushed the cart to the car

The ride home was rather silent. Hermione stared out of the window. The familiar places passed by. Some kind of nostalgia went through her mind. Once again, her mind drifted off. It felt like only seconds passed by. She looked at her home. Tears started running down her face. She quickly wiped her tears away, after all, she doesn’t want her parents to worry about her. Maybe she could convince Professor Dumbledore and Lucius that she stayed here after all?

She got out of the car and after she made some tea in the kitchen. She served the tea in the living room. It was nice to sit together again. The TV was on and it was all very nice. But of course a moment like this couldn’t last forever. Again it felt like only a few seconds has passed where Hermione could enjoy this moment. The door rang and she let out a sigh before getting up to answer it. To her surprise, it was Professor Dumbledore who was waiting at her PARCHMENT.

“Good evening” Professor Dumbledore hummed in a friendly manner “May I come in?” he continued, not waiting for a reply as he entered the house.

“I assume you want to know why I’m here” Dumbledore said while looking at the pictures in the hallway “And I am sure to answer it when it is time to do so”

Hermione was baffled by his sudden visit but regained herself quickly “Ehm… Would you like a cuppa?” Hermione asked and he nodded kindly and followed her to the living room.

She returned to the living room where Professor Dumbledore was watching the TV and her parents were watching Dumbledore. She just realized now that they’ve never met and she just left them like that.

“Thank you, dear” Dumbledore said as he took the cup from her.
“Ehm mom? Dad? This is Professor Dumbledore, our headmaster at Hogwarts” she announced “Professor, these are my parents”

There was an awkward silence while they were nodding to each other.

“You have a lovely home” Dumbledore said
“Thank you” Hermione’s mother replied with a kind smile “I hope you do feel at home”

Dumbledore nodded and a small conversation started. She didn’t really listen to what was being said. She only was focused on her tea and the moment she got to spare with her parents. Who knows how long it will last?

“Hermione?” her mother brought her back to reality “Did you know that?”
“I’m sorry” she apologized “My mind was drifting off”
“You are leaving already” her mother said in a trying-to-sound-normal tone. Hermione’s mouth dropped open

“Now?” she asked in shock and her parents nodded as a confirmation “But I thought… I thought I would be here at least a bit longer…”
“Lucius is awaiting you” Dumbledore said absently “I assume he wants you to learn manners as soon as possible so he can show you around in public soon”

Hermione looked at her professor who continued “You should know, that the ancient wizard families often have people over. Being one of the oldest families around today, they are some kind of role model to other families. So when you come, no one can come to visit until they feel like you have mastered the manners that are required to have guests over”

Hermione took a nip from her tea. She could feel all eyes resting on her. She knew she couldn’t act all scared in front of her parents. she didn’t want them to be worried after all.

“Alright” she said and put down her cup on the coffee table “Then it would be better if we wouldn’t let Mister Malfoy wait”

Dumbledore got up before her and she immediately went to say goodbye to her parents.

“What about my cat?” she asked Dumbledore “I can bring him with me, right?”
“I think it will be best if he stays here. If Lucius agrees, I can bring him to the manor” Dumbledore said with an ensuring smile “Now let’s go, shall we?”

Hermione followed Professor Dumbledore to the door. As she was about to leave the house, she looked back one last time

“Please put your hand on my arm” Dumbledore instructed and waved to the muggle family. He held out the lighter and the lights of the streets got sucked in one by one.
“I’ll write to you soon!” Hermione said over her shoulder while holding her professor’s arm firmly. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before they departed to the manor.

Hermione could feel her feet back on the ground, and a slight breeze blew her hair in her face. Her eyes fluttered open. She looked around but realised it was too dark to see anything.

"Shall we go then?" Dumbledore suggested. Hermione nodded and walked next to him.
"Are you nervous?"
"Very" Hermione admitted
"I am sure you will be alright" Dumbledore said softly. Hermione nodded but still felt uneasy with the situation. She simply didn't have time to prepare to leave home this quickly.

Dumbledore stopped and Hermione came back to reality after drifting off. A big gate was right in front of her. Dumbledore spoke to the gate and it flew wide open. They followed the path to the entrance. Her eyes couldn’t believe the size of the manor. It was sparkling under the light of the moon. Her heart started racing as she approached the door. From the inside, she wanted to explore the huge mansion but at the same time, she wished she would still have been with her parents.

The doors opened and she entered the mansion with Dumbledore on her side. Lucius was standing right in front of them.

“Good evening” he greeted them both “I hope you had save travels”
“It was very pleasant” Dumbledore said

Hermione’s eyes were fixed on the floor. She didn’t dare to look around nor dared to speak. As if something was stuck in her throat.

“Would you like some tea?” Lucius offered and Dumbledore nodded. They followed Lucius through the hall to a door. The fireplace was lit and there were several lights. The room was a forest green colour and there were 3 couches placed and 2 seats around a coffee table.

“Please take a seat” Lucius offered and the tea set appeared on the table “Earl Grey?”
“Yes, please” Dubmledore replied and looked around the room. Hermione just nodded, still too stunned to speak. While Lucius was serving tea, Hermione looked at the empty paintings in the room. She wondered why they all left. Lucius and Dumbledore were exchanging some small talk while drinking their tea. At some point, she started to feel uneasy as Lucius rested his eyes on her. She gathered all her courage as a proud Gryffindor and finally met his eyes. That small moment of contact made her already nervous so she looked down at her cup.

“Well then” Dumbledore said “I have to head back to Hogwarts. I thank you for your hospitality, Lucius”
Both Lucius and Dumbledore got up at the same time. Hermione stood up as well but almost dropped her cup by doing so.

“I’ll guide you to the door” Lucius said politely and with a faded smile. Hermione followed them to the main door.

“Hermione, we will see each other again on the 1^st of September” Dumbledore smiled “You can always write me a letter”
Hermione nodded and thanked him for everything he did for her. Lucius closed the door and Hermione had goosebumps.

“It seems we have a lot to do…” Lucius said rather to himself than to Hermione “For now, it is better that you will go to bed on time” he continued as Hermione felt a big gulp going down her throat “There are a few rules in this house. One: you wake up each morning at 5am”

Hermione’s eyes widened. ‘Every morning?!’

“Two: breakfast is exactly at 7am. Those are the important things for now. Narcissa will help you get ready in the morning. Let’s go to your room” Lucius continued, ignoring Hermione’s expressions “Any questions?”

“No” Hermione replied for the first time that evening. Lucius walked in front of her and she followed him to her room. He opened the door for her and she entered slowly. The room looked as if she walked into the Slytherin common room. Another fireplace was lit and the room was pretty much to her liking. Hermione was a bit frightened as the big doors fell shut behind her.

“For tonight” Lucius started and Hermione turned around to look at him “I will lock the door so you don’t go off wandering on your own. The bathroom is over there. I will also take your wand from you”

She was too stunned to speak. ‘Taking my wand? That’s like asking to give him her right arm’
She hesitated and Lucius stepped closer, holding out his hand “I said I am taking your wand, young lady”

His eyes pierced through hers and she felt her knees getting weak. She reached for her wand and gave it to him with shaking hands.

“Good” Lucius said and put her wand away. “Don’t worry, you will get your wand regularly. Is there anything you need?”

Hermione shook her head, not knowing what she could need at this hour of the night besides a bed.

“In that case: Goodnight and I will see you at breakfast” Lucius said and left. Hermione heard the lock click. She was now imprisoned in “her” room. She fell to the ground. Overwhelmed with all the feelings and thoughts going on in her head.

'Why do I have to be here? I want to go home! I don’t want this!’

She slightly started crying and at some point got up and fell down on the bed, crying herself to sleep.

“Hermione?” a voice said softly “Hermione. Wake up, please”
She definitely wasn’t ready to open her eyes. She peered through her eyelids and saw Narcissa next to the bed.
“Come on, dear. You have to get up” Narcissa continued. Hermione slightly sat up and looked at the woman next to her bed.
“Good morning, Hermione”
“Good morning” Hermione said sheepishly
“I won’t tell Lucius that you fell asleep like this but make sure it doesn’t happen” she said worriedly.
“I can do what I want” Hermione protested
“No, you cannot anymore. You will have to follow the rules. Just like all of us”

Hermione thought it was ridiculous that waking up at 5am is a rule at home. She would have accepted it at boarding school but not at home during the summer holidays.

“Firstly, we need you to take a shower and wash yourself” Narcissa said and helped Hermione get out of bed. They entered the bathroom and Hermione couldn’t believe her eyes. Even the bathroom in Hogwarts was nothing compared to this. The colour of the bathroom was very nature-like. Green and brown colours were all over the white walls.

“You have 30min to get ready” Narcissa said, leaving Hermione alone and closing the door. It felt a bit weird to take a shower while somebody else is waiting in the other room. Once she got out of the bathroom, Narcissa gave her some clothes.

“Please wear this for now” Narcissa said with a smile. Hermione took the wardrobes and got dressed.
“Why do we have to get up at 5am?” Hermione asked Narcissa, finding it easier to talk to her than to Lucius.
“Having a daily rhythm is healthy for you” Narcissa answered “In the wizarding world, purebloods have a lot to do in a day. So staying up on time makes you prepared for anything. But that is not important. I have to make sure you know a few important things for now”

Hermione and Narcissa took a seat at the fireplace that was still burning.
“Lucius hates it when we are late. Try not to be late for anything. Breakfast is at 7am. Lunch is at 12pm and dinner at 6pm. If the clock strikes and you aren’t in the room, you will skip that meal.”

Hermione was baffled. What kind of ridiculous rule is that?!

“At 11pm it is bedtime. You cannot walk around the house later than that”

‘At least that was a reasonable one’

“After 7pm you are not allowed to leave the house. Once you are older you will get permission to do that. I am pretty sure that you know what magical creatures can be around in this big forest” Narcissa said with a warning look. Hermione just nodded. She will look that up later.

“But what do we do between 5.30am and 7pm?” Hermione asked.
“Your favourite thing to do” Narcissa said
“Reading?” Hermione asked
“Yes. In the Malfoy manor, it has been a tradition to read for at least 1h each day. This way we can ensure that our offspring will have great knowledge” Narcissa said with a smile “But you are already a smart girl”

Hermione finally smiled since she arrived at the manor.
“Therefore let’s go to the library” Narcissa said and got up. Hermione followed and after only 2min of walking, she couldn’t remember where her room was.

“Okay. So there are two entrances to the library” Narcissa announced “But you will have to remember this one for now”

She opened the door and Hermione couldn’t believe her eyes. The room was obviously enchanted to be bigger on the inside. She wondered how many rows of books there were but there were three levels full of books. In the middle of the rows there were several tables too. Near the fireplace, there were seats to sit down as well.

“You should know that almost all Malfoys have kept a diary and are kept in here” Narcissa announced “For the coming weeks, you aren’t expected to read though” her voice turned cold for the first time. Hermione looked at her as if she got slapped in the face.

“You need to learn manners first before you get to touch any book here” she continued “This was only to show you what you can get to read if you learn well”

Hermione felt a bit angry on the inside. ’What do you mean by “you have to learn manners first”?!’

Narcissa grabbed her wrist and took her to another room. “This is Lucius’s study. He will mainly supervise your training”

She knocked on the door, still holding onto Hermione’s wrist. After hearing Lucius say that she should come in, she opened the door. Lucius looked up from his desk and got up as soon as he finished writing something.

“Good morning, Hermione”
“Good morning”
“From now on, we will focus on your posture every morning. Stand still, please”

Hermione stood still and Lucius’s hands adapted her posture. After he was done he looked at her “Do not forget this” he warned as he placed a vase with water on her head. “Walk around please”

Hermione did what she was told but got scolded immediately “Straighten your back!” another few steps “Hold your chin higher” another few steps and she was almost at his desk “Keep your shoulders down”.

This was pure hell. Sometimes the vase fell and the ice-cold water fell all over Hermione. With a quick spell, Lucius dried her every time. The minutes felt like hours and there was no end in sight for her until Lucius said ‘stop’. He took off the vase and held out his hand to her to take “It is time for breakfast now”. Hermione took his hand but he immediately corrected her. “Your hand needs to be lightweight. Not a weight on my hand” She almost rolled her eyes but he continued “Stand tall. Shoulders back. Chin up. Straight back”

He guided her to the dining hall and kept correcting her all the way. The room was gigantic and a very big table was in front of another fireplace. Lucius took Hermione to her seat and she immediately sat down.

“Who told you to sit down?” Lucius snared and Hermione immediately got up. Lucius stood at the head of the table in front of his seat. Draco entered the hall quickly and took his place next to Hermione and his father. After a minute Narcissa came too and stood near the seat on Lucius’s right hand.

“Good morning” Lucius said
“Good morning” Draco and Narcissa said. Lucius’s eyes fixed on her
“Good morning” she whispered quickly

To her surprise, Lucius sat down, and once he sat the rest followed.

‘Even the military would be jealous’ Hermione thought to herself as she sat down too. Immediately the table filled itself with food. Hermione looked at Narciassa who didn’t take anything and so did Draco. Lucius was the first to fill his plate and once he started eating, the rest started filling their plates too.

“Draco” Lucius started “Is there anything you haven’t told me about school this year?”
“No, father. I had a wonderful year”
“Did you have some time to spend with friends too?” Narcissa asked curiously
“A little bit” Draco replied “But I focused mainly on classes”
“Last year” Lucius started “Draco only complained about you, Hermione. The muggle who beat everyone”

Draco looked at Hermione and continued “But now that you are a pureblood, there is no need to be ashamed”

Hermione felt a little bit angry. Why did they hate mudbloods so much? Once they found out she isn’t a mudblood after all they started treating her nicely. The conversation kept going about school and both Hermione and Draco answered the questions until at one point Lucius got up again and everybody immediately followed.

“Draco” Lucius started “I want you to practise everything from this school year and in the afternoon you are going with Hermione to buy new clothes. She can’t wear Cissy’s old ones. They look terrible on her”

“Hermione you are coming with me” he continued. Narcissa and Draco left the room and Hermione followed Lucius back to his study with some comments about her posture again. In the study, she had to continue her posture training and the moment she finally thought she mastered it, Lucius asked her to sit down and get up without dropping the vase on her head. It didn’t take long until her legs got shaky.

“Can we please take a breather?” she asked. Lucius’s grey eyes pierced through hers
“I think we can start adding more to your training” he said silently “From now on, you call me ‘father’ and Narcissa ‘mother’. Just like Draco does. Every person who speaks to you, you will reply with ‘Mr.’ or ‘Ms.’. Understood?”
“But you aren’t my father!” Hermione protested as she got off the sofa, followed by the vase falling down over her
“I am going to be your father-in-law in a few years. The contract has been sealed many years ago. I basically already am your father-in-law” Lucius said calmly “I also don’t expect you to talk back either”

His tone was warning but she still didn’t want to give in “Can’t I call you Mr. Malfoy instead?”
“What did I say?” Lucius tone sounded pissed “Which part isn’t clear to you?”
“It is all clear, Mr. Malfoy” she replied but took a step back and fell onto the couch as Lucius came closer. He looked down at her “I make the rules. You are here to obey or face consequences. Do you understand?”

She nodded in fear but regretted it immediately as a sharp pain hit her hand.
“Y-y-yes, father” she brought out in tears.
“Look at me and say it again”
“Yes, father” she obeyed and saw his face relax.

“There are several punishments in this house. The shock is what you normally get. If you misbehave for too long you will skip a meal. If you keep going for too long you can spend the night in the basement. Any questions?”
“No, father” she whispered and felt how Lucius dried her clothes
“Continue”

Again it felt like ages until she could finally stop. Her legs were trembling and she fell to the floor from exhaustion.

“Get up” Lucius said the second she hit the floor. Hermione got up but her legs couldn’t carry her for long. Lucius caught her before she fell again and placed her on the sofa.

“We don’t touch the ground unless it is with our feet” Lucius said coldly. “I am going to check on Draco. Stay where you are and don’t touch anything” he warned her and closed the door behind him.

Hermione looked at the door. She has never been so happy that someone left the room. Lucius beat professor Snape, which she actually couldn’t believe. She looked at the vase which broke surely 100 times today. In the silence she started to wonder if Lucius doesn’t have anything better to do than to train her posture. What’s the big deal of not having a straight back? Unlike her training, it felt like she only sat there a minute before the doors opened again and Lucius stood at the door opening.

“Come, we are going to have tea in the garden” he said. She got up but still felt her legs shaking like crazy. This must have been the worst workout she has ever done so far. Lucius held out his arm for her and she tried to take it “lightly” like he said this morning. The hallways and stairs were confusing. She silently walked with Lucius and he didn’t even say a word about her posture yet. A big backdoor opened and they followed a path to a pavilion. Narcissa was already there waiting for them. The three of them sat down and waited for Draco to come. Once he joined, Narcissa served tea.

Hermione looked around while sipping her tea. The garden was beautiful and the weather was rather pleasant. The sun was showing in between some small clouds. She wished she could stay here instead of going back to the study. After half an hour passed, Lucius and Draco got up and thanked Narcissa for the tea. Hermione looked questioning at Lucius, wondering why he didn’t tell her to follow. As if he could read her mind he said “Hermione, you will stay with Cissy here. She will teach you how to serve tea”

“Okay” she replied and cursed herself for forgetting to say ‘father’ as she felt the shock in her hand
“Yes, father” she said. Draco looked at her with a grin on his face. He probably has been through this too.

She hoped that Narcissa would be less strict with her than Lucius but she was wrong. Narcissa not only commented on the way she served tea but also on her posture and every single detail. At first, she had to serve tea just using her hands. After she finally mastered it correctly -with still some slight complaints that she wasn’t gentle enough- she had to use her wand to serve the tea.

“Good” Narcissa said satisfied “Tomorrow we will work on your wandless tea serving”
“Wandless? Why do I have to learn wandless tea serving? Hermione asked curiously but immediately felt a shock in her hand. She tried to ignore it but it started to get worse over time.
“Why do I have to learn wandless tea serving, mother?” she repeated with some tears in her eyes. Narcissa wiped away the tears on her face “I hope you learn that quick enough. Lucius wants you to be ready by the end of the month” she whispered while having a sad expression on her face.
“What should I be ready for, mother?” Hermione asked, not understanding what is going to come.
“As a wizard family from higher status, we often have guests over. Lucius requested not to have anybody over until you are ready. You have to be a role model for all the witches, you know. You cannot disappoint us”

Hermione felt a bit down. This wizarding world was completely different from the wizarding world at Ron’s place.

“How regularly are people coming over, mother?” she asked whispering
“At least twice a week” Narcissa answered and held her hand “There is nothing to worry about. As long you do as we say and don’t speak unless you are asked to, you will be fine”

The weight in her stomach was not getting less and she looked at Narcissa’s caring face. It reminded her a lot of the warmth she felt when her mother would calm her.

“Thank you, mother” she whispered and looked back to the tea set “Shall we continue?”

Hermione felt mentally and physically exhausted. She actually had hoped that her time at the manor would be better. Yet, she knew that better times would come soon. She and Narcissa quickly walked to the dining hall. They were just in time to stand at their seats as the clock stroke. Lucius looked at his wife with a very stern face. Narcissa however looked back at him with a slight grin.

“Bon Appetit” Lucius said and sat down. Everyone was silently eating, unlike in the morning. After the meal almost ended, Draco broke the silence.

“Father?”
“Yes?”
“You said that Hermione and I should go shopping” Draco started “But what clothes are we looking for, father?”
“Everything that doesn’t make her look like a muggle” he replied coldly and Draco nodded.

Hermione could feel how her cheeks turned red. What’s wrong with her clothes? They were fine to her and they didn’t look like she jumped out of a time machine. Draco’s eyes met hers and he gave her a concerned look. She looked away immediately and continued eating her meal.

After the meal, they all went to the hallway. There Narcissa put on a coat on Hermione and Lucius stepped forward with a mask in his hand.

“Stand still” he barely whispered and put the mask on her face. He pointed his wand to the mask and mumbled some spells. Hermione stood there frozen and confused and her eyes met Lucius’.

“No one is allowed to know who you are and I cannot have Draco be seen with a mudblood” he said sternly. Here is your allowance to buy other things” Lucius said and gave her a sack with money “And this is to buy clothes” he continued and gave it to Draco “Make sure you are back here at 8pm. No second later”

“Yes, father” Hermione and Draco said at the same time. They both looked at each other and had to laugh a little.  Draco moved forward to the fireplace and went ahead to the Diagon Alley and Hermione followed shortly after him.

Hermione looked at Draco who seemed rather relaxed.
“You know, it is nice to be outside of the manor and of Hogwarts” Draco started “These opportunities don’t happen often”
“Can I ask a question?”
“Sure”
“Would you consider your parents to be strict?”
“Yes” Draco admitted “But they are under a lot of pressure as well. Being an old family… Having to make sure they meet up on the standards. Try to look flawless. Of course, we make a lot of mistakes too but nobody knows that because it happens in our own four walls”
“Is there a reason why we have to add ‘father’ and ‘mother’ at the end of our sentences?”

Draco laughed “Of course there is. It is polite to always speak with two words. Not only saying ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Father wants us to be very good role models. Even better than he used to be”

Hermione didn’t notice they were already at the shop. She now noticed too that people have been staring at her and Draco.

“Father said you aren’t allowed to speak a word unless you talk to me” he announced before he entered the building “Let’s go”

After taking her measurements for some personally fitting clothes and choosing three dresses and a cape, they left the store.

“I find it ridiculous that I have to wear skirts or a dress” Hermione said annoyed
“I guess you just have to get used to it” Draco said to try to calm her “It isn’t that bad”
“Yeah, and it isn’t that bad if I wear pants too! The wizarding world just has to get used to it”

Draco walked to the pet shop with her and stood there outside. “You will need your own owl from now on” he said and Hermione already protested
“I have a cat and I have no need for an owl” Hermione said quickly
“Father and mother will write to you regularly and will expect you to write to them too. Therefore you need an owl. Also, I assume you want to write Potter and Weasley too”

Hermione looked at him and nodded. She was wondering how Harry was doing.

“What kind of owl do you want to have?” Draco asked
“I actually thought” Hermione started but stopped mid-sentence
“That I don’t want you to write Potter? He is your friend so I will have to live with the fact that you write to him. The same for Potter once he knows that you live with us now”

Hermione was perplexed. She didn’t know that Draco would think that way.

“It was my idea to get you an owl now. So you can write to your friends and make life in the manor a bit more bearable. Father wanted to buy one just before you started school but I told him it is better that you and the owl get to spend some time together before school starts. And he agreed on it”

Hermione nodded and she almost felt like she wanted to hug Draco. But the feelings from the past two years were in the way.

“I want one that is kind. And not too big. I won’t be able to carry it if it’s too big”

Draco and Hermione successfully found a suitable owl that also seemed to like her.

“Can we go to the Flourish and Botts?” Hermione asked Draco
“No” Draco said and walked to a fireplace
“Just a minute”
“We can’t do that” Draco repeated “We have to be home before 8pm and that is in 9 minutes”

Hermione held her head down and walked to the fireplace.

“Alright” Draco said “Let’s go quickly”
Hermione felt happy and they quickly ran to Flourish and Botts. She sniffled in the books and so did Draco. It felt like a minute passed before she found a book and Draco looked at her with a book in his hands too. The moment he looked at her he was smiling but his smile faded away quickly.

She almost jumped a meter into the air as something grabbed her shoulder. She felt two stings in her shoulder and looked at the cause. Lucius’s cane was on her shoulder, drilling its teeth into her.

“I said at home at 8” Lucius said in a very cold tone.
“I’m sorry, father” Draco said immediately and stepped toward Hermione
“I’m sorry too, fa-“ Hermione wanted to say but her voice was cut off by a spell.
“Come” Lucius demanded and Draco took Hermione’s book and put it away.
“Take those home, Draco” Lucius said and Draco immediately ran to pay them. Within a minute he was standing next to his father. Silently the two walked behind Lucius who walked to the nearest fireplace and threw in the floo powder. He looked at the two who understood they should go first.

Draco stood with his hands behind his back next to the fireplace and looked straight at the wall far away.
“Stand next to me quickly” he whispered and Hermione did what she was told to do. Not a second later Lucius came out of the fireplace. He turned towards them both and stood there in silence. He took his wand and broke away the silencing spell and the mask on Hermione.

“Explain yourself” Lucius said and his eyes went to Draco “I didn’t expect you to break rules the second Hermione comes here”
“I’m sorry, father” Draco said and looked his father in the eyes “We wanted to go to the bookstore quickly but we stayed too long”
“It was my-” Hermione started but got silenced by Lucius’s hand.
“No one allowed you to speak” he said in a cold tone without taking his eyes off his son
“Go to your room. You will stay there until tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, father” Draco replied and walked away toward his room.

Lucius his eyes followed Draco until he was out of sight. “And you” he started, now letting his eyes meet Hermione’s “You have to learn that you do not speak unless you are asked to speak. Is that clear?”
“Yes, father”
“Why was it your fault that you two were late?”
“I wanted to go to Flourish and Botts and Draco already was on his way to the fireplace and he gave in”
“Then it is still shared blame” Lucius said coldly “If he said no, you would have been on time. Decisions have consequences”

Hermione looked into Lucius’s eyes but couldn’t find a trace of mercy in them.

“Your punishment will almost be the same as Draco’s” Lucius announced “Only you won’t be spending time in your room but in my study”

‘Spending time in my room would have been better’

“Come on. We still have enough time” Lucius said and started walking with Hermione behind him. Hermione felt the exhaustion already coming.

Lucius closed the door behind her “It is a bit late for tea time but show me what you have learned today”
Hermione served the tea and Lucius took a sip. “Cissy taught you well” he said and Hermione felt a bit of the weight coming off her tummy “However, I want you to do that wandless by next week”

“Yes, father” Hermione said with a slight tone of sadness.
“Start walking and sitting again” Lucius said sipping his tea. With a whip of his wand, the vase was on her head. She sighed and started walking.
“I don’t want to hear such noises again” Lucius warned
“Yes, father” Hermione knew that the day was going to be unbearable.

It felt like a long part of the day passed by before it finally ended. Her muscles were sore as the training felt like a workout. She quickly washed and went to bed.

At 5am she heard a bell ring and she looked at the alarm that was set for her. She got up to turn it off and went to the bathroom. The shower was the best thing for her sore muscles. She put on one of the new dresses she bought with Draco and looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look bad in it but it was not exactly her size either. She heard someone knock on the door and she asked to come in. To her surprise it was Draco.

“Good morning” he said and he looked at her from head to toe “you look beautiful today. I actually came to bring the book we bought yesterday”
“Thank you” she whispered and took the book “Draco?” her voice sounded insecure and his eyes met hers “I am so sorry about yesterday”
“Don’t worry about it” Draco said and smiled “I got a new book too and I enjoyed spending time with you at Flourish and Botts”

Hermione gave him a faint smile and her eyes drifted off to the big windows in her room.

“If you want to” Draco started, looking out of the window too “I can pick you up tonight and we can walk through the garden”
“Won’t we get in trouble?”
“Not if we do it at the right time” Draco said mockingly  “I’ll take my leave now”
“Can’t you stay here?” Hermione asked hoping to not be alone “We are ought to read books anyway and nobody said we can’t read together”
Draco smiled even more and walked to the seats of Hermione’s fireplace and sat down. With a whip of his wand, his book appeared and he started reading. Hermione took the seat next to him and started reading as well. She enjoyed reading for once with somebody instead of always being alone or with a nagging Ron on her side.

“Draco. Hermione” Lucius voice echoed in the room. They both got up quickly and looked at the door opening “You both are late”
“Sorry, father” they both said and their eyes went to the clock. It was 7:05.

“Come” Lucius said and started walking off. The two looked at each other and hurried after him.

“I only have been late twice in my life” Draco whispered only loud enough for Hermione to hear
“I’m so sorry” she whispered back “How did he know that you were in my room though?”
“He probably went to my room first”

“Oh Draco” Narcissa cried out as she saw her son and got up from her seat at the dining table. With a warning look from Lucius, she sat down again and watched how Draco and Hermione took their places at the dining table. Everyone started to fill their plate except for Draco and Hermione.
“Hermione, eat” Lucius ordered
“But father…” Hermione protested
“You are a woman on her monthly. You have to eat” Lucius said coldly.
“Lucius, please let Draco eat” Narcissa whispered to her husband
“He was too late, Cissy”
“Lucius!” her eyes pleaded him to give in “He already is so skinny”

Hermione looked from one to the other as they were staring into each other’s eyes as if it was a staring contest. At some point, Lucius gave in and told Draco to eat too. She already felt guilty enough and would have felt even worse if he couldn’t have breakfast now, just because she invited him to stay in her room.

“Draco, I want you to go with me and Hermione to her room to check her bags. We will dispose of everything she doesn’t need. After that, I want to see what spells you learned this schoolyear” Lucius’s eyes remained on Draco and Hermione was glad she didn’t have to spend her whole life here.

Hermione hoped she would have time to go to her room and hide her most important belongings before they would search her bags and suitcase but unfortunately, the three of them walked to her room immediately after breakfast. Her leg was shaking with fear as Lucius opened her bag and threw everything onto the bed.

“Do you need any of this?” Lucius said in disgust
“Well, some are just things I received as I was younger and I don’t want to throw away my photo album…” Hermione answered
“Show me” Lucius whispered and didn’t seem to want to touch anything that belonged to muggles. She showed them the stuff she wanted to keep and looked at him in high hopes that she could keep them.
“I think you should let go of the past” Lucius said coldly “You don’t need any of these to live or for school”
Hermione’s eyes widened as she saw Lucius grab his wand “No! Please don’t! Father please!” she cried out but with a flick of his wand her stuff started burning. Tears ran down her face as she looked at the photo album with the pictures of her and her family. Her gaze returned to Lucius. She was filled with anger and sadness and she started walking up to him. Lucius’s eyes met hers and they were cold as ever. She reached out to punch him but the moment she did he already slapped her in the face. She lost her balance and fell to the ground.

“Don’t you ever” Lucius’ voice was angry “try or even think of doing something like that again!”
With another flick of his wand and she felt a huge pain in her stomach.
“Father, please” Draco begged “Father you just destroyed something she holds dear. You would be angry too. Please don’t be too hard on her. She learns quickly!”
Lucius furry didn’t go away but he stopped his spell. Hermione’s tears rolled down her face. She was now not only experiencing mental pain but also physical. She just wished she would have been home.

Lucius pointed to the suitcase with his wand. It flew through the room and dropped everything on the bed. With his wand, he sorted out clothes from other things. The clothes however flew immediately into the fireplace. All that remained on the bed were the things she needed for school and a necklace she got before she went to Hogwarts.

“You can keep these” Lucius said mockingly “Tomorrow your handmade clothes will be delivered. Including the shoes, you are going to wear. Today you are training with Narcissa. I will be going to work soon. As for your misbehaviour, I will think of something nice”

With big steps, he left the room and Draco bend down to help her get up.
“We better follow him quickly” Draco whispered and wiped away some tears with his thumb as he held her face in both hands “I will come to visit you tonight. Then you can cry it all out”

Draco dragged Hermione by her hand. She absolutely didn’t want to follow Lucius but she knew that she would make her situation worse if she didn’t. Lucius stood still at the main entrance of the house and watched how they both came down the stairs.

“What will you be doing today?” Lucius asked Draco
“Practice the spells I have learned at school and show you them tonight, father” Draco answered immediately
“And you?”
“I will be training with mother until you come back, father” Hermione answered
“Good” Lucius looked at them both “Don’t cause Narcissa trouble while I’m gone”

Narcissa entered the hallway too “I’ll see you tonight, love” she said and walked towards Lucius.
“See you tonight” he replied and planted a kiss on her cheek. Lucius turned around and left through the door.

The whole day Hermione spent with Narcissa. She got taught how to welcome guests, how to eat, how to sit and Hermione wouldn’t be surprised if she would be taught how to breathe either. She felt exhausted but was glad that she had a day without Lucius’s cold stare. Narcissa was much warmer to her. Though she was still an ice-cold woman and absolutely merciless with her comments.

At some point, Draco came by to see her serve the tea. She was still practising doing it wandless, but it was taking at least 30min to set the tea and serve it. In between several cups broke in the progress, but in the end, she got the tea served. After he left, she remained practising with Narcissa.

“Lucius is already at home for an hour now” Narcissa said out of the blue
“Oh” Hermione replied emotionless “Does that mean we will have dinner soon?”
“Yes” Narcissa said a bit happy “I wonder how Draco is doing with showing the spells”

Hermione completely forgot that Draco has been practising all day too. She wondered too if he did well “Do you think we can go to see how they are doing?”
“We better not” Narcissa replied and looked at Hermione “We better continue too. I don’t think Lucius would like it if we sit here and enjoy ourselves. Especially since he is hoping to invite people in two weeks since you are progressing so well”

Narcissa gave Hermione a soft smile “You have been working really hard and you are also a very talented witch”
“Thank you, mother” she whispered as tears came into her eyes “I’m really tired of all of this and I felt like I’m not doing good enough”

Narcissa’s eyes widened and she quickly whispered “Sit down and make some wandless tea. Lucius is coming”

Hermione quickly sat down and concentrated with all her might on the tea. She wondered how Narcissa knew that Lucius was coming so she could know too in the further future when to pretend to be working hard. A knock on the door and without waiting for an answer, the door flew open.

“Good evening, ladies” Lucius smiled “How are the two of you progressing?”

Narcissa told Lucius everything they did today. Lucius listened but never looked at his wife. Instead, he was watching how Hermione was serving tea wandless. 

“Tonight Draco and Hermione are free to do what they want” Lucius announced to Narcissa “You should rest up too, love. You look tired”
Narcissa nodded and Hermione suddenly felt very happy inside. Finally, she would have a chance to sit still for a moment without being watched.

“Father?” Hermione asked and after he looked at her she continued “Can I write Harry tonight about everything that happened? He is in the muggle world so he can’t spread the word”
Lucius remained silent for a few seconds. Hermione assumed he was considering the risks of telling Harry. “No”
Hermione looked at Lucius in disbelief. ‘How can you say no? He is my friend! Narcissa said I have been doing so well. Can’t you give me at least some of my freedom back? I’m not a puppet to be shown and obey whenever you want!’

Hermione slowed her breathing and looked back at the tea set. It immediately broke into pieces the moment she looked at it. She sighed and took her wand to repair it.

“I think I have said before I don’t want to hear complaining noises” Lucius whispered. Hermione didn’t look away from the tea set and whispered an apology.
“Look at me when I talk to you” Lucius demanded and Hermione looked at him. It felt like a staring contest. After a while, Lucius broke the silence “Repeat your apology”
“I’m sorry, father” Hermione whispered and Lucius nodded. She continued making the tea and wished it was past dinner time already. She was really looking forward to sitting down in her room and reading her new book. Luckily it didn’t take long until it was dinner time and she sat down with Draco happily. She looked at him, wondering how much their relationship actually improved. Especially considering the fact he always was bullying her and her friends at school. She wondered if once they would return, he would still bully her or if it was all over now.

"Draco" Lucius said after dinner "I want to talk to you before you go"

Draco nodded. Hermione and Narcissa left the dining room. In silence, they separated ways. Hermione looked at the portrait while she walked to her room. Just now, she realised how many generations must have passed. Some of the portraits were sleeping. Others looked at her angrily. Only a few greeted her. She noticed now too how many doors there were. She wondered what would be behind them. One day, she could go to explore them. Today, she had to behave properly so she could enjoy some time off.

She only read two pages when she heard someone knocking on the door. Hermione answered the door. To her surprise, Draco was standing there.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her. Hermione looked at him for a while. He reminded her that Lucius destroyed almost everything she had.

"I'm doing okay" she finally answered
"Do you mind if I spend the evening with you?"

Hermione was speechless. This wasn't like the Draco at Hogwarts. She took a step back to let him enter. Draco immediately walked to his spot at the fireplace, and Hermione followed him slowly. She took her book again and continued reading. Draco did the same but every now and then he would look at her.

"Is there something on my face?" Hermione asked annoyed
"No"
"Then why are you looking at me all the time?"
"To make sure you aren't crying"

Her eyes met his. She could feel her heart skip a beat.

'Is this a joke? Does he really care?'

Hermione's mind was progressing so many thoughts that she just stared at him bluntly.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable" Draco said apologetically
"No no, I just... I'm not used to you being kind to me. I mean... it has been two years since we met and... we never really had any friendly words..."

Draco stared at her. She could see in his eyes that he regretted his actions. It kind of confuses her since he behaved like a spoiled brat at Hogwarts but here he is the kindest around. They continued reading and Draco still checked on her from time to time. Every time he did, Hermione looked up and gave him a friendly smile. The silence got disturbed by a knock on the door. After knocking the door flew open and Narcissa entered.

“It’s time to go to bed, my dears” she said “I’m glad to see the two of you get along so well”
Hermione felt how her cheeks became warm and probably had a red blush. Draco and Narcissa left after saying goodnight and Hermione made herself ready for bed. Once in bed, she continued reading a little and dozed off to sleep.

Chapter Text

She woke up from a strange scratching sound at her window. She looked out of the window and saw yellow eyes staring at her. Her breathing quickened and she took slow steps to the door. Not looking away from the yellow eyes. Her back hit the door and she searched for the handle. She managed to leave her room and stood still in the hall, not knowing where to go. Her heart was still racing and she quickly walked along the hall. The yellow eyes appeared in one of the windows she passed and she started walking quicker and quicker. She didn’t know where she could find Narcissa or Draco and her panic was starting to show. She ran past a corner into someone and screamed loudly.

“Hermione, what are you doing out of bed?” Lucius said. He used his wand to ignite the candle and looked at her shocked face “Oh love. What happened?”

Still in shock, she just stared at him and he came closer to help her up.
“I-I-I-I sa-saw eyes”
“What kind of eyes did you see, dear?”
“Yellow eyes at my window”

Lucius laughed and pet her head gently “Don’t worry about those yellow eyes. They are probably from one of the forest animals”
“But it followed me by all the windows and…”
“You must be a nice snack then”
“I’m scared”

She looked at Lucius and he looked back at her without saying a word
“Father, I’m scared”
“I know. You have to calm down first”

Hermione took several deep breaths to calm down. She looked back to Lucius, hoping he got a solution to her problem.

"If you want to, you can sleep in Draco's room. Or Draco can come to your room" Lucius gave her a soft smile "Then you aren't alone"

Hermione nodded. Lucius started walking off and Hermione followed him silently. She stayed close to him in those dark hallways. He stopped at a door and knocked before entering.

"Draco!" Lucius shouted. Draco sat up in his bed and looked at his father with big eyes.
"Father?"
"Hermione is scared on her own. Some yellow eyes have been following her. I want her to sleep over in your room"

Draco nodded and moved to one side of the bed. Lucius walked to the bed with Hermione. She got in and looked at Draco

"Now sleep" Lucius whispered and left the room.

"Draco, I'm so sorry for waking you at this hour"
"It's fine. How are you feeling?"
"I feel a bit better but I'm still scared"
"You can come closer if you want to. Do you want me to light the candle? Then it isn't so dark either"
"Yes, please"
"It must be hard for you here" Draco said out of nowhere
"It’s not that bad... But I do feel kind of lonely"

Draco's eyes met hers as she continued

"Ever since I found out I was a witch, I always had Harry and Ron around me. At first, they didn't like me either but we became good friends now. But since we left Hogwarts I couldn't even write them a letter. It seems like they didn't write me one either" her voice sounded sad and she held back her tears

"They did write you" Draco whispered "Father has all the letters in his study"

She couldn't believe her ears. Lucius kept her letters away from her.

" If you want to, we can go read them. We need to seal the letters later again" Draco proposed, and Hermione gave him a hug
"That would be lovely. Won't we get in trouble, though? Also, we can't just walk into his study like that"

Draco gave her a sleek smile "Every manor has hidden routes to move from one room to the other"
"Are you really sure we can do it? I don't want you to get into trouble because of me"
"'Father caught me a few times, but skipping meals isn't that bad"

After a short silence, they both got up. Draco walked in front of her to the hidden passage.

"Every room has one, and they are all connected. You can block them off to each room too. For example, if you get followed by someone, you can turn it into some kind of maze to them, but it stays normal to you"

Hermione followed Draco closely and grabbed his hand as she heard some noise.

"Don't worry" Draco said "It’s the wood in the house that you hear cracking. Wood breathes, you see. When it's cold it crimps. If it gets warm, it expands. It always cracks like crazy"

After a few minutes and some stairs, they stood at the passage entrance.

"We're there" Draco said and opened the door. He looked through the study in the moonlight before completely entering.

"Let's go. Nobody is here anyway at this hour"

Draco and Hermione entered the study. Draco walked to the desk and searched for one of the hidden drawers. After a while, he found the right one with 7 letters in it. Draco gave them to Hermione who checked if they were hers. Draco opened another drawer and took out his wand.

"Let me help" he said with a cocky smile. Hermione read the letters quickly with tears in her eyes. Draco made them unread again with a flick of his wand and they put everything back in its place. They walked away from the desk as suddenly the door opened.

"You two!" Narcissa whispered angrily "What are you doing here?! You should go to your rooms quickly"
"Sorry, mother" they both whispered, and Draco opened the hidden passage, and they both left quickly. They both ran and entered Draco's room.

"The candle went out" Hermione noticed immediately as she entered. The candle lit again and they saw Lucius sitting on the bed.

"Well well well" he smirked as he walked to them "I see I got some night owls tonight"
"Father... I" Draco started and fell to the floor. Hermione looked at Draco, who held his hand to his cheek.
"Father, please" he begged and got up "It was my fault and my idea"
"How dare you both" Lucius whispered angrily. Draco fell to the ground again, and Hermione just noticed now that Lucius had slapped him twice. She took a step back. Her knees felt weak and she fell to the ground.

“Already falling without being hit” Lucius scuffed “Get up. Only trash and mudbloods can lay on the floor!”
His voice scared Hermione even more but Draco got up and bend down to help her up too.
“I think she can get up on her own, Draco”
“Yes, father” Draco said. Hermione could hear the fear in his voice. Hermione got up too but couldn’t stand for too long. She hasn’t felt this scared since the day the troll came into the restroom.

They heard a knock on the door and shortly after it, Narcissa entered. She looked from Lucius to Draco back to Lucius and then to Hermione. With big steps, she walked up to her husband.
“Lucius, please. They only left the room” she pleaded
Lucius pointed his wand at Hermione. Everything she saw that evening flashed before her eyes. She felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“YOU TWO” he shouted and pushed away Narcissa “GET UP! NOW!”
Hermione had tears rolling down her eyes. She got up again but fell. Draco helped her quickly and tried to hold her behind him. Protecting her from his father’s rage.
“Oh you both are in so much trouble” Lucius hissed. With a whip of his wand they changed rooms.

Hermione looked around. A cold breeze hit her and she started shivering.

“The two of you will spend the night here” Lucius said
“Lucius!” Narcissa raised her voice “You can’t lock them up in the dungeon! They will catch a cold or get very sick!”
“Shut it” Lucius snared back at her
“No! You cannot lock up my son like that!”

Hermione held herself tight to Draco who was breathing quickly. She assumed that he never had been locked in the dungeon before.

“LUCIUS” Narcissa lost it and took her wand “Let them out now!”
Lucius looked at his wife and stepped closer to her “Cissy, it is only for the next 3h. It will be morning soon”
“I will not have you lock them up over something so small!”
“What do you think to do with your wand?” Lucius whispered “Attack your own husband?”

Narcissa lowered her wand “Lucius, please. I’m begging you”

Lucius unlocked the door with his wand without taking his eyes off his wife “Only this time”
Draco and Hermione left the cell quickly before Lucius could change his mind.
“Thank you, mother” they said and stood still.

“Lucius, let’s bring them to bed. Tomorrow morning we can talk about a proper punishment” Narcissa said as she put away her wand. She started walking in front, followed by Draco and Hermione. Lucius walked behind them all. Once they entered Draco’s room, Lucius cast a spell on the hidden passage and several other spells.

“Don’t do anything stupid and stay in bed, okay?” Narcissa whispered to them as she tucked them in. “Goodnight” they replied and nodded. The door fell shut and it became silent.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” Hermione asked Draco in the dark
“I’m okay. I’m glad he didn’t hit you yet” Draco whispered “Tomorrow won’t be a nice day”
“I’m so sorry” Hermione whispered back. It didn’t take long until they both fell asleep.

The next morning was nerve-wracking. Hermione was definitely not ready for whatever Lucius had planned out for them. She already felt hungry and skipping breakfast would be a hard thing to live on. As she and Draco arrived in the dining room, she was surprised that Lucius did not say a word. However, Narcissa didn’t look at them once and that worried her. After eating breakfast in silence, Narcissa left the room and closed the doors behind her. Hermione looked at Draco quickly before she looked at Lucius. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

“I have decided on a useful punishment” Lucius announced “The two of you will spend all day with me. Come”
Hermione and Draco followed Lucius through the house until they stopped at a door and entered. The room was cold and there were almost no decorations compared to the rest of the house. On the wall, she saw marks from a duel.

“I want you to duel each other” Lucius said as he looked from one to the other “One practices expelliarmus and the other will use protego”
Hermione sighed, that wouldn’t be that hard as a punishment
“However” Lucius continued with a grin “The one who uses protego is not allowed to say a word or to move his or her wand”

Hermione looked at him with her mouth open as he stepped away from them towards a desk.
“Begin” he whispered as he picked up his quill.

Hermione looked at Draco and they took their positions. Draco held his wand down, signing her to start with expelliarmus. She focused on his hand but instead, he flew through the room against the wall. She stepped forward to help him as she saw Lucius holding up his hand to her. Telling her to stay where she was. Draco got up not much later and this time he attacked her. She flew through the room and she felt her back hit the wall. The pain was not that bad but she knew it would increase over time. This man was cruel. Using practice as a way to punish them both. She looked at Lucius who smirked at her before he focused back on his paper “If the two of you don’t practice enough I’ll let you do this the whole week” he warned.

They kept practising until the door flew open and Narcissa stepped in with a tray of tea. She looked at them both with her mouth half open. Hermione wondered what she was thinking but she took big steps to Lucius’s desk before she slammed the tray down.

“Lucius!” her voice was cold as she stared at her husband
“Cissy” Lucius replied without looking up from his paper “What is it, love?”
“Look at them!” she hissed under her breath “They will have bruises everywhere. Maybe they’ll break something if they keep going!”
Hermione stared at the woman. She looked over to Draco quickly who shook his head and pointed his wand at her. Hermione’s eyes widened and shortly after she hit the wall again.

“Stop it you both!” Narcissa screamed it out
Hermione stood up and looked at Narcissa with fear. She has never seen the emotion-controlled woman flip out. Hermione looked at how Narcissa took a few deep breaths before Narcissa calmly said: “Have a cup of tea first. Wait outside I have to talk with my husband”

Draco and Hermione quickly took their cups and a biscuit, saying a quick “thank you” before they left the room.

“Draco?” Hermione started “What do you think will happen?”
Draco looked at his tea “Mother will get mad at father. Sometimes he gives in but I doubt he will today”
“Does this happen a lot?” Hermione asked curiously
“Well, not that much. It’s only that my father is very strict with me. Mother doesn’t like it if he is too harsh on me with the punishments”
“I’m sorry that I’ve caused you so much trouble” Hermione whispered into the tea cup before she took a sip. She heard her name and Draco’s being called and they both entered the cold room again. They both silently walked towards Lucius and Narcissa, waiting for one of them to start either good or bad news.

“Firstly,” Lucius started in a very cold and annoyed tone “both of you should be thankful to Narcissa. I had planned to let the two of you do this until tonight. She insisted that you have been punished enough.”
“Thank you, mother” they said in synchronisation
“Secondly, the two of you will remake all the potions you have learned this year. I’ll let Severus check the potions, so do not disappoint me”

They awkwardly left the room together, leaving Narcissa and Lucius behind.
“For Merlin’s sake” Draco started “It is summer vacation, not self-study at home vacation”
Hermione laughed a little “It could be worse. How did you spend last summer?”
Draco looked at her for a second before he answered “Well, last summer I did have to practice everything we learned during our first school year. Professor Snape even graded my potions during the summer. But I had more time to see friends and play quidditch.”
Hermione looked back at Draco, noticing how his expression looked rather sad. She herself wished too that this summer would have been different.

They remained silent until Draco opened the door for her “This is our potion’s room. We basically got everything we have at school. Also, most of the ingredients are from the manor. We have our own greenhouse for potion ingredients. That’s also something we have to look after during the summer”
Hermione couldn’t believe her eyes. The room was huge and the opening to the storage room revealed that that room was huge too. They both started with their potions, almost synchronising every step. After a long day, Hermione fell asleep exhausted in Draco’s bed before he even returned from the bathroom.

Chapter Text

Everyday life became quite boring to Hermione very soon. Waking up and reading was the best part of the day. Lately, she started to feel lonely. The love and time her muggle parents spent with her were missing. On top of that, she felt watched constantly. There were paintings literally everywhere who watched her every move except her own room and Draco’s. Lucius’s and Narcissa’s watching eyes bothered her too. She didn’t have any time for herself and the messages from her friends were piling up. Some were even unopened because she fell asleep with the letter in her hand.

While practising her wandless tea serving her thoughts drifted off. How nice it would be to go back to Hogwarts. Free to do what she wants. To see her friends again. Not being watched all the time. Freedom. She wanted freedom.

“Hermione!” Narcissa shouted. Hermione looked into her cold eyes.
“Were you even listening to what I  said?” her tone was cold and impatient
“I’m sorry, mother, my mind drifted away even before you spoke”
“You already mastered this perfectly” Narcissa continued “I think you deserve a break. I’d like to advise you to go to your room and stay there until it’s tea time. Read a book and relax a bit”
“Really?” Hermione got up and felt happy inside. Now she finally could read those letters and reply to them
“However, in about three days from now, I’ll let Lucius invite other wizards and witches to the manor. I will train you and tell you everything you are allowed to do “
“And after that?” Hermione barely couldn’t hold down her excitement
“After that, we will publish that you have been found. We will go through how and what we will reply to for the interview. We will go to parties or hold them ourselves”

Hermione’s excitement dropped again. She absolutely didn’t like being in the spotlight. Now going back to Hogwarts sounds less exciting too. All the other students will probably talk about her behind her back. The gossiping… The rumours… She was definitely not ready for what is to come.

She followed Narcissa out of the room and walked to her own room. She sat down on the couch near the fireplace and started reading the letters. She wondered if she could tell her friends about everything that happened. While reading the letters she felt happy and bad at the same time. Ron and Harry were genuinely worried about her and she still didn’t reply to any letter. She took her quill and started writing a letter to each. With a smile on her face, she looked at the letters and gave them to her owl Wobbles. Wobbles flew off but not up to the sky. Hermione tried to look at where the owl flew too. It seemed to fly quite close to the manor, flew around the corner and was gone.

Hermione looked at the place she has last seen the owl. “Merlin’s beard where did that bird fly off to?” Her eyes looked at the shadows that the manor created. That bird is flying in the wrong direction!

Hermione left her room and started running through the manor until she reached the main entrance. She grabbed the door handles to go outside but it was locked.

“Where do you think you are going?” Lucius’s voice echoed in the entrance. Hermione looked up to the door of his study on the second floor. “I’m going nowhere, father. I just wanted to search for Wobbles”
“Come here”

Hermione slowly walked to the study. She could feel Lucius’s eyes watching her every step closely.
“Yes, father?”
“Every letter you send is getting checked by me” he said with a small smile “If there is nothing in the letter that can cause our reputation harm, the letter passes. If not it goes into the fire”
Hermione nodded but inside she felt some kind of rage. How dare he read my letters? Is there even something like privacy in this house?!

“Consider yourself lucky, that Narcissa put in a good word for you today. I don’t tolerate the things you are thinking” his dark eyes pierced through hers
“Your friends can have these letters, no worries. I don’t want that blood traitor of a Weasley near my manor. I also decided that you can go to the Weasleys in the second last week of this summer. If you behave well enough.”
Hermione nodded. Another spark of joy went through her body. Finally, she would get to see her friends. Even have some quality time!

She stood still, waiting for Lucius to dismiss her but it seemed he had no intention of doing so. She stood there in silence as he gave her letters back to her owl.

“Sit down” Lucius ordered and Hermione sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk.
“I asked Severus to come over tomorrow for dinner. I expect him at 5pm and I expect perfect behaviour from you. Only speak when you are spoken to. You call me Mr Malfoy and Narcissa Mrs Malfoy. No comments, no questions to Severus or us. Just be pretty and learn from Narcissa and Draco, is that clear?”
“Yes, father”
His eyes met hers and he stared at her for a while before finally whispering ‘good’.

Hermione watched as Lucius was writing some things down on his parchment before she dared to ask if she was dismissed.
“Not so quickly, young lady” Lucius said without looking up “We still have to talk about certain things”
Hermione waited until he was done and looked up at her
“Do you a safe at Gringotts? “
“No, father”
“Then we will have to go to get you one. We will be going today. Do you still have muggle money?”
“Yes, I have some in my wallet”
“Take that with you too”

Lucius moved across his desk and took out her wand “Here”
“Thank you, father”
“Just like Draco, you will get some allowance. You can buy things for yourself with it. What you do not use within a month will be deposited at Gringotts. You don’t have to buy food or sweets. During the school year, we will send you sweets regularly. Just let us know what you would like to have and we will get it for you”
Hermione nodded and opened her mouth to reply but Lucius was not done
“This upcoming school year, you will be allowed to go to Hogsmeade every now and then. Narcissa and I will meet you there once in a while together with Draco. I expect you to eat with Draco at least once every day at school. I am sure you understand you will have to sit down at the Slytherin table. I have been trying to get you into Slytherin but Dumbledore insists you stay in Gryffindor.”

Hermione felt some sort of relief. At least the days she spent with her friends in the common room will not end until they graduate.

“Please get ready to leave within 5 minutes. I’ll wait for you here” Lucius finally said and she got up to get ready. It didn’t even take her that long before she returned with her wallet and her cloak. Lucius had his cloak on too and held out his arm to her. She held onto it lightly, scared to be scolded again. He lead her outside of the manor grounds to disapparate to Gringotts. Hermione was wearing her cloak’s hood over her head to avoid her face being seen. She let go of Lucius’ arm and walked closely behind him. Lucius walked straight into Gringotts to the main desk announcing he needed a new safe. The goblin lead them to a private room where they could talk more in private. She sat down next to Lucius but was still hiding her face.

“So Mr Malfoy, you’d like to open a new safe for Miss Malfoy?” the goblin asked while writing on paper. Hermione didn’t follow the conversation as it was too boring to listen to. She looked at her pale hands instead. She never really realised she started to look this pale. The lack of going outside was leaving her with the pale skin the whole household had. She was looking forward to going back to Hogwarts and just sitting outside with a book in the sunshine. Out of nowhere, Lucius got up and she followed him closely. They left Gringotts and he held out his arm for her to return to the manor.

Once she was back inside, Lucius spoke.
“You did not listen to the conversation, did you?”
“No, father”
“And why?”

Hermione looked down at her shoes. She didn’t know herself why. “I don’t know, father”
“If you are with company I expect you to listen to people” his tone was stern
“Yes, father. Sorry, father” she almost whispered
“Look at me when we are talking!”
“Sorry, father”

His eyes pierced through hers and she started to feel scared. Especially as he took one step closer before he slapped her in the face. She held her hand against her cheek where he just hit her. She looked back into his eyes with tears rolling down her face.

“I thought they called you the brightest witch of our age” Lucius said with a deep tone “How can you disappoint me this much?”
Hermione didn’t say a word but tried her best to continue to look into his eyes.
“How can you be such a difficult child? Are even basic manners too much for you?”

Hermione’s chest was aching with pain. She just wanted to go back home or to Hogwarts. She tried to control her tears but they only started rolling down her face quicker.

“Pathetic” Lucius sneered at her “I want you to write down every single thing you have learned here. I want it on my desk by tonight”
“Yes, father” she managed to bring out and left immediately to her room. There she sat near the fire and cried for a little longer before finally calming down. She took a parchment and started writing.

There was a knock on the door and it opened before she could reply. It was Narcissa who came in.
“Hermione, you missed dinner. Are you alright?” she asked kindly
“I’m fine, thank you mother” Hermione gave her a slight smile “I was just too focused on my task”

Narcissa rested her hand on her shoulder. Slightly squeezing it.
“The next few days will be very important” Narcissa said out of the blue “Once you are known to the world, you will get more and less freedom”
Hermione didn’t look away from her parchment but wondered how she could get more and less freedom at the same time.
“I came here to collect your wand for Lucius” Narcissa said and squeezed her shoulder once more.
“Mother? Could you please stay with me a little?” Hermione asked in almost a whisper
“Of course I can, dear” Narcissa said and rubbed her thumb over Hermione’s shoulder.

Narcissa stood there in silence but Hermione still enjoyed her company. Before Narcissa left she handed in her wand. Several hours later she finally finished her paper and brought it to Lucius’s desk. Fortunately for Hermione, Lucius was not there. The remaining evening went rather peacefully and she read through the letters her friends had sent her.

The next day went rather chaotic. Lucius was at work, Draco was doing his tasks and Narcissa was in a panic about almost everything that might can happen to Hermione that evening. They practised greeting, eating, sitting, walking and even breathing. Hermione would have never thought that she would see Narcissa so stressed as today.

Shortly before it would be 5pm, Draco and Hermione stood in the hallway, awaiting Lucius and Severus. Narcissa came down the stairs the moment the door opened. Both Lucius and Severus were smiling, and Hermione was pretty sure she would never see Snape smiling again. It sent shivers down her spine. The smiling stopped as Snape looked at Hermione.

"We found her, Severus." Lucius said in excitement "Can you remember Clyde Isla and Murray? Their daughter and Draco are promised to each other"
Snape nodded and looked back at Lucius. The two of them started walking towards the room where Hermione had been practising her tea-serving. She followed behind Draco, who walked in front of her. After Lucius and Snape sat down, Narcissa took a seat near them. Hermione and Draco sat down on the couch opposite Lucius and Snape. Hermione looked at the tea set that appeared on the coffee table. She looked quickly at Narcissa, who gave her a nod. She concentrated while she heard Lucius and Snape talking. It made it much more difficult with the distraction, but after a couple of minutes, she had the tea served and was sipping her own cup. The thing that upset her the most was that after all that training, she didn't even get praise or approval. It felt like hours passed by before they were dismissed. Narcissa led them out of the room and told them to get check the dining room and wait there.

“Is it always like this when visitors come over?" Hermione asked Draco while they walked through the halls

"Sometimes even worse. I often had to sit with them all the time until they'd leave. When I was younger, I sometimes would fall asleep while I sat on father's lap" he said smiling "Father would let me sleep until the guests left. It was one of those moments where I didn't know how I got into bed"

The both of them looked around the dining table. Checked all the silverware and the wine glasses on prints. They both stood at the fireplace, waiting for the others to come. Hermione stared into the fire she was awoken from her trance as the door flew open. Everybody sat down in their assigned seats, and the dinner was rather silent. The silence got broken by Snape

"I hope you are aware that even being part of the Malfoys won't change anything in potions class."

Hermione nodded and felt how Draco kicked her. It was only a fraction of a second, so Hermione quickly answered, "Yes, sir."

Snape's eyes narrowed a little before he changed his focus to Draco. They started talking about quidditch, and after the conversation ended, the topic moved to the potions they made as punishment. To her relief, her potion was better than during the schoolyear. However, for Draco, the news wasn't equally good. His potion had the same grade as at school, and Hermione saw how Lucius tightened his grip on his glass.

While talking, they moved to another room to sit down and relax. This once more took ages before Snape decided it was time to leave. After Snape left the door, the focus was back on the two. Hermione noticed how Draco got nervous, and that was even more reason for her to be nervous. They both looked from Lucius to Narcissa in the hope of being dismissed. Instead, she got a slap across the face.

"I said: answering with two words, young lady." Lucius's voice echoed through the entrance.
"As for you Draco" Lucius continued, and she heard the sound of an even harder slap "I expect improvement, not a disappointment."
"Sorry, father." Draco brought out in pain
 "I'll work harder to be better, father. I promise. "
"In my study, the both of you." Lucius commanded.

They marched off to the study, leaving Narcissa and Lucius behind. The two of them were talking, but Hermione and Draco couldn't hear what they were saying.

"What will happen now?" Hermione asked Draco
"We will have a study session, I assume. Until it's time to go to bed"

Draco was right. They both sat in the study on the sofa while reading their study books. Sometimes they would take notes. Hermione found it rather pleasing to sit with someone and study together. However, she would have preferred if they would have spoken from time to time. The only sound one could hear was the fire, pages flipping and Lucius writing on parchment. The silence got interrupted by Lucius who sent them off to bed.

Another week of practising spells, making potions and etiquette passed by. Hermione and Draco’s relationship didn’t improve much. They were living together but they didn’t feel like friends yet. Hermione wondered how things will go once they go back to Hogwarts. One day during supper, Lucius announced that they will hold a tea party and that many other pureblood families will come. In two days they will come and Hermione got prepared for it under Narcissa’s strict coaching. The day came and Hermione noticed how both Lucius and Narcissa were on edge. They constantly looked at Draco and Hermione even though the guests did not arrive yet.

Shortly before 3.30pm Draco and Hermione made their way to the entrance to line up for the guests. Lucius and Narcissa were facing the door while Hermione and Draco stood on their sides. The door opened and the first family came. Conversations started and one by one the families entered. Some of their male children immediately walked to Draco and they were talking and laughing. The girls, however, were silently standing next to their mother. Slowly they all followed behind Lucius to the tea room. There the men sat down at their own table, each with their sons next to them. The women sat down on the couch surrounding the coffee table. Their daughters are next to them as well. Hermione heard a piano playing some music, even though nobody was playing the instrument. Everybody was winded up in conversations except the young girls. They watched how Hermione served tea to the women first and then to the men. After all the tea was served, some of the young girls looked at her in admiration. She held her own cup and took a sip, listening to what Narcissa was saying. Apparently, it was time for Narcissa to brag about her daughter-in-law who could serve tea at such a young age without using a wand. Hermione wondered why the conversation was mainly bragging about their children. She looked at some of the other girls and realised they went to Hogwarts with her. She always neglected other students who were in Slytherin. Some looked at her with a very dirty and angry expression in their eyes, even though their facial expressions were neutral.

“We are so glad to have Hermione in our family” Narcissa said with a smile “We have not decided who will be her First, yet”
“I think that choice is something very difficult to decide” another woman replied “I haven’t decided yet who will be Pansy’s First”

Hermione’s eyes met Pansy’s who was looking very angry at her. Hermione knew she had a crush on Draco and now that she was there to be wed to him, it left little chance for her. Hermione wondered what they meant with “the First” though. Narcissa never mentioned it to her. The conversation kept going about who they hoped would be the First and Hermione noticed that Lucius’s name was mentioned a lot by the other mothers. The conversations kept going and Hermione did her best to focus, yet the only thing she was able to notice was how the time passed by so slowly. At some point, everyone got up and took out their wands to change into pretty dresses. Narcissa changed Hermione’s clothes with a flick of her wand. Hermione looked at the very dark blue dress she was wearing now. Her shoulders were covered, her feet disappeared under the gown and she could feel the corset tightening a little bit more. The upper part of her body felt snatched and she adapted her breathing to get some air in. The men came to collect their wives and their sons asked a girl for a dance. Draco held out his hand to her and she took it gently. Draco whispered without moving his lips as she walked to his side “Everybody already knows you are mine”

They walked through the halls until they reached a big door that leads to the garden. There were candles floating around while the sun was setting. Hermione was shocked as Draco pulled her closer by the waist so suddenly. She gently put her hand on his shoulder and they started to waltz along to the music.  After two songs, some stopped dancing while others continued. Drinks were served by house elves and even some small snacks. Slowly the sound of people talking was taking over which allowed Draco and Hermione to talk freely too.

“You learned to dance pretty well in only such a short time period” Draco complimented her
“I had a great partner” Hermione said with a smile which made Draco look away from her
“Would you like to drink something or should we keep going?” Draco asked
“The dress is pretty tight so a short break wouldn’t hurt” Hermione said in a whisper.
Draco waltzed her out of the circle to the side of the dance floor. There they stopped dancing and both took a drink.

“You know what is funny at these parties?” Draco asked abruptly
“What is it?”
“They serve firewhisky and we as kids always try to get our hands on it. We share it with the other kids, mixing it into our pumpkin juice”
“And how do your parents react to it?”
“Just don’t get caught” Draco smiled

Draco held out his arm and Hermione took it. They both drank their pumpkin juice as Draco guided her towards a different part of the garden. A small pop-sound got their attention
“Young Mr Malfoy, you should turn back” the house elves said in a scared voice “Mr Malfoy will not like it if you go off wandering”
“Shut it” Draco sneered and set another step forward but Hermione stopped
“Draco, I think we should not do this. Father will be pissed and if we misbehave at my first party, I’ll not have a nice week” Hermione whispered and she slightly tucks onto his arm “Can we go back, please?”
Draco looked at her and then he saw his father’s eyes at the end of the dance floor, staring at him.
“Yes, we will head back. Father is already watching us” Draco whispered. They marched back to where Lucius was already awaiting them
“Off for a walk?” Lucius said in a whisper “You know you shouldn’t be outside once it gets dark”
“Sorry, father” Draco whispered back
“Behave” Lucius warned them before he walked off to the other men

It didn’t take long before the warning already was broken as one of the children managed to get their hands on the firewhisky. They were handed a new glass with pumpkin juice where there was a little bit of firewhisky in it. Hermione and Draco didn’t drink much of the following firewhisky-pumpkin juices and they noticed how some of the others their age were getting drunker and drunker. Hermione looked at the clock and it was already 11pm. She danced a lot and she had some fun with the others too. She never talked to the adults, though. The fun got interrupted as one of the fathers noticed how drunk his son was and blamed one of the house elves for it. He gave it a kick before he took out his wand, changing his wand into some kind of whiplash. Hermione screamed but Draco held his hand for her mouth to muffle the noise. Within a second she could feel how she could not bring out a sound and got grabbed by her hair and dragged through the doors back into the manor. She saw Lucius’s long platinum-blond hair in front of her, still dragging her on her hair. He opened another door and threw her to the ground.

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!” his voice echoed through the room. Hermione was still laying on the floor and looked up at him, tears in her eyes as she tried to get up.
“Father, I..” she was cut off as he slapped her across the face
“I cannot remember, that I told you to act on your own” Lucius sneered and grabbed her by her hair again, lifting her to her feet. “I am not happy about this, Hermione”
Hermione’s tears were running down her face and she tried her best to look him in the eyes
“Father, I’m sorry” she whimpered
“Stop crying!” Lucius demanded and tightened his grip “We need to get back to the party soon and I cannot have you look like you cried your eye out over a house elf”
Hermione rubbed her face to wipe away the tears and looked back at his grey, cold eyes.
“You drank” Lucius whispered “I had hoped better from you”
His eyes looked disappointed and he let go of her hair
“Tomorrow, you’ll receive your punishment for misbehaving and drinking. Now come, we are going back”

She walked quickly behind Lucius who was marching back to the party. He made sure they appeared there without having everybody focus on them. Lucius winked Draco over.
“Draco?” he said with a smile
“Yes, father?”
“You drank too…” he said with a very dark undertone “We will talk about this tomorrow morning. I’ll keep my eyes on both of you from now”
“Yes, father” they said in harmony before walking off quickly to the other kids, scared that Lucius might change his mind. It didn’t take long until all their parents held their children close to them. All were disappointed because they drank. Hermione assumed that they will face consequences too once the morning came.

She was getting sleepy as the adults kept talking and talking. They moved back inside into another room where they all set comfortably. The very young children fell asleep, resting their heads on their parent’s lap. The older ones seem to struggle to stay awake. Draco whispered to her
“Don’t worry, I barely can stay awake myself. It’s already 2.30am”
Hermione sighed and she saw how Pansy and Blaise already fell asleep.
“Can we sleep too?”
“We have to stay awake as long as we can” Draco whispered and yawned “They are our visitors so we have to stay awake”

Several minutes later, Draco’s head started to dip and he almost fell asleep. He woke up as Lucius called him by his name. Hermione looked at Draco who walked over to his father. Lucius grabbed him down to sit on his lap. Lucius shut Draco’s eyes and held him tightly against his chest. Draco was asleep now and she was the only one of the kids left who was awake. After another 10 minutes passed, she felt the struggle becoming worse. This time Narcissa grabbed her hand and pulled her close, pushing her down onto her lap where she fell asleep rather quickly.

She woke up from Narcissa gently patting her head and telling her to wake up. The other kids were woken up too and they all left to go home. The four of them stood in the hallway and the door closed. Lucius grabbed Draco and Hermione by the arms and half-carried them back to their rooms. Hermione woke up late in the morning as the sun shone on her face. She got up and got ready. She walked over to Draco’s room and knocked on the door. Draco called to come in and so she did. She looked at Draco who was still in bed
“Good morning” she said and walked over
“Morning” Draco mumbled “I thought you would be mother or father to wake me up”
“Do parties always last that long?” Hermione said and yawned, she was still feeling tired.
“Often they go beyond midnight. Normally, it last until 2am but before we went to bed it was already 5am. Sometimes, father demands that we don’t go to bed and continue into the next day”

Hermione looked at Draco. She would have never thought that this would be normal in the wizarding world. She sat down on the bed and stared into the cracking fire opposite the bed. Out of the blue, she started talking to herself and Draco
“I never really got to know you. At school, you are just the cocky, little brat”
“Hey!”
“But here, it seems like all you tried to achieve is the acknowledgement of your father”

It fell silent. Draco sat up and looked at the fire too
“Father never really praised me much since I started going to Hogwarts. When I was younger, he was always proud of me. Sometimes even cheerful. Now he only wants me to reach the top of my academics”
“But you were beaten by a muggle?”
“Who turned out to be a pureblood after all” Draco answered “Father was disappointed in me last year. He said that I didn’t work hard enough and that even muggles, who never heard of magic were beating me easily” his voice had a very sad undertone and Hermione regretted that she started the conversation.
“But now that you are here…” Draco continued “with us. It is good that you got that reputation as the brightest witch of our age. That adds up to the Malfoy name once we get married”
“I wanted to ask something yesterday. Do you know what they mean with the First?”
“Of course I do. The First is special to women. Basically, she will lose her virginity to an older experienced man. They try to get someone who is in a higher rank as well, making the girl a higher rank too before she is married”
“Isn’t that gross to have interaction with an older man?”
“Well, it depends on how you view it” Draco said in thought and looked at her “If your first time is with a young person like me, you might not know how to enjoy the intercourse at all. The older males help you understand what you like and what you don’t like. Then when you are married off, you always get a virgin boy who doesn’t know how to do it properly. You teach us how to do it and the way you like it.”
“Sounds reasonable when you say it like that” Hermione replied, thinking about what he said
“Narcissa said that she and Lucius didn’t choose someone for me yet”
“That’s very difficult for them as we are the highest family. On top of that, you are not their daughter so making that decision is a very difficult task. Also, I forgot to mention that the older man decides how long it takes until you are ready to be wed. Learning and experimenting with everything in one night is too much. Often it takes a week. So seven times or more. Some men take it so slowly that they spread those over a month time instead of doing it daily.”
“At what age does this happen?”
“When you turn 15 or 16. Sometimes it depends on the situation and you might already have done it at 13”
“Isn’t that way too young?”
“I have no clue. This is considered normal here. When do muggles do it?”
“Well, muggles first is something they decide on their own. Because we are not wed to someone. And most of them do it around the age of 15, I guess. Maybe some want to do it earlier and there surely might be a few cases.” Hermione was thinking deeply. Maybe 14 was young, but one year earlier or later didn’t make a difference “But some never had until they are already adults. It varies per person”
“Are you worried about who your First will be?” Draco raised an eyebrow and looked her in the eyes
“A bit. I don’t like the idea to sleep with someone I don’t know”
“I understand that. But I wouldn’t worry about it for now, it is for the future. I would be more worried about the consequences of getting caught drunk last night” he huffed and got up “I’ll be right back”

Hermione still sat on the bed and watched how he disappeared into the bathroom. She stood closer to the fire, warming herself up a little. There was a knock on the door before the door opened and Lucius came in with Narcissa.

“I see you are already ready for the day” Narcissa said first and walked closer to Hermione “How did you find the party yesterday? Did you have fun?”
“I had quite fun yesterday. It was a new experience. I only wished I could go to bed at some time” she said with a smile. Narcissa stroke her hair with her hand
“I’m glad you had fun”

Draco came out of the bathroom “Good morning, father. Good morning, mother”
“Good morning” both Narcissa and Lucius said
“Today is going to be a big day” Narcissa announced “Lucius and I have been talking about making it now publicly that Hermione is with us. It will be published in Weekly Witch and Which Wizard”
“It will be in the afternoon” Lucius continued “We will have to practice what we are going to say and we have to get our clothes and hair done too.”

After the announcement, they all left for a salon together where their hair and for the females, their make-up got done. After that, they moved on to buy a new dress for Hermione and another pair of shoes. They arrived back at the Manor after 3h. They were all dressed and prepared for the interviewer to come. Narcissa went through the etiquette and possible questions they could ask Hermione and what she was supposed to reply to them. Hermione and Narcissa were sitting near the fireplace when Lucius returned.

“Here” he said and reached Hermione a present “for you”
“Thank you, father” she looked into his eyes and took the present “Should I open it now?”
Lucius nodded and she opened the present. There was the ring with the engraved “D” in it and a silver necklace with a green diamond which was shaped like a heart. There was silver around the diamond and there were little snakes on it. Lucius took the necklace and put it around her. He took out his wand and mumbled a spell to fix it.
“You’ll have to wear the ring on your left hand” Narcissa instructed and Hermione did what she was told. Lucius took the empty box and left. There was a knock on the door and Narcissa got up to let the guests in.

“Good afternoon, Ms Malfoy” a women’s voice said “I’m sorry to come unannounced” she smiled brightly
“It’s alright” Narcissa replied “Please come in, Ms Skeeters”
“Hermione dear, can you please go to get Draco for me? He should be in his room”
“Of course, Ms Malfoy” Hermione replied and walked up the stairs towards Draco’s room. She knocked on the door and entered, interrupting Lucius who was talking to Draco.
“No one told you to enter” he sneered
“Ms Malfoy asked me to come and get Draco. Ms Skeeters has arrived” she said without even considering to apologise.
“She was not supposed to come” Lucius said more to himself than to them “She probably wanted to catch us off-guard. Come Draco”
Lucius stormed off before them and Hermione and Draco tried to keep up with his pace. He walked into another guest’s room where Hermione has never been. It was not that big compared to some other rooms but way more decorated.

“Ms Skeeters” Lucius said “I was not expecting that we would get visited for the Daily Prophet”
“Mr Malfoy” Rita Skeeters focused on him now instead of Narcissa “Yes, I heard rumours that a girl is with the Malfoys today. You have been seen at a salon and I assume that there is a good reason for it. You don’t mind interviewing for the Daily Prophet, do you?”
“We did ask for the Weekly Witch and What Wizard though. I wouldn’t want to turn them down either”
“You can always let Draco have the interview for What Wizard. And this girl will surely be a highlight for the Weekly Witch”

Hermione knew that she cornered Lucius. He didn’t seem to have much choice.
“No, I asked them and they will receive their interview” Lucius replied “I have to ask you to leave for now. One day you can come back for the interview”
Hermione was surprised that he was so straightforward. She and her photographer stormed out of the room and Lucius followed them until they were at the entrance
“I’m sorry, Ms Skeeters. Another time will be more suitable”

Lucius greeted the interviewer that stood at the door for the What Wizard and guided them to the room. She only had to pose for a family photo and this interview was mainly focused on Draco, who was filled with joy as he heard his lost bride had been found. She was asked a few questions too and once they left, the interviewers from the Weekly Witch arrived. This time the focus was more on her and how she enjoys staying in the magical world instead of returning back home.

It was already evening as the interviewers left. Luckily, she would finally get her first meal for today. After her make-up was done, she wasn’t allowed to eat or drink until the interview was over. Lucius walked to the dining room and everyone followed him on his heels. Everybody was exhausted from the party and hungry from not eating all day. While they were eating, Lucius had an announcement to make.
“Firstly, the party was a success and so were the interviews today. I’m very proud of all of you. Secondly, because you did so well, there will be no punishment for drinking firewhisky last night. Thirdly, Hermione, I’m letting you off for your behaviour from yesterday. However, I shall show no mercy if you do anything like that again. Also, I will write to Weasley tonight about your visit. You can stay three days.”
“Thank you, father” Hermione replied with joy. She was so happy that she would get to see Ron. She wondered if Harry was there already. Once she was in her room, she decided to write a letter to Harry. She sent off her owl and watched how it flew towards Lucius. She wondered if her letter would go through and kept watching out of the window until the bird flew out again and into the sky. She watched how it slowly disappeared. She noticed the sun was setting and closed her windows. She sat down on a seat and took a book to read. There near the warm fire, she would fall asleep eventually.

In the morning during breakfast, Lucius was reading the Daily Prophet while Draco took a look at What Wizard. Narcissa was looking at Weekly Witch. Hermione read along with Draco after some point until the silence was broken.
“Rita did not write about us yet” Lucius said more towards Narcissa than to Draco and Hermione.
“The Weekly Witch portrays Hermione very well. I am sure they will come back sooner or later to explore her more. She will be a role model for other witches”
Draco moved his article to his father who started reading it.
“I expected no less from this. They wrote it down beautifully, not too sweet nor too cocky. They portray Draco even better than last time.”
“Hermione” Narcissa started “What kind of instrument would you like to learn to play?”
Hermione looked at Narcissa surprised. She never thought of learning to play an instrument. Before she could answer Lucius already spoke
“I want her to learn the violin. Draco already mastered the piano. The two of them can play together when we have guests over. She will look more pretty when she stands with a violin than behind a piano.”
Narcissa nodded “I’ll go buy a violin with her today and then we will look for lessons too. She has two weeks for the lessons before school starts. If she continues to practice with Draco after she had the basic lessons, she might be able to play next summer together with Draco”

Hermione looked at Narcissa. She thought she was given the opportunity to choose herself. But now they were already planning for her. She hated that this part of her freedom got taken away too.

“I have one more thing to announce” Lucius said sternly “Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban. Nobody is going to leave the house. Not even into the garden without me”
“But Lucius, Sirius wouldn’t come after us”
“I am not taking any risk with that man!” Lucius raised his voice at her “We are going to buy that violin together. I want everyone to carry their wands at all times” he said as he handed Draco and Hermione his wand “Use the killing curse if he tries to get you. I’ll manage to cover that up”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she looked at Lucius in shock “The killing curse? But is… isn’t that illegal, father?”
“We will practice the wand movement for it later. Safety first and I don’t want to hear that you told others about it” his warning was very clear “Else I’ll not hesitate to hurt the two of you with another unforgivable curse”
“Lucius!” now it was Narcissa who raised her voice “You cannot use such curses on my child nor his future wife!”
“Cissy, if I find out that they’ve been telling around I taught them an unforgivable curse, do you really think I’ll stay out of Azkaban?”
Narcissa got up and slapped him in the face. He held her hand at her wrist “How dare you” his voice was angered “You’ll regret that””
“Sirius will do us no harm. We have nothing to do with him going to Azkaban. He probably hates me but he would never come here to harm us. He is not that kind of man!”
“Cissy, enough” Lucius’s voice was very low. Lucius got up, not letting go of his wife’s wrist. “Come, we are leaving”

Draco and Hermione followed Lucius and Narcissa. Narcissa was still being held onto her wrist but didn’t seem to struggle to get free. Once they were outside they held onto Lucius who departed them to the Diagon Alley. At an instrument shop, Hermione got measurements taken and she had to hold different violins to see which one fitted her. She looked at the price tag and couldn’t believe that it was 17k. Her eyes met Lucius and she whispered to him “Mr. Malfoy, I cannot take this violin it is too expensive”
Lucius looked at her surprised “Old violins are more pricy than new violins. They also sound better so don’t worry about the price. I’ll cover for you anyway”
Hermione looked at the violin. It felt right to hold it but she couldn’t believe they were paying 17k for a violin. She never looked into instruments before. Draco appeared from a corner too, holding onto a cello.
“Father, this is the right one for me”
Lucius nodded and went to pay for both instruments. Two house-elves came to bring the instruments back to the Manor. They moved on to Flourish and Botts, where they bought new schoolbooks. Hermione held onto her books tightly. She was feeling so happy to have them and couldn’t wait for a new term to start. Once they were back at the manor, they didn’t have much time to rest. The new instrument teachers arrived. Lucius and Draco left with one teacher, leaving Hermione and Narcissa with the other. In the first few minutes, she got taught how to hold her violin properly and how each part is called. She had a lot of trouble holding onto it correctly. Her fingers constantly moved more naturally than how they should look like. After an hour, her fingers were hurting so much from practising that they took a break. Her teacher had his own violin with him and showed her what they would do next. After half an hour break, where Hermione felt like she could practice a bit more, they continued. At some point, the teacher thanked her and said he would come again tomorrow morning. Hermione and Narcissa guided him out and thanked him before closing the door. Narcissa turned to Hermione “How was your first lesson?”
“I find it very hard to play but I’m sure after some practice I’ll do better”
“Good. Let’s go check out how Draco is doing, shall we?”
Hermione nodded and she followed Narcissa. She stopped at a door and listened at the door, winking to Hermione to do the same. The tone was already so much better than Hermione’s and she felt like she should have tried harder. In between the notes, it sounded like she heard some footsteps and she was right: the door flew open, letting Hermione and Narcissa fall to the ground.

“I do not recall that I taught to listen at doors” Lucius’s voice sounded amused “Come in instead”
He held out his hand to help Narcissa up and then to Hermione. Draco looked at them. He had stopped playing as his father opened the doors. He started anew and his teacher was correcting him from time to time. After a few more pieces the teacher said he had to leave too. He even gave Draco homework to practice until tomorrow.

“Somebody is coming to the door” Lucius said to Narcissa “Will you look who it is?”
Hermione watched how Narcissa left the room. Lucius followed her and stood in the hall, where he could look down at the door. Draco and Hermione stood at the door entrance. There was a knock on the door and Lucius grabbed his wand, holding out towards the door, ready to attack if necessary.

Narcissa opened the door and Hermione saw Mr Weasley standing there.
“Oh good evening Ms Malfoy” Mr Weasley said “I’m sorry I come unannounced but I was convinced it would be better now that Sirius Black escaped.”

The man looked up to Lucius “I am here to discuss when Hermione is staying over”
Lucius put away his wand and walked down the stairs “Hermione, you are coming too” he said while walking. She followed quickly and smiled at Mr Weasley who smiled back at her. Lucius guided them to another room where they sat down.

“I am sure you are concerned about her safety if she has to leave the Manor” Mr Weasley started and Lucius nodded. He didn’t look pleased to see Mr Weasley and Mr Weasley didn’t manage to put a smile on his face either.
“I want her to stay there for a maximum of three days. I either bring her over there or you’ll come to get her. I don’t want her to go outside of your house once she arrived.” Lucius’s tone was serious
“Very well” Mr Weasley said in a serious tone too “She will stay inside the house and I will prevent any harm that comes to her. We do have to go to buy new schoolbooks, though. Can she come with us or should she stay alone at the house?“

Lucius took a deep breath, his nostrils opened a little more before he answered
“She can go to Diagon Alley but don’t lose sight of her”
“Alright” Mr Weasley replied “When do you want me to pick her up?”
“Just a moment Mr Weasley” Lucius interrupted him “There will be a violin teacher coming over every day for her. Is that all right with you?”
“Violin?” Mr Weasley looked at Hermione “Since when do you play?”
“I started playing today, Mr Weasley” Hermione said with a smile
“I see, I see. Well, I have no problem if the teacher comes over those three days. I would prefer that Hermione can identify him for safety reasons. Of course, I or Molly will be there in case it’s an imposter”
“Thank you” Lucius almost said in a whisper and Hermione knew they hated each other until the bone “I’d like you to pick her up two days from now. I do not care if it is in the morning or evening. The earlier you come, the longer she stays”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll pick her up at 7am if that’s all right for you. I have to go to work at 8am”
Lucius looked at Hermione for approval and she nodded
“It’s fine for us. I want you to bring her home on the third day before it is dark”
“Of course”

The two of them got up and Hermione followed them back to the door.
“Thank you, Mr Weasley” Hermione quickly said before Lucius closed the door. She could see how he gave her a smile just before the door closed. Lucius was looking down at her.
“I hope you are aware I shall not do this every summer”
Hermione nodded but she knew she would manage to go there again next summer. She walked off back to the music room where Draco was still practising. She joined him with her violin and eventually, he played a piece on her violin for her. Surprisingly to her, he played it with emotion.

“How long have you been playing?”
“I started piano at 5 because my mother wanted me to play an instrument. And at 8 I started playing the violin. Of course, I still haven’t completely mastered those instruments, but it is more like a show-off towards the other families.” He smiled at her and handed her the violin.
“And now you are learning the cello?”
“Yes, after I heard you would learn the violin, I thought I should learn another instrument so we both can struggle together. Also, a cello and a violin sound good together too. This way we can play more songs without getting bored”

Draco helped her the whole evening and even after dinner they practised together. Narcissa and Lucius would come in from time to time to watch them play. The next two days passed by with lessons and self-practice. Of course, magical studies were not neglected either. The morning, when Mr Weasley would pick up Hermione, had come. She was already at the entrance at 6.30am.

“You should stay here” Lucius said from a seat near the fire. Hermione didn’t notice he was there
“Pardon, father?”
“You should not leave the Manor. I don’t like the idea” he stood up, holding a glass with firewhisky “It’s been only a few days since you’ve been announced to the wizarding world. Many people want to know you. On top of that Black is walking around too”
“I assume you are saying that because it is Mr Weasley” Hermione replied
“Don’t assume things, love” he took a step closer and grabbed her by her hair “Malfoys are very possessive. We don’t like it if our women go off wandering on their own. Weasley told me you will stay at the Leaky Cauldron for one night and I don’t like that at all”
“Don’t worry, father. I’ll be fine”
“You better be” he whispered and let go of her hair “If something happens, hold onto your necklace and say my name”
Hermione looked down at the necklace. In the light of the fire, she could see that inside the green diamond, there was an M engraved.
“You cannot take it off without my or Draco’s help” he took another sip of his drink “Narcissa has one too”
“I’m sure I won’t require your help in these three days. Does my teacher know I’ll be at the Leaky Cauldron?”
“He will not come today. But will await you the day after at the Burrow”

Hermione nodded and looked at him with more focus. He didn’t look drunk at all. As if he got up and decided he needed a firewhisky today. Lucius sat down near the fire and winked her over with his finger, even though he was sitting with his back to her. She walked to him and stood still at his side. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto his lap, pressing her against him like he did with Draco at the party.
“Promise me you’ll call for my help if there is anything” he whispered in her ear
“I promise, father” she replied
“Say it clearly what you are promising” he said in a normal tone
“I promise I’ll call you when I need help, father” she looked into his cold grey eyes as she said it
“Good”

There was a silence and Hermione felt the heat of the fireplace on her skin. She was feeling quite comfortable. Lucius broke the silence after a while.

“You should know that I’ve made sure you’ll be watched while you are gone. I don’t trust you yet and I absolutely don’t trust other people that might be surrounding you.”

Hermione sighed. She figured that those three days of freedom were not going to be real freedom.

“Next summer I won’t be allowed to hold you or Draco like this anymore” Lucius said more to himself than to her
“Why is that, father?” she was actually curious
“You’ll be 13 then and he too. Until the age of 12, we view you as young children. So these kind of things are rather harmless. But once you are 13 you are only three years away from getting your First.” he pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers “Narcissa and I haven’t talked about that yet. Actually, I don’t even want to talk about it with her. I am sure she will decide on a good man for you”

Hermione watched the man who often was not very kind to her with pity. She caused them so much trouble this summer. From the stories she heard from Draco about the parties being regular. Everybody has been working on her this whole summer. No one had time to do what they wanted to do. She felt some kind of guilt inside.

“What’s wrong?” Lucius asked concerned “I thought you would be excited to go to the Weasleys”
“I am excited to go to the Weasleys” she started and she realised now that there was a tear rolling down her cheek “I just feel so tired. Living here is hard and I don’t find it so pleasant, father”
Lucius wiped away the tear on her face “It’s only like this until you learned everything. Once you learned everything and can behave properly, you’ll have some more freedom too”

“What’s wrong with Hermione?” Narcissa asked as she came down the stairs
“She’s just a bit sad about living here and that I am so cruel to her” Lucius replied and rubbed the back of Hermione
“It’s only like that this summer, Hermione” Narcissa sat down at Lucius’s feet and rubbed Hermione’s leg “We decided you should have some fun during this summer which is why you are allowed to go to the Weasleys”
Hermione nodded and tried to smile “Thank you, mother”
Narcissa cupped her face “Draco normally had sleepovers last summer. We decided he should stay home this summer as well so you wouldn’t be that lonely and have someone around you from your age”

Hermione got a hold of herself and she managed to smile at Narcissa. Narcissa gently stroke her hair “The coming three days you should have fun and wind down before school starts”
Hermione got up and it didn’t take long before Mr Weasley arrived. Draco came running down the stairs and stopped in front of Hermione
“I wanted” he started but had to take a few breaths to continue “to say that I hope you’ll have fun and that you’ll be back soon” he smiled a little and Hermione returned the smile “I’ll see you very soon, Draco”
She stepped to Mr Weasley, said her byes to the Malfoys, and left with Mr Weasley.

Chapter Text

“Lucius told me that we are going to the Leaky Cauldron” Hermione said as they walked away from the Manor.
“That is correct” Mr Weasley said with a smile “If I may ask to hold onto my arm”
Hermione held his arm and they departed to London. They walked through London with her arm at Mr Weasleys arm until they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione entered and the Weasley brothers Fred and George were the first who she saw.
“Hi Hermione” one of the two said, Hermione still couldn’t figure out who was who “We have read about you in Which Wizard. So you are part of the Malfoys now?”
“That means in a few years you’ll be rich” the other continued “How is it over there?”
It was Molly who came to Hermione and interrupted before she could reply “Hermione dear, how have you been? You don’t have to answer those silly questions of them”
Molly turned to the boys “You don’t ask such things the second she arrived”
Hermione had to laugh and as she saw Ron she walked over to him “Hi Ron, how have you been?”
“Hermione, it is great to see you! A Malfoy now… Well, guess things will be different at school with that big change. We have been to Egypt! It was fantastic. I wrote to Harry but I haven’t had a reply from him yet. Might go over to him to ask how he is doing. Not that his stupid uncle came on stupid ideas again”
Mr Weasley stepped into their conversation “Hermione, we managed to get Crookshanks for you. He must be wandering around somewhere”
“Oh thank you, Mr Weasley” Hermione said with a smile. She looked over and saw Ginny “Hey Gin, do you have some normal clothes I can wear? I’m tired of these dresses”
Hermione and Ginny went upstairs where Hermione changed into some of Ginny’s clothes. Together they walked down the stairs and sat down at the table. Drinking some tea together and catching up. Until Ron’s rat came running down the stairs with Crookshanks on his heels. Hermione quickly grabbed Crookshanks and Ron held his rat
“Hermione, your cat is trying to eat Scabbers!”
“It’s a cat Ronald, what would you expect? It’s in his nature” Hermione replied immediately
They continued insulting each other’s pets until Ron noticed that Harry came down the stairs
“Harry!” ron shouted
“Hi Harry” Hermione smiled
“Hi Ron, hi Hermione” Harry said with a big smile on his face “How have you been?”
“Hermione has been great” Fred said coming from under the stairs where Harry was standing “She has been living at a Manor the whole summer”
“A Manor?” Harry asked and looked at Hermione confused, probably thinking that the twin was joking
“Yeah, Malfoy’s Manor” George completed coming from another place
“What?” Harry laughing “This is the worst joke you two told me”
It felt silent and then Harry looked over to Hermione “It’s true?”
Hermione nodded and she felt so bad that she didn’t write to her friends about this. After the interview, she forgot to tell them that in a letter.
“Oh wow” Harry said a bit surprised “I wouldn’t have thought the pratt would let you in. You know…”
“I’ll tell you guys everything later” Hermione said and smiled.
They all sat down to have breakfast together. After breakfast, Mr Weasley left for work. The rest of the Weasleys and Harry went to Diagon Alley. They have been shopping for a while and Hermione was having lots of fun with everyone. Her fun got interrupted as she saw Narcissa standing in the shop they just entered. Molly wanted to go in there to buy some yarn and quickly walked off.
“Hermione” Narcissa started and looked at her “I don’t recall giving you such clothes”
Hermione shivered. Narcissa’s tone was cold and she knew that she was in public. Narcissa took her wand and changed Hermione’s clothes.
“I have this feeling that you would like to change your clothes again” Narcissa said and smiled before she whispered a few spells
“I won’t let Lucius now, but I can assure you that I’m not happy about this either” her voice was almost a whisper “I allow you to go to have fun and this is how you pay me back?”
“Sorry, Ms Malfoy” Hermione replied, she meant it from the bottom of her heart
“You better be, Hermione” Narcissa took a deep breath “I assume you didn’t bring any money to go shopping?”
Hermione nodded “Ms. Malfoy, I don’t need to go shopping. I am just tagging along”
“You still have your allowance, dear” Narcissa hushed her and gave her a big bag with golden coins.
“Thank you, Ms Malfoy” Hermione held the bag and looked at the woman
“Don’t disappoint me more” she warned and turned back to the yarns she was looking at “I hope you’ll have fun”
Hermione’s heart felt in pain. The woman had done so much for her. Helped her avoid punishments, ensured that she could go to the Weasleys and one small thing like wearing a dress was too much for Hermione to do for her. She quickly walked over to Narcissa and gave her a hug from the side
“I’m so sorry, mother” she whispered just loud enough for Narcissa to hear
“It’s okay, love” Narcissa whispered back “Just don’t do such things anymore, alright?”
Hermione nodded and let go of her. She walked towards Ms Weasley who was about to pay.
Once back at the Leaky Cauldron, they packed all their belongings and left as soon as Mr Weasley returned from work. They travelled with the Floo to the Burrow. Hermione looked around the building. It looked so much cosier than the Manor. Eventually, she went to Ginny’s room. She would sleep there with Ginny. The girls talked until they fell asleep.

The next morning Hermione automatically woke up. She was so used to the rhythm she had at the Manor that she couldn’t continue to sleep. She lit a candle and started to read one of her new schoolbooks that one of the elves brought her from the Manor.
“Hermione?” Ginny said sleepily “What are you doing so early in the morning?”
“Good morning Ginny. I’m sorry did I wake you up?”
“Kind of” the red-haired girl said and went back to sleep. Hermione continued reading in silence. After some time, there was knocking on the door
“Ginny! Hermione!” Molly’s voice echoed through the door “It’s time to get up”
“Yes mom!” Ginny replied with her face in the pillow
After a while, they both went down to the kitchen to have breakfast with the others. It was rather chaotic and lively. Hermione couldn’t wait until she would go back to Hogwarts. She wondered what the new year would bring. While everyone was still eating, a guest arrived at the door. Hermione looked at the time and noticed that it was 10am. She walked to the door but Mr Weasley shouted to her “Don’t! Let me do it”
Hermione stopped. She completely forgot that they promised Lucius that they would check who it is.
“Good morning” Mr Weasley said to her violin teacher “How many lessons did Hermione had?”
“Only one” the teacher replied and was let in. Hermione quickly went upstairs to get her violin. Together they stood in the living room which was connected to the kitchen and dining area. They started playing there. Hermione felt sorry for the others. The sounds she produced sounded horrible. The teacher helped her correct her gesture and eventually, some more clear-sounding notes were produced. After a while, she got the hang of it and tried to learn Mary’s had a little lamb. It took her at least an hour but she slowly got the hang of it. The boys at the kitchen table were rather quiet. They watched her while eating and when she got a few parts right, they would applaud her. She could feel her cheeks getting red whenever they started applauding. Somewhere later in the afternoon, she could finally play the piece. Everybody was outside working and she felt locked up with her teacher.
“I think we practiced enough for today” the teacher said with a smile “You are doing really well. Just take your time and focus on the basics, okay?”
“Yes, Sir” Hermione replied and put away the violin “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yes, same time” he smiled and walked to the door “See you tomorrow”
“Thank you, Sir. See you tomorrow” Hermione said. The teacher left and Hermione sat down on the sofa. Her fingers were hurting so much. She stood up and looked out of the window where the guys were playing quidditch.
“Hermione?” Molly asked from the kitchen door “Why don’t you go outside? There is no reason to stay here all the time”
Hermione looked over at her “Mr Weasley agreed that I stay inside the Burrow. I’m not allowed to go outside”
“Don’t listen to those silly people” Molly said and waved her hand “You looked so pale as you came to us. When was the last time you were outside?”
“Well we had a party but that was at sunset. Besides for that I haven’t been outside since I came from Hogwarts”
Molly’s mouth fell open “Since Hogwarts? You’ve been inside all summer long?”
Hermione nodded
“Come here Hermione”
Hermione walked over and Molly pulled her by her shoulders over the half-door.
“Look, now you are partly outside, partly inside. There should be no problem now.” She said with a smile. Hermione returned the smile and she closed her eyes as she felt the sun hit her skin. The warmth of the sun was something she missed a lot. Hermione has been enjoying the sun for quite some time before she continued watching the guys playing quidditch.
She heard an owl squeak at her and she moved away from the window-door. Hermione looked at the big tawny owl. It looked at her and dropped a small box onto her hands before flying off again. Hermione opened the package and saw a letter and a small bag with money. She opened the letter and read it:

Hello Hermione,

This should cover your costs at the Weasley’s home. Your violin teacher told me you are progressing very well and I am proud that you are trying so hard.

Take care,
Lucius
Hermione looked at his handwriting and wondered how it could be so neat. Harry and Ron’s handwriting looked like a mess. She opened the bag with the money and wondered if he didn’t give too much. After all, she was only staying three days. Hermione decided to read another book and called one of the house elves to bring her a new one. Slowly the Weasleys were getting back into the Burrow. Harry sat down next to Hermione.

“Hermione, how has your day been?” he asked
“Oh it was quite nice actually” she said and closed the book “I’m glad you guys finished now. Or are you taking a break?”
“Well, I’m finished” Harry laughed “Can’t fly no more. My ass is hurting”
Hermione giggled and looked to Molly who entered the house “Ms Weasley” she called out and grabbed the bag with coins “Lucius told me to give you this”
Molly took the bag and opened it “Lucius told you to give us this? Why does he want to give us money?”
“He wrote it is for my accommodation costs”
“Oh honey, we don’t need money to have you or Harry over. We appreciate it that you guys are here" she handed back the small bag
“Please accept it” Hermione replied “I have no use for it and I am sure it is in good hands. Lucius definitely won’t need it either”
Molly gave her a hug “Thank you, hun”
Hermione spent some time with Harry but at some point, her inner clock told her it’s tea time. She asked Molly for a tea set and sat down.
“Look guys, I’ve been practising this at the Manor” Hermione said and focused on the tea set. It was Percy who looked at her with an open mouth
“Hermione, did you do that wandless?” he asked her and she nodded “That’s amazing!”
She could feel her cheeks heat up. Drinking tea together with her friends was something she never thought could be so precious to her. Old memories were brought up, especially funny moments that happened. Her cheeks were hurting from all the laughing she did. Later on she and Ginny helped Molly in the kitchen. They chatted with Harry and Ron who stood there first before Molly told them to help wash the dishes. After everything was done, they sat down in the living room talking about how they thought the new school year will be. They talked for at least half an hour before Arthur came back home from work and it was finally time to have some dinner. They were all chatting and enjoying themselves.
“ Hermione?” Arthur asked for her attention while the chatter continued “Malfoy wants you to write to him about how your day went and how you are doing. I bet they think we aren’t taking good care of you.”
she heard him mumble something that sounded like “or not on a high enough level” with a scuff. Hermione nodded and she would write to him after dinner was done. After desserts, she left the table early to go to Ginny’s room and grab her parchment. She stared at the blank paper for a few seconds, not sure what she should write down. After a few minutes passed, she decided to write about how she was doing and how her violin classes went. Reminding her that she should practice it too before she would go to sleep. She can’t afford to slack off if she wasn’t at the Manor. She needed them to trust her so she could become freer and meet with her friends more regularly. She sent off her owl and looked at how it flew high in the sky before she closed the window. She headed back downstairs. Harry and Ron were playing wizard chess. She sat down next to them and read her book. It was a very cosy evening. She enjoyed the warmth of the fire, the warm vibes coming off the cosy, but messy house. Later in the evening, she practised her on her violin. She slowly started to enjoy playing the instrument more and more.

Later in bed, she had a chat with Ginny.
"Hermione, you have to tell me everything about the Manor" the red-haired witch whispered "I firmly believe it is a big maze."
Hermione laughed a little before she replied
"Well, compared to Hogwarts, it isn't that big. But I personally think Hogwarts has a much warmer feeling than the Manor. Both feel ancient, though."
Even though it was dark, Hermione could see Ginny staring at her with big eyes, completely interested in what she had to say. She continued
"Also, it really is a big maze. I have only been to a few rooms. Many doors are locked, too. I wonder what secrets the Manor has to offer"
“I want to bet that there is much to explore. So can you feel the dark magic there?”
Hermione had to think now, she has always been so busy, that she never really had the time to feel the Manor. “I…” she started “I don’t know to be honest”
“What you don’t know?” Ginny hissed “When you are in Hogwarts you can feel certain places that are darker than others. Did you never notice?”
“I do notice it but I never paid attention to it” Hermione replied calmly “I only focused on school and my classes. Nothing else”
She could hear how Ginny huffed. She waited for her response but it became quiet.
“Gin?” Hermione whispered after a while, but the young witch fell asleep. Hermione stared into the void, thinking about the conversation. How could she never have noticed the dark magic at the Manor? At Hogwarts, she never really paid attention to it either. She was determined to pay more attention to this as soon she would be back at the Manor and at Hogwarts. It took a while but eventually she slept in.
Her eyes fluttered open and she looked around. She heard some noises downstairs and decided to explore. Looking into the kitchen from the stairs, she saw Molly kneading the dough for bread.
“Good morning, Ms Weasley” Hermione said as she took the last few steps down
“Good morning, honey” Molly looked up at her and smiled “Did I wake you up?”
“No, you didn’t” Hermione lied, not wanting the woman to feel bad “What time is it?”
“It’s 4.30” Molly replied and continued beating the dough
“Do you need a hand?”
“If you’d like to, dear” she smiled and split her dough. Hermione dunk her hands into the flour and took her part. Together they were beating the dough for at least another 20 minutes before it had to rest again.
“Thank you for helping me” Molly smiled at Hermione “Do you want to help me to make some strawberry jam?”
Hermione nodded and she then received two baskets full of strawberries that needed to be washed and chopped. Molly smiled at her kindly, but Hermione was sure this is going to take quite a while before she would be done. Surely an hour passed before she had half of the strawberries washed out completely. At this moment, the smell of fresh bread was filling the kitchen as well as the smell of strawberries. Hermione watched how the sun started to rise while she was washing the strawberries. Molly was chopping them now and once she had enough, she started heating them on the stove. As Hermione finished washing the strawberries, Arthur came down the stairs.
“Good morning” he said with a smile “The two of you have been busy bees. It smells amazing”
Hermione smiled but looked away as Molly came to Arthur to kiss him. They sat down at the dining table where Molly served the fresh bread and the jam.
“Any plans for today?” Arthur asked before he took a bite of his breakfast
“Not really” Molly replied “Hermione, dear, what would you like to do today?”
“I don’t know” she smiled “I only know I have to practice for my violin lessons but besides for that I have nothing else to do”
“I think we should have a picnic today” Molly said and nodded to herself “Hermione, can you ask if it’s okay to go outside and have a picnic?”
Hermione nodded. She took her cup of tea and took a sip. Feeling rather comfortable with the sun on her back and the warm tea in her hands. She wished that time would stay still like this, but being the bright witch she was, she knew that she should enjoy it as long as she could. She barely interacted in the conversation but kept listening to make sure she could reply if she was asked something. At this moment it hit her why Narcissa and Lucius wanted her to keep engaged in a conversation. She should have done it all the time, but now listening to Molly and Arthur she finally realised the meaning behind it. They were kind and they deserved her respect. Not engaging in the conversation would mean she was not interested in them and their lives. And that would have been disrespectful, especially since they cared about her that much and even took her in the house for three days.
It was Arthur who left the table first and kissed Molly on her cheek before he said bye to Hermione and left. Hermione helped Molly set up the table for the rest of the boys and then moved upstairs to wake Ginny. She sat on the bed and shook the witch gently
“Ginny, wake up. Breakfast is ready”
After a loud grump, Hermione decided that she definitely did not want to disturb her beauty sleep any longer and went downstairs. Harry was already there and she sat down next to him.
“Good morning, Harry” she said
“Morning ‘Mione. Ms Weasley told me you were awake quite early”
Hermione smiled as he took some of the bread “Yes, we had quite some bonding time this morning. It was quite a peaceful thing to do”
“Have you thought through which classes you will take this year? You can’t possibly take them all” Harry asked and took a bite of his breakfast “Ms Weasly, the jam is delicious!”
Molly smiled at him and walked over, rubbing him on his shoulders “Thank you dear, now where are the others?”
Molly left, leaving Hermione and Harry alone in the kitchen.
“I haven’t thought about it yet” Hermione finally replied to Harry’s question “I haven’t really had the time to think of it…”
“Now I’m flabbergasted Hermione” Harry said with big eyes “You, not thinking about school. What happened?”
“The Malfoys happened” Hermione laughed out “But honestly, I would like to take all classes. I don’t want to narrow it down and miss opportunities”
Harry smiled again and hugged her tight “That’s the ‘Mione I know”
The conversation moved on about Harry’s rather strange adventure with his aunt and slowly the room filled with the Weasleys.
Once everybody was done with breakfast, Hermione headed upstairs to write the Malfoys for permission to go outside for a picnic. It didn’t take long until the owl came back with a reply. Unfortunately, Narcissa wrote that she couldn’t but Hermione walked off to tell the others that the picnic could take place. Going outside with so many people wouldn’t harm her, right? Hermione’s violin teacher came quite early too, leaving her time to help Molly and the others to prepare snacks for the picnic.
“Alright” Molly said loud and clear “Does everybody have something to carry along?”
“Oh mom, can’t we just go? We don’t have to check everything all the time” Ron said annoyed and the others agreed with him. So off they were on a walk through the fields, searching for a good place to sit down in the warm summer sun. With a whip of Molly’s wand, the picnic set itself up. Everyone sat down and were having a great time. After everyone ate, they all played in the fields. George had brought a ball and they had to make good use of it. It was already in the late afternoon before they walked back, everybody was rather silent after all the running they did. The evening passed and Hermione fell asleep on the couch, woken up by Harry once everyone was going to bed.
The last day was rather boring. Everybody was busy doing their own thing and Hermione was reading her books too. Around 3pm someone approached the Burrow and Molly went outside to check who it was. To Hermione’s surprise, it was Narcissa who came. She looked a bit disgusted for being there.
“Hermione” Narcissa said once she looked around a bit “It’s time to go”
Hermione got up, left to go to Ginny’s room to pack her stuff, and headed downstairs with her suitcase. There a house elf took her suitcase and Hermione put her cape on.
“Ms Weasley, thank you for having me over” Hermione said and gave her a hug
“It was nice to have you hear, hun” Molly said and held her face. Hermione walked over to Harry and Ron to say bye and a big hug
“Take care” Harry whispered in her ear
“I will. You should too. Stay safe” she looked at Harry and walked back to Narcissa who was not really pleased with Molly talking to her. Once they were far away from the Burrow, Narcissa held out her arm but waited with departing.
“We got invited for tea today at the Parkinson’s house” Narcissa announced “We will go to the Manor first to make sure you are clean again. Then we will go over”
“Yes, mother” Hermione replied and then they departed.

Chapter Text

Hermione stood in front of the gate, this time noticing the magic of the Manor. She now noticed the difference between the two houses. The Manor didn’t feel that welcoming compared to the Burrow, but it also didn’t tell her to go away. On top of that, she could feel the ancient magic tickle her senses. Once she was inside, she went to her room to take a bath. Narcissa was waiting in her room and searched for what she should be wearing. Once she was done, they went downstairs to the main entrance where Draco was waiting.

“Welcome back” Draco said with a smile “I hope you had as much fun as I had”
“I had. What have you been up to while I was gone?” Hermione was curious about what the Slytherin prince did in his free time
“We had a sleepover here at the Manor” Draco said with a cocky smile
“And they forgot to sleep” Narcissa added with a cold tone “That’s not a sleepover, is it?”
“Yes, mother” Draco replied and Hermione could see he was a bit embarrassed
“Today I didn’t do much though. I did look after our greenhouse today. You should help me next time”
Hermione nodded, not sure if she wanted to have herbology during her time off school.

Narcissa opened the door and turned to them
“Now, you’ll have enough time to catch up with each other later. We have an invitation waiting”
“Isn’t father coming?” Draco asked “I thought he said we shouldn’t even go into the garden with Sirius Black walking around”
“Oh shut it” Narcissa cut him off “We are going there and he should worry less. Sirius is my first cousin, there is no way he will do us harm”
“I didn’t know that, mother” Draco replied as he stepped outside “You and father never told me much about our family tree. Only our beliefs”
“There is time for discussing later, we don’t want to be late” Narcissa hissed this time and Hermione moved quickly. They departed to the Parkinson’s house and Hermione was astonished by the building. It wasn’t as big as the Manor, but it looked so much darker than she has ever seen before. Draco held out his arm for her, but Hermione didn’t notice.
“Don’t tell me you find this more impressive than the Manor” Draco said with a scuff
“No, that’s not it” Hermione looked at him now
“If you could just take my arm so we can get going” Draco said rather bored. Hermione took his arm and they walked behind Narcissa, who already went ahead. The door flew open and the mother from Pansy came out to greet them

“Good afternoon, Daria” Narcissa said
“Good afternoon, Narcissa” Daria smiled “Hello Draco and Hermione. It’s a pleasure to have you over. Please come in”
“Thank you” Narcissa said and smiled, taking the lead to go into the house. Hermione and Draco greeted Daria and followed Narcissa.
“This way, please” Daria said and guided them to the tea room. Hermione looked around a bit. It was so much darker than the Manor. The Manor had so much more decoration than this and it felt rather empty to her.
“Please, stay focused” Draco whispered to her. Hermione looked at him but he didn’t look at her.
“Hi Draco!” it was Pansy coming from the hallway
“Hi Pansy” Draco turned to her, forcing Hermione to turn too which caused her to lose her balance
“Hermione it’s nice to see you” Pansy’s voice sounded forced and Hermione smiled
“It’s good to see you too, Pansy. Never thought I’d be invited over to your house”

Hermione saw how Pansy looked rather angry at her. Pansy walked into the tea room and took a seat next to her mother. Narcissa already sat down and looked over at Draco and Hermione, raising an eyebrow. They both sat down on the remaining couch and waited patiently for their cups of tea.

It was Daria who started the conversation “I saw the article in the Weekly Witch and I heard people talking about Hermione a lot”
“Oh?” Narcissa’s voice sounded surprised “What are people talking about? I hope nothing bad”
“Oh no, nothing bad” Diana replied and waved her hand “They have been curious about the little mysterious witch. Some young witches want to be like her already. She looked gorgeous!”
“Thank you, Ms Parkinson” Hermione replied. Narcissa gave her a warning look. “My apologies, I was out of place” Hermione almost whispered. Narcissa was the one who took over after an awkward silence.

“Well, I hope Pansy will be so kind and spend some time with Hermione during the school year. Hermione has still many things to learn from the wizarding world and how to be a Lady”
“I am sure Pansy would love to, wouldn’t you, dear?” Diara turned a little towards her daughter
“No, I would love to spend time with Hermione” Pansy smiled at Narcissa, but Hermione could tell she was trying hard to smile. She looked rather ridiculous doing so.
“However, I am not sure if we will find time in our schedules to do so” Pansy continued “What classes are you taking?”
Hermione looked at Narcissa before she replied “I haven’t thought of that yet. I kind of want to join all classes”
It was Draco who started now “You haven’t thought about it? But we are supposed to reply today”
Narcissa gave Draco a warning look, but she continued “We have all the time to talk about this tonight. There is no need to worry about it. Pansy, which classes are you taking?”
Pansy listed her classes and the conversation continued about the upcoming year.

“Pansy, could you please show Draco and Hermione around for a bit?” Diara asked. Pansy got up and so did Draco and Hermione. They walked out of the room and stood still in the hallway.

“Do I really have to show you guys around?” Pansy asked “Draco has been here so many times, he already knows it by now”
“Well, I assume they have something important to talk about” Draco said “I don’t have to go on a house tour. How about you Hermione?”
“I don’t think a tour will be necessary” she replied
“Good. I don’t feel like doing so” Pansy said and walked to another room where there were some chairs to sit down. They left the door open, just in case the women would call for them. Someone walked past the room and towards the main entrance.
“Get up guys, it’s father” Pansy said and stood up “So here is our dining room, Hermione. Now come, I’ll show you my favourite place: the kitchen”

They followed Pansy out of the room and walked through the hallway. They looked at Pansy’s father who opened the door for another guest. Lucius stepped in and smiled at Pansy’s father. They exchanged some words before his eyes fell on Draco.
“Draco!” he called out “Where are you youngsters going?”
“We are having a house tour, father. Hermione has never been here before”
“Pansy, why are you giving a house tour?” Pansy’s father asked and she walked towards the gentleman.
“Mother asked me to take them on a tour, father”
“Well, you guys are coming with us now” Pansy’s father announced
“Percival” Lucius started,  “I thought you wanted to talk business?”
“Yes, but we can always talk about that later” Percival smiled and Lucius nodded. They followed Percival to the dining room where they all set down. There they were served drinks and the two men started talking about the new school year and the expectations they had for their children. Hermione felt a bit pressured, listening to them. It seemed that the pure-blooded children were not allowed to waste time during the school year and that their academics were rather important to their families. Hermione tried her best to stay with her mind in the conversation, yet she could feel how she constantly drifted off.

It took ages, but Diara came in and called for the children to come back to the tea room. They followed silently and sat down where they sat before. Listening to the women talking. Time passed and Hermione was getting bored now. The conversation was not of interest at all. She looked at Draco who looked rather bored too. He looked back at her and smiled a little. She returned the smile and focused back on the conversation. At least, she wasn’t the only one who was bored. Now it was Percival and Lucius who came in.

“It’s time to go home now” Lucius announced and helped his wife to her feet. “Pervical, Diara, thank you for the invitation”
“You are welcome” Percival replied “It was nice to have you over. We will talk about the things later, I assume?”
“Yes, we will talk this through and I will come back to you once we made our decision” Lucius said with a smile. With Narcissa on his side, he walked off to the main entrance where they thanked the Parkinson’s once more before they left. Hermione held onto Draco’s arm and she felt like a copy of Lucius and Narcissa. They almost walked in sync with them too.

“How did it go?” Lucius asked Narcissa
“Pretty good” she replied
“We need to talk tonight, dear”

They stopped and Draco and Hermione grabbed an arm to go back to the Manor. It was raining as they walked back to the Manor. Once they were inside, Hermione and Draco warmed themselves at the fireplace. Narcissa spoke first

“Next week you’ll be going back to Hogwarts. This week we are invited to another tea party. But a bigger one this time. There will be a ball as well” Narcissa announced
“But next summer, we will go on a vacation” Lucius smiled “Where do you want to go next year, Draco?”
“I actually would love to see the northern lights, father. But we can’t do that in summer”
“All right, then we will go to see the northern lights once you two come back for Christmas break”

The planning for their Christmas break continued, but Hermione was too focused on the warmth of the fire. She did catch some words in between. They were going to Iceland, that's all she heard. The details didn't bother her at all.

“All right” Lucius said “Now that we talked about that, I'll teach you two the killing curse now. Come”
Hermione and Draco followed him into the basement. Down there, they went into a room at the very bottom. Hermione could feel ancient magic and very dark magic this time. It sent shivers down her spine.

“The Manor can protect us from the ministry” Lucius said as he turned to look at them “The ancient magic here prevents the ministry knows what spells we use. We can ask the Manor to protect us if needed. Now this is the wand movement” he showed it with his hands.
“Please practice it so you can use it quickly”
Both Draco and Hermione stood there, moving their hands as if they were to cast the spell.
“Good” Lucius said with a smile “repeat after me. Avada kedavra”
After they practised the pronunciation several times, Lucius gave his wand to Draco.

“Father?” Draco asked, holding onto Lucius's wand
“Don't worry about it, Draco.”
Hermione looked at Draco. He was completely pale in the face. Lucius opened another door and brought two cages with a big spider in them. He walked back to Draco, resting his hand on his shoulder.

“Try it, Draco” he said and breathed in through his nose strongly, slightly smiling as he looked at the spiders. Draco, however, was starting to shake a little now.
“We won't get in trouble for this, father?” he asked, trying to find a way out
“Don't worry about that, Draco. Now cast the spell, my son”

Hermione saw a green light beam at the spider, which killed it instantly. Hermione screamed but held her hand for her mouth.

“Good job, Draco” Lucius praised his son, taking his wand again “Now it's your turn, Hermione”
“Father, I don't want to do this” she said as he held out his wand to her
“For Merlin's sake, Hermione. It's a spider. Or would you rather have me kidnap a muggle for you?” he grinned, knowing she would rather kill the spider than a human. She grabbed his wand but started shaking all over.
“Come on, Hermione” Lucius said as he put his hand on her shoulder “There is nothing to be afraid of”

Hermione looked at Draco, who still looked very pale. She didn't want to do this.

“What if I can't do it, father?” she asked
“Then you will stay inside of the Manor until Black is caught” he said with a very happy tone. Hermione looked him in the eyes, and she just saw him smirking at her. She looked back at the spider. She started trembling so much that she was sure she would hit anything but the spider. She took a deep breath and cast the curse. To her surprise and her biggest fear, it hit the spider. Lucius snatched his wand back and held her by her arm. She was glad he did because her legs gave up on her. She felt broken on the inside, and she would never cast that spell again.
“I'm very proud of both of you” Lucius said with a very happy tone “Now I can be sure you two will be unharmed during the upcoming school year. Come. We will have some tea and talk about the classes you will take.”

Draco followed them as Lucius dragged Hermione up the stairs. Narcissa came walking towards them, taking Draco in her arms immediately.
“Oh Lucius, just look at them” she almost whispered “They are growing up so quickly and are so brave”
Hermione didn't know what to think. Her mind was all blank. She saw how the spider just fell dead after she cast the unforgivable curse. She realised now that she cast an unforgivable curse, which was something she never thought she would do. She always thought that the bad guys did it, but now that she cast it, she was not sure if she was a good or bad person. They walked to the tea room where Draco and Hermione sat down next to each other. They both looked more like couch potatoes at this moment. After a while, they finally managed to pull themselves together and sat the proper way.

“Hermione, why didn't you decide which classes you want to take?” Narcissa asked
“I am not sure what subjects I need for the future. I kind of want to take them all. But I know that is not possible. I haven't figured out what I want to be in the future, so narrowing the subjects down might cause me to have the wrong requirements”
“I’ll talk to Dumbledore about it” Lucius said “If you want to attend all classes, I’ll make it possible for you”
Hermione looked at him. She knew from the past years with Draco that Lucius would do anything for him, and now it seems he is willing to do the same for her.
“Thank you, father. But I don’t want you to trouble yourself with it”
“I’ll go to Hogwarts now and talk about it. I’ll never be troubled with the education you guys receive”
He got up and left, leaving the rest sitting there in silence.

Narcissa broke the silence “Hermione, did you stay inside as instructed?”
Hermione nodded, but Narcissa knew better
“Don’t lie to me” Narcissa said in a cold tone. She grabbed her wand and held it out to Hermione “Legilimens”
Hermione saw her Hogwarts letter, her parents, hugging Harry and eventually the picnic passed by. She breathed heavily as the spell stopped. She looked at Narcissa who approached her in a fast space.
“Mother please don’t” Draco called out but she ignored him and grabbed Hermione’s ear
“Why can’t you listen? What is your problem Hermione? Are you that ungrateful to us?” she didn’t shout which made Hermione feel terrible inside
“I’m sorry, mother” she brought out in pain, still being pulled by her ear “Are you going to tell father?”
“I will tell him but I will assign your punishment, young lady” Narcissa finally let go and looked down on Hermione. Hermione looked back at her. They stared at each other for a minute and were interrupted by the flames. Lucius had returned.
“What is going on here?” he asked while cleaning the ash off his cape
“We will talk about that later, Lucius” Narcissa replied and went back to her seat
“All right, I got good news. Hermione, Dumbledore will make sure you can attend all the classes you want to attend” he said and sat down “Now what did I miss?”

Narcissa looked at Hermione and nodded. Hermione looked at her knees and started whispering
“I asked for permission to go outside to have a picnic, but mother replied no. But I still went outside for the picnic…”
She heard Lucius sigh and even Draco was getting uncomfortable
“Is it that hard to just behave?” Lucius brought out with a sigh “I wanted to have a relaxing week together before school starts.”
“I told Hermione that I will decide on the punishment” Narcissa said but Lucius held up his hand
“We are not doing anything against this. I’m taking the two of them with me to the ministry. That will be enough punishment for Hermione already”

“Father?” Draco sought Lucius’s attention “Can we play chess?”
“Of course, Draco” Lucius replied with a smile and they both got up, leaving Hermione and Narcissa alone
“If you do anything during this schoolyear that hurts our reputation, you can bet that you will be back at the Manor within minutes” Narcissa said and got up and left. Hermione sighed, she just wanted to enjoy herself. She went to her room and locked the door. She searched for Crookshanks but she assumed that it was still at the Burrow. She sighed and lay down on the bed. Thinking about all the things that happened, the good and the bad moments and eventually fell asleep.

Her eyes fluttered open, and as she looked at the clock, it was only 4am. She got up anyway and decided to take a warm bath instead. The hot water was filling the tub quickly. The steam was coming out of the tub, and she got in slowly. She felt her muscles relax. It's been a long time since she felt relaxed like this. She was always reading or studying. But now, it was quality time for her. She stayed in the bath until it didn't become enjoyable any longer. Once she left the bathroom, she sat down on a seat next to the fire. She called a house elf and asked politely if she could have some tea. She grabbed a book, and while reading, her tea had already been served. Her quality time lasted until it was time for breakfast. After breakfast, she and Draco put on their capes and waited for Lucius at the door.

“Draco? What are we going to do all day?” Hermione asked in almost a whisper.
“We will meet important people and make connections. I think he also wants that you work for the ministry too one day. Building connections now and use them later”
“That's very Slytherin of you” Hermione laughed
“I know” Draco smiled back “Are you looking forward to returning to Hogwarts?”
“I sure am. You?”
“I’m looking forward too” Draco replied and looked up the stairs where his father was.
“Are you two ready?” Lucius asked as he opened the door
“Yes, father” they replied and followed him. Once they arrived at the Ministry, Hermione felt overwhelmed. It was like London but just with fewer people. Only now papers were flying around and Lucius had quite a quick pace.

“Good morning Lucius” someone called out and Lucius stopped “Good morning”
“I see you brought your offspring” the man said and looked at Draco
“Good morning, Mr Nott” Draco said and gave a slight smile
“You should have told me you’d bring Draco. I would have brought Theodore too” Mr Nott said and smiled “And the future Miss Malfoy. A pleasure to meet you”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mr Nott” Hermione said with a smile. She watched how his focus went back to Lucius and she looked at Draco and whispered “Was that good enough?”
Draco slightly nodded his head and she immediately understood she should stay quiet. They stood still for a while until Mr Nott decided it was time to leave. They said their byes and continued following Lucius around. Here and there they stopped to talk to people and introduce themselves. Sometimes they even got asked what they wanted to do after Hogwarts, but since both of them didn’t know what they wanted to do yet, the reply always ended with “Well, at your age I wasn’t sure either. Being a third year gives you enough time to think about it” before they moved on. It took them quite a while but they arrived at Lucius’s office where he shut the door behind them.

“That was a good start” he said with a sleek smile “I’m very proud of both of you”
“Thank you, father” they said at the same time
“Now that I do have to work, I hope you two brought your schoolbooks” he continued. Draco sat down in a chair and Hermione did the same. She was glad that Draco brought two books because she didn’t know she should have brought one. They silently read while Lucius was doing his paperwork. Sometimes someone would come in and they would have a short introduction and time to impress the visitor. Then they would continue reading their books, getting some compliments for their dedication. Around 9:30 Lucius got up and called them to come along. They went to a small coffee shop and sat down at a long table. Some seats were already taken. Hermione and Draco sat next to each other. Lucius was engaged in a conversation and so did Draco and Hermione with a witch who sat next to them. The table filled and some people took extra seats to join. Draco and Hermione were constantly asked questions and they did their best to answer them all. Hermione and Draco had a hot chocolate and the adults were drinking coffee. After half an hour passed, everybody got back to work, but Hermione, Draco and Lucius remained seated. Hermione looked at Draco and he looked at her. He nodded and gave her a slight smile before looking away. Lucius was sipping on his coffee and reading the Daily Prophet. At some point, he looked up from his newspaper.

“What are you two looking at?” he asked, raising an eyebrow
They both remained silent and waited for him to finish his coffee. Once he did, they went back to his office. There, they continued reading their schoolbooks until it was time for lunch. They followed silently to a big restaurant that was way too fancy for Hermione's taste. They were guided to a separate room where people were already seated at a very long table. The long tables gave her a quick feeling as if she were back at Hogwarts. Lucius sat down and had already started talking to the person next to him. Hermione sat next to him, which left the seat next to her empty for Draco. She absolutely did not feel like engaging in a conversation, and this was her best way out. Or so she thought. The person Draco was talking to asked her questions as well. This time, it was more based on how life was like for her in the wizarding world and how different it was compared to the muggle world. Hermione slightly noticed how Draco was not that comfortable in this conversation, but that didn't stop her. It was Lucius that stopped her by calling her name

“Hermione. It is time to order” he said with a kind voice. She realised now that she hadn't checked the menu yet and felt a bit stressed as the waitress stood next to her.
“Ehm, I need a moment to decide” she tried to excuse herself, and the waitress moved on to Draco. She quickly looked at the menu that she wanted to eat and ordered it. She looked at Draco, who looked even more pale than he normally did.
“Are you okay?” she whispered and he nodded his head
“I'm just. I'm just a little nauseous” he whispered back “I'll be fine though”
He gave her a slight smile and watched how plates of food came flying out of the kitchen. Hermione and Draco ate in silence. Sometimes, they talked to others who asked about Hogwarts and recalled some of their memories.

Once they were back in the office, Draco started to look worse but acted like nothing was wrong. Hermione did notice how he held onto his tummy most of the time. It worried her so she decided to take action.
“Father, Draco is not feeling well” she said but kept her eyes on Draco. She heard how Lucius got up and rushed to his son's side.
“Draco, what's wrong?” he asked and put his hand on Draco's forehead “You are having a fever” he almost whispered.
“My stomach hurts” Draco brought out in pain. Hermione noticed now that he was sweating.
“Hermione, stay here with him. I'll go get the doctors” Lucius said and marched out of the office. Hermione knelt next to Draco, holding onto one of his hands to comfort him. It didn't take long until the doors flew open, and a doctor came in, followed by Lucius. After the examination, the doctor got up.

“Mr Malfoy, I'd like him to be checked at St. Mungo's” the Doctor said, and Lucius nodded.
“Hermione,” Lucius called “Come”

She followed him closely to one of the floo's, and he grabbed her hand as he walked into the fire. Once they were there, they were directed to the waiting room. It was awkwardly silent.

After half an hour of waiting, Draco appeared at the door opening with a nurse. He was looking better now.
“Mr Malfoy” the nurse called him “If you'd be so kind to follow me”
Lucius got up and Draco sat down next to Hermione.
“How are you feeling?” her voice was soft
“Much better. I have an infection but I got some potions that should help me the next few days” he replied “Thank you for your help. I thought my stomach was just upset until it started hurting bad”
“I'm glad you are feeling better. And you're welcome”

It didn't take long until Lucius returned. They followed him to the floo. They finally went back to the Manor. Hermione and Draco were walking in front of Lucius which made Hermione kind of nervous. They always had to follow and now he was following them. They entered the Manor and shortly after Narcissa came down the stairs, walking to her son.
“Draco? Are you all right?” she asked with concern “You don’t look good” she held her son in her arms, stroking his hair gently. “Lucius, what happened?”
“He got an infection. We were at St. Mungo’s for a check-up and he will be fine soon.” Lucius replied and smiled slightly “I’m glad it is nothing serious. He should rest a lot though. So we should cancel his cello classes”
Narcissa nodded and looked over to Hermione, looking her in the eyes “You are staying in the same room again. If there is anything wrong with Draco, let us know”
“Yes, mother” Hermione replied and walked over to Draco. He held onto her slightly and they walked to his room together.

The following two days, Hermione and Draco spent most of the time in his room. Sometimes they would go outside on his balcony and sit there in the sun. It was already late at night as they lay there in bed together. Both of them are still awake and excited.  They talked about how different life at Hogwarts was for each of them, which teachers and subjects they liked and all the hilarious moments that happened there.
“Hermione” Draco started “How do you think the new year will look like?”
“Hmm” Hermione gave it some thought before replying “I think it will be very exciting. I can’t wait to learn so much more at school. Also going to Hogsmeade is going to be fun. Do you think your parents will come regularly or will we have time to enjoy ourselves?”
“Well” Draco started and looked her in her eyes “I like it when they visit, but I don’t want them to visit all the time. Especially the first time we can go, I’d like to explore on my own”
“Same for me” Hermione smiled at him and he smiled back. While looking at each other, they eventually fell asleep.

As they woke up they both realised it would be the last day at the Manor. Draco went outside to fly on his broom and Hermione watched him go. Narcissa was standing next to her but looked rather worried than happy.
“I just hope he doesn’t fall” Narcissa said “Those injuries are always terrible. And I don’t want to send him to school unhealthy” she looked at Hermione now “Same goes for you”
“Thank you, mother” Hermione smiled “There is something I wanted to ask you though”
“What is it?”
“Well..” Hermione started a bit nervous “My body has been changing and I haven’t read about it. Do you think you could buy me a book about it all?”
“I’ll buy you books, my dear. But let’s go have some tea together and I’ll guide you with everything that isn’t in the books” Narcissa said with a smile. They went inside and Hermione felt like she bonded with the woman she now called mother.

There was one thing that was still bothering Hermione: Who was going to be her First?
She hesitated to ask Narcissa and got mad at herself for not being brave like a Gryffindor.
“Who is going to be my First?” Hermione shot out of nowhere while Narcissa was telling her about the other women’s experiences with periods.
“Lucius and I talked about it, but we are not in a hurry. We want someone who doesn’t traumatize your first time. And also someone who will treat you with respect and won’t be too harsh on you” Narcissa replied and put her cup down “We want to wait with deciding until next summer. On our last visits where you and Draco stayed at home, I talked with the other women about it”
“And?”
“Well, they all tried to convince me how good their husbands were, but I didn’t think any of them is suited for you” her eyes were cold and she held up her chin a bit, striven by pride “But I will find someone who will suit you”
“Why can’t I choose someone?” Hermione asked but only got an angry expression in return. “I’m sorry” she whispered
“This task is a very important part for me” Narcissa replied in a very cold tone “It is my honour to search for someone for you. Especially since I don’t have a daughter and you will become my daughter-in-law, I want to find someone who will not disappoint you and brings glory to our family.”
“Thank you for all your effort, mother” Hermione said, meaning it from her heart which made the ice-cold woman warm up a little
“I know you have not had that many great moments of the Manor, but I promise you that I adore you a lot” she smiled and Hermione felt warm inside. She missed her mother so much and this little bit of warmth was lifting her spirits.

In the afternoon, they left the Manor: Lucius had a surprise for their last day. They departed to a lake in the woods, which was still part of their land. The sun was shining brightly and nature was at its finest. With a swish of Narcissa’s wand, a table and seats appeared. Another swish and there was a high tea set too. Everybody sat down. Hermione looked around, it was beautiful. Hermione took her cup and took a nip from her tea. She looked over at the lake, she could hear birds chirp. Her mind drifted off, and her shoulders relaxed. A slight breeze went through her hair, adding more to the relaxation. After a while, she mentally returned to the tea set. She looked at the others and they were reading books. Hermione looked at the book that was put in front of her on the table. She opened it quietly and started reading. She never read with someone before. Unless it was for school, of course.

It only felt like minutes passed as she looked up from her book again. The sun moved towards the trees, making it a little chilly inside the forest. She looked over at Draco and smiled a little. He looked relaxed and held his book with one hand, even though it was a pretty big one. Hermione focused on the title but she couldn’t read it properly. Her eyes scanned him from head to toe. He looked elegant and like a prince from a book. From this angle, his face showed some masculine features that would become more dominant in the upcoming years. Her eyes grew big as he shot a glare at her and kept eye contact. She looked back at her book and tried to hide her face in it. Did he see her looking at him?

Her thoughts got interrupted by Narcissa who closed her book and brought them all to the attention that it was time to return to the Manor. Silently, they all left. Hermione looked back at the lake one more time before she followed. She hoped she could come here again one day.

Chapter Text

The morning of departure to Hogwarts was rather hectic. Narcissa seemed to be like every other mom: "Are you sure you have everything?", "Do you have your wand with you?", "Try to focus on your studies but don't neglect your friends" and so on. Hermione and Draco sighed once they were at Kings Cross where she kept asking more questions. Lucius was rather silent and didn't try to stop his wife either. Once they were on the platform and dropped off their suitcases Lucius sussed Narcissa.

Hermione took a step back, watching how Narcissa hugged Draco tightly. Lucius placed a hand on her shoulder and spoke
"Behave during the school year. We all know that you are pretty good at rule-breaking" his lips curled into a smile "You have to make your reputation better and focus on your studies"
Hermione looked at him and nodded, Narcissa hugged her and wished her the best for this new school year. As she looked back, Draco stood in front of his father, getting a hand on his shoulder too with a squeeze.
"Take care of each other" Lucius said and Hermione saw how Draco's eyes lightened up "Don't forget that you have to eat at least one meal together daily" his tone changed into something darker "Don't cause trouble and greet Severus for me"
Draco and Hermione got on the train and waved at their parents like all the others. Once they were out of sight, they parted ways. Hermione went to search for her friends. It didn’t take her long to find them, searching for an empty cabin. They sat down where Professor Lupin was sleeping. The ride went pretty normal so far, including Draco dropping by to bully Ron and Harry. Draco looked at her, raised his eyebrow, opened his mouth, closed it again, and walked off.

The dark clouds and the rain were normally very pleasant to Hermione. She loved reading whenever there was a storm, but this time she didn’t enjoy the rain. It was… different. As the train stopped abruptly, she felt unsure if she was doing all right. Her heart started beating faster and she was slightly panicked. When the lights turned off, she panicked even more. Her instinct told her to calm down and ask for advice, but Marcel and Ginny joined their cabin. It was simply too dark to move. Suddenly, the air felt cold and lonely. She looked at the black thing that was floating into their cabin. It felt like death itself entered. She started to feel cold inside, and some bad memories came up to her mind. Her fear of the first year came up when she thought Ron might be dead as he fell off the chess horse. The fear of Harry never returning, as she sat next to him on the hospital bed. It was her fault, she told him he was destined to go further on his own. Then her second year where she feared for her life. The eyes of the huge basilisk. She barely could hear Professor Lupin say to the dementor that Sirius Black wasn’t there. She now noticed how Harry was on the ground and she gasped. She saw a bulk of light, coming from Lupin’s wand and she hurried to Harry’s side. She was glad that he didn’t take long to recover. She was terrified to lose him. After everybody calmed down and had a piece of chocolate, she started to feel better.

Getting off the train, it was no surprise that Draco came to ask if it is true that Harry was knocked out. He laughed at the thought of Harry almost dying. “Were you afraid of the dementor, Potter?” he laughed even more.
“Shut up, Malfoy” Ron said and Draco attacked his new opponent immediately. Hermione looked at Draco with a sad expression, she still felt the cold presence of the dementor even though it was gone for a longer period. Draco’s eyes met hers and he stepped closer to her.
“Are you alright?” he asked her “You don’t look well. Did the dementor attack you?”
“I’m okay, they didn’t do anything to me. It was just… cold” she almost whispered. Draco rubbed on her arms to warm her a little and gave her his scarf.
“If you need anything, let me know” he said and then walked to his cart. They had to keep going.

Once they arrived at Hogwarts, Hermione and Harry had to follow Professor McGonagall. Her heart was racing in her chest. They only just arrived, what could it be? Once they were in the professor’s office, Hermione was glad that she could sit down. After Harry got checked and they all were sure that he was all right, Professor McGonagall focused on her now.
“I received Mr Malfoy’s letter, stating that you would like to attend all classes” she started and Hermione nodded “As you may know, some classes overlap each other, so we have sought a solution for you” the professor gave Hermione an envelope. “Now listen carefully” the professor started and explained how to use the time turner and what possible dangers it may have. After Hermione confirmed she understood, she was dismissed and together with the professor and Harry, she walked to the Great Hall. After a delicious meal, she went straight to bed, she felt excited for the new year.

This was ruined the very next morning. She was on her way to the Great Hall when Draco came to her.
"Come, you are eating with us" he smiled and she felt like his friend group looked rather pissed at her. She joined their table and ate in silence. She didn't care about their conversations and just stared at the Gryffindor table. Watching how her friends were chatting while she was away from them. Their smiles looked so happy and Hermione just wanted to join them. She finished her meal and got up.
“I’ll be going. See you later in class” she said coldly and walked to Harry and Ron before Draco could say anything. Together they left for their first Divination lesson. Hermione was glad the class was over and once they arrived in the Transfiguration classroom, she turned her time turner to attend Arithmancy. After lunch, it was time for their first lesson with Hagrid, and she was not sure about how this was going to end. She had a bad feeling that Hagrid was too bold to be a teacher. In the end, she was right. Draco got hurt by Buckbeak. She didn't go along as Hagrid brought Draco to the Hospital Wing and returned to the Gryffindor Tower instead. She only wrote half a page of her essay as the head of her house came to get her.
"Miss Granger" she said and looked at her sternly "Mr Malfoy asked me to come and get you. I'll take you to the Hospital Wing"
Hermione nodded and followed the professor. She didn't want to see Narcissa or Lucius. Seeing them here instead of on their second trip to Hogsmeade pissed her off. She stood at the door and it seemed like Professor McGonagall was waiting for her to enter. She went in and walked over to the only bed being used. She stood there and didn't say a word. Narcissa looked worried and sat on the bed. Gently holding Draco's hand. Lucius was standing next to the bed and turned to her.
"Hermione" he smiled "It’s nice to see you. How have you been?"
"I've been doing good, sir. Thank you" she didn't look up. Her hands turned into fists and she just wanted to get out of there. She felt how Lucius’s hand grabbed her in the neck, pulling her closer towards him.
"I will need your testimony at court" he said "but we need to talk first about what you are going to say"
Hermione looked at him before she replied "I will tell the truth, sir. Nothing else"
"You will say what I want you to say" he said with a smile "You want to stay in school, right?"
Hermione looked at him angrily, yet it was Narcissa who spoke first.
"Hermione will do exactly what we want. After all, she wants to see her friends" she looked at Hermione with a grin "She will do everything to protect her future husband"
"What do you want me to do?" Hermione felt helpless but she needed to know
"Tell them that in your very first lesson, you already got in contact with a potentially dangerous magical creature. Just underline the fact that you did not learn about Hippogriffs before this class started and that it would have been better to talk about them first and then learn to meet them in the second class" Narcissa said as she got up, walking to Hermione "That's all"
"So the truth?" Hermione said but felt some sort of pain in her chest. She knew Hagrid was wrong in his teaching method, but she was scared he'd get fired.
"What will happen to Hagrid after court?" Hermione asked "He is my friend. I don't want him to leave"
"And I don't want him to teach" Narcissa hissed at her "He is not suited to be a teacher. I know you think the same too. You are just trying to protect him”
Hermione looked at Narcissa. She could feel how her tears were building up. Lucius still didn't let go of her and tightened his grip on her neck. She looked at Draco who looked rather bored. If only he listened and didn't walk to Buckbeak like that, she wouldn't have been in this conversation. Her thoughts were running through her head. She was so angry at him.
“Draco told me that you already met a dementor” Lucius almost whispered “How have you been feeling after it? Did it attack you?”
“It was just cold, sir. It didn’t do anything to me. At least, I do not know how it attacks”
“It sucks your happiness out, dear” Narcissa said
“Once all your happiness is gone, it will give you a ‘kiss’. It means it sucks out your soul” Lucius said and smiled. Hermione looked at Draco, she just wanted to beat him so badly. She didn’t care about the dementors, all she wanted was to get out of here. 
"Can I go now?" she asked Narcissa, who nodded. She looked up at Lucius, who still didn't let her go.
"I am not done yet, young lady" he silently said "Come"
He turned and pushed her forwards, still not letting go of her. Once they were near the lake, he let go of her.
"Hermione, I expected better of you" his voice sounded disappointed
"What do you mean-" she shot out angrily “sir?”
"My son got injured and you simply went to the Gryffindor tower. You were supposed to go with him. You are going to be his wife so I want you to act like one"
"I'm sorry" she said and Lucius's eyes pierced through her. She knew very well that he knew that she didn't mean it.
"I'll make sure you regret your actions, young lady" his lips curled up as he stepped closer to her "You have to learn that we Malfoys don’t let others play around with us. You should know the power the name Malfoy holds"

Hermione couldn't breathe. She watched how he walked off back to the castle. Leaving her out there alone.
"Make me regret?" she said angrily to herself "What am I? The slave of the Malfoys?"
She picked up a stone and threw it in the water. "He stepped towards Buckbeak, not me" another rock was thrown "Why do I have to stay at his side when he gets injured?" She threw another stone "I did nothing wrong and neither did Hagrid"
She grabbed more stones and threw them all in the water, trying to calm down. She sat down on the cold, wet grass and stared at the lake. The memories of today were going through her head. She finally knew what to do: She had to lie in court and avoid Hagrid losing his job. She pulled herself together and went back to the castle. Together with Harry and Ron, they started on their assignment from Professor McGonagall. Every now and then, Hermione dropped the assignment and looked out of the tower’s window. Funny enough, Harry and Ron did the same. It looked like at least one person was looking out of the window while the other two worked. As if they were doing shifts. It was Hermione’s turn again and she looked at Hagrid’s hut. She saw light. “Guys, there is light” she looked at the sky “We can go quickly… but quickly…”. The guys nodded and they ran off as quickly as they could. The grass was cold and wet but it didn’t bother them. Ron almost slipped down the hill because it was so slippery. They knocked on the door and entered after they heard a reply from Hagrid. He drank. Hermione looked at him with a feeling of guilt, she had to fix this. After they talked a little and Hermione poured out the drink into the field, they were shocked when Hagrid shouted at them, telling them it is already dark and they should not have gone to him. He wasn’t worth it, so he said. Knowing that Hagrid wasn’t getting sacked, Hermione finally could concentrate on her assignment. After everybody left the common room around 1 am, she used her time turner to go to the library. It was time to go back to the common room but she would be there at that time, so she hid herself somewhere and entered the common room rather late. The fat lady was not very pleased with her returning at that hour. Hermione hoped she wouldn’t say anything.

Finally, it was time to visit Hogsmeade for the first time. Hermione was very thrilled to go, but at the same time, she worried about Harry. He was the only third year that couldn’t join. After she and Ron promised to bring him as many sweets as they could carry, they waited in line. Harry guided them and left after he heard Draco yell something about being afraid of dementors. Hermione looked back at Draco but didn’t say a word to him. They walked to Hogsmeade all together and separated ways. Hermione clung to Ron, she didn’t want to go with Draco and his friends. She had a great time until she came to Zonko’s, where she saw Draco again.
“Thanks for looking after her, Weasel” he said with a smile and grabbed Hermione’s hand “I’ll take over now”
“Draco, I don’t want to stay with you” she whispered in a hiss “Let go of me”
Draco smiled at her and shook his head, he moved closer to her ear and whispered
“We have to meet up with Mother and Father at the three broomsticks. You don’t have a choice, do you?”
Hermione looked at Ron, opened her mouth and closed it again. “Ron, I’ll see you in the common room… See you then” she tried to smile and Ron became red in the face
“I can’t just leave you with… you know. Him!” he said a bit annoyed
“Ron, please” she pleaded “Don’t make it more difficult for me”
Ron turned and walked to his twin brothers who of course were looking for something to get Filch.

“Is there something I can buy for you?” Draco asked Hermione while still holding onto her hand
“No, thank you” she said and looked at the stuff around
“Did you buy sweets?” he continued asking
“No” Hermione replied coldly
“Shall we go buy some with Father and Mother?” he suggested. Hermione had to think for a second. If they bought the sweets, she could give them to Harry and Ron. She nodded to Draco and he smiled. He left his friends in the shop and kept holding onto her hand until they arrived at the three broomsticks. There, Narcissa and Lucius were already having a drink. They joined their table and sat next to each other.
“It’s lovely to see the two of you again” Narcissa spoke and smiled “At home, it’s rather quiet without the two of you”
“We have a new teacher in defence of the dark arts” Draco started “His clothes are all old and ripped. He looks like he is homeless”
“But he is a great teacher” Hermione added and Draco gave her a look of disgust
“Who is he?” Lucius asked curiously
“His name is Lupin”
“Ah, he went to school with us, Narcissa. Do you remember the guys that bullied Severus?” Lucius looked at his wife and smiled
“He was a strange guy” Narcissa said and took a sip of her drink “He and his friends only caused trouble. They weren’t that good of wizards either”
“Can you tell us more?” Draco asked but Narcissa shook her head
“There is no need to talk about scum” she smiled “Not worth your time”
Hermione looked at Narcissa and wondered if she would ever manage to hear more about Harry’s parents. She would ask her during summer over a cup of tea. The remaining conversation was also about school and Quidditch. Finally, it was time to leave and they walked to Honeydukes. Hermione and Draco got as many sweets as they could and Lucius smiled as he paid for them. After saying they said bye to each other, the two of them joined the group that was waiting to go back to Hogwarts. Once she was in the common room, she dropped all her sweets on Harry with a big smile on her face. Ron got some as well.

The feast for Halloween was amazing, even though she had so many sweets and butterbeer, she still managed to load her plate twice. Full from the feast, she walked after Harry and Ron to the Gryffindor Tower. After they saw what happened to the fat lady and had to return to the Great Hall, everybody started talking. Everyone was gathered in the Great Hall and it didn’t take long before Draco walked over to Hermione.
“Did you see anything?” he asked her “Nothing happened to you, right?”
Hermione shook her head and Draco gave Harry an angry look. “If something happens to her because of you, you are done for, Potter” he sneered and grabbed Hermione’s arm and pulled her through the hall to the other Slytherins. Hermione pulled her arm back but Draco didn’t let her go.
“You are staying with me. I promised that I would take care of you” Draco said and his grey eyes looked at hers. “You’re staying with me as long as you can’t return to the Gryffindor tower”
Hermione wanted to say something but Dumbledore announced that the teacher would search for Black and that the rest would stay here. All the Perfects and Head Boys and Girls would stay watch. Professor Dumbledore provided them with sleeping bags. Draco laid down and held his blanket open for her.
“I would like to sleep with my friends, if tha-“ Hermione’s sentence got cut off as Draco grabbed her hand and pulled her down
“I’m not okay with that” he whispered in her ear “Now rest up, you have been looking exhausted for a very long time”
“Lights off” she heard Percy shout. Hermione was spooned by Draco. She could hear him sleep and when she tried to move his arm, he pulled her even closer. She sighed to herself and stayed awake most of the night.

It was early in the morning when she heard Draco’s breathing change. He snuggled his face into her neck and it sent shivers on her back.
“Good morning” he whispered in her ear “Have you been awake for long?”
“Kinda” Hermione whispered back
“Did you sleep well?”
“Ehm-Ehm” Hermione tried to sound convincing. Draco snuggled onto her a little bit more
“Can we stay like this for a while?” he asked her and sighed into her neck. A few hours later, everybody got woken up so that the new day could start.

Hermione worked hard to follow all her classes and to work on Hagrid’s case. She was sure that they would be able to help him. Christmas approached and just a few days before the other students would leave for the Christmas break, Draco came up to her.
“Are you going to the Manor with me?” he asked
“No, I would like to stay here if that’s all right” Hermione replied absently “I have too many things to do”
“I’ll write at home that you’ll stay here” he said and looked at her worriedly “Are you doing all right?"
“Yeah, why?”
“You still look exhausted. Aren’t you taking too many classes? Shouldn’t you drop a few?”
Hermione looked at him angrily. Everybody has been saying that to her and it was pissing her off. She was doing fine. She managed her time perfectly and she managed to follow every single class and on top of that keep up with all the assignments. She got up and left the table immediately, leaving Draco without an answer.

On Christmas, she woke up on her own in the room. Everybody had already left and she forgot how lonely things could be. She looked at the packages at the end of her bed. There were many more than she expected to receive. She carefully opened a package with the familiar handwriting of her muggle parents. They sent her a photo book with all her childhood photos in it. She looked through the images and thought to herself, that it was kind of strange to not see the pictures moving. She always forgot how different both worlds were. She looked at the other packages and wondered who sent those. She opened one and it was a jewellery set. She looked at all the diamonds that were shining at her. In at least five packages there were books for her about all different kinds of magic. She opened the other packages that had different accessories. In one package there even was a new pyjama that felt silky. Hermoine looked at all the expensive gifts she received from the Malfoys. She sighed to herself, it wasn’t something she wanted to have, which was probably why they sent her books too. Those were the only things they sent her that had her interest.

Once she came downstairs and saw Harry’s new broom, she got worried. Talking to Professor McGonagall about it ruined her friendship with Harry and Ron. She started to visit Hagrid more frequently, feeling bad about what happened but she had to. She had to make sure that nothing happened to Harry. Hagrid understood her and helped the loneliness fade away. The moment it looked like she would get along with the two of them again, her cat ruined it. She didn’t want to admit that it was Crookshank’s fault, it was its nature to eat rats. Yet, Ron seemed to blame her for it all. She tried to hide Crookshank for Ron as much as she could. Now she started to visit Hagrid even more and she practiced with him what he had to say at court. Her mornings with Draco were rather quick. She ate her things and then would say something about going to the library and walked off again to work on all the things she had in mind. She was a little bit disappointed that Harry and Ron didn’t help her with gathering information for Hagrid. But she had to do what she had to do: help him as much as she possibly could.

About a week passed, and she was eating breakfast at the Slytherin table when Snape came to get her and Draco. She didn't say a word to Draco since the accident, even when he asked her questions, she ignored them. She was still mad at him for his actions in Hagrid’s class. They followed Snape to his office where they had to take the floo to the ministry. The moment they got out, Narcissa was waiting for them.
"How are you feeling, Draco? Is the pain fading?"
Draco nodded, and they followed Narcissa to a cafeteria.
"Mother, shouldn't we go to court?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow
"A cup of tea to calm down does wonders" Narcissa said with a smile. She ordered teas and sat down. The waitress brought the teas and gave each one their own. Hermione looked at her tea. It was red. Probably strawberry tea or something, she thought. She didn't feel like drinking it but took a few nips. Narcissa and Draco finished their cups, and it was time to leave too.
"Come on, dear" Narcissa smiled "You have to drink it all"
Hermione nodded and drank it in one gulp.

Once in court, Hermione was the first to testify. She was determined to lie a little, but everything shot out of her whenever they asked a question. She spoke the truth and was shocked at her responses. She had no control over what was being said. She talked about how Hagrid warned about the Hippogriff’s pride and that they shouldn’t insult it. She continued that everybody was doing quite well and the hippogriffs let them pet them. She also added that Draco insulted his hippogriff and that he didn’t take Hagrid’s warning seriously enough. Once she was done, it was Hagrid’s turn. She looked at him and felt so sorry for what she had said. She had to sit down next to Narcissa, who smiled at her. "You did amazing, hun" she smiled "Veritaserum, honey. It was not your fault" she whispered. Hermione opened her mouth but was stopped by a silencing spell. She looked angrily at Narcissa, who didn't care that she did. Hagrid's eyes sometimes shot back at her and she felt so guilty for what happened. Her heart was hurting in pain. She looked very apologetic at Hagrid. She and Draco got sent out as they decided what would happen. Narcissa guided them out while Hermione had tears running down her face. She left the court with her head hanging, much to the dislike of the Malfoys.
"Stop being pathetic” Narcissa warned her "Or you are coming home and won't return to Hogwarts"
She did what she was told but in her mind, she was elsewhere. She had to talk to Hagrid. Tell him she wanted to lie for him, but Veritaserum made it impossible for her. She and Draco stood at the floo, ready to go back to Hogwarts.

Her knees hit the cold stone in Snape's office and tears were still running down her face. Draco looked down at her.
"Come on Hermione. We can go to Hogsmeade today"
She looked at him with the foulest look she had but it only entertained him more. He helped her up and walked off. She wished she could do something to soothe her anger and the feeling of guilt. After the second trip to Hogsmeade, Hermione looked at the big owl that came to her. She quickly gave it some snacks and looked at the letter. She knew from the handwriting that it was Hagrid. She shook the wet envelope and opened it. As she started to read, she started to cry again. She went to search for Harry and Ron. Once she found them, she handed them the letter “I thought you guys should know…”

After she had the letter back, she walked to Hagrid’s hut immediately. She didn’t even wait for Hagrid to open the door and stormed in.
"Hagrid" Hermione silently said and stood next to him "I didn't want this to happen"
"I know, 'Mione" he said with a sniff
"They gave me Veritaserum" she started to sob too "I wanted to lie to avoid you getting fired, but all I did was ruin everything"
"They did what?" Hagrid's voice echoed "Hermione, it wasn't your fault anyway. The Malfoys are terrible people. I feel sorry for you"
She hugged him tightly "We will do something against this, I promise" she whispered
"There is not much you can do" Hagrid patted her on the back with his big hands. She stayed with Hagrid until it was time to leave. There should be a second chance, she thought to herself. This time she will prepare Hagrid better.

The next morning, she got up early and ate breakfast alone. She made herself some lunch to go to avoid seeing Draco. And it worked besides for their last class where they had Hagrid’s class with the Slytherins. She got up quickly to leave but got blocked by Grabbe and Goyle.
"Let me pass" she hissed, but they didn't move an inch.
"We need to talk" Draco said behind her and grabbed her wrist.
"What is wrong with you?" he faced her. She looked at her wrist and tried to free herself. His eyes scanned her face before he met her eyes.
"You are going to eat dinner with us, aren't you?" she didn't move at all and just looked at him angrily.
"Are you sure you want to be so stubborn?" Draco almost whispered. He still got no reply, and his face turned a little red.
"Why are you avoiding me?" his voice sounded irritated. A tear formed in Hermione's eyes. She looked away from Draco. She was shocked as he let her hand go. Hermione looked at Hagrid, sulking as he left his class.
“Look at that pathetic” Draco said to his friends “And he is supposed to teach us?”
Hermione didn’t know what was going on in her head but she slapped Draco across his face “Don’t you dare to call Hagrid a pathetic!”
“Hermione!” Ron said weakly and held onto her arm before she could hit Draco again
“Let me go!” she shouted and pulled her wand. Draco grinned at her and she lowered her wand. He stepped forwards and grabbed her necklace and whispered at it.
“See you tonight, honey” he said and smiled before he walked off. Hermione stared into the space. After a few minutes, she decided it was time to leave. She walked to the library to study. From a distance, she could already see the platinum blond hair of Lucius. She turned on her heels and walked away.

"Hermione!" Lucius's voice echoed through the hallway. Hermione froze on the spot. All students looked at her. She started to get nervous with everybody staring at her as they walked past by. Lucius caught up to her in no time.
"Hermione, dear. Would you mind?" He gave her his arm to hold onto and she grabbed it gently. She slightly had to run with his fast pace but soon they were at an empty spot and spoke.
"Draco called me through your necklace. He said you are misbehaving. What have you done?" he raised an eyebrow as he looked at her. She took a few steps back to distance herself, but with every step she took, he took a step towards her.
"Answer me" his tone was impatient and she stopped taking steps.
"I..." Hermione started, and she could feel her tears stinging in her eyes. "I did nothing wrong so far, sir"
"If you did nothing wrong, then you can tell me" Lucius smirked "Go on"
"There is nothing, sir. I don't know why Draco called you here"
"Liar" he hissed and stepped closer, looking into her eyes. She saw memories fly by again, and once he broke contact, she was completely out of breath.
“How dare you!” Lucius hissed “How dare you hit my son?”
“I was just- The emotions” Hermione sputtered but Lucius was not pleased “Where is Draco?”
“I don’t know, sir” she whispered and felt terrible. Tears were forming again and she started to cry. Life has been horrible lately. Her friends didn’t want to talk to her, Buckbeak is scented to death, she betrayed Hagrid and now this. Lucius grabbed her by her chin and forced her to look at him, even though tears were still running down her face.
“I pledge that once you are home I’ll-“Lucius’s tone was angry but he got interrupted as the door flew open and Draco appeared with Professor Snape. Draco looked at her and walked over to her immediately. “Father, what have you done to her? Why is she crying?” he almost whispered. Lucius let go of Hermione and walked over to Snape. “Severus, why the surprise?”
“I can ask you the same question, Lucius” he said coldly “I saw Draco with a bruise and wanted to investigate further. I see that that isn’t necessary. 50 points from Gryffindor and detention, Miss Granger” Snape’s lips curled up in a smile and he left the room. Lucius focused on them now.
“Come” he said and looked at Hermione “We are going home”
Draco looked at Hermione and back to his father “You are taking Hermione home, father?”
Lucius nodded and moved closer to them “I had enough of this now”
“Father, please let her stay here with me at school” Draco pleaded and Hermione looked at him surprised. Lucius looked at his son and back to Hermione.
“I already decided, Draco”
“Father please”
“Draco!”
“Mother would want her to stay here with me” Draco continued “Please, let her stay”
Hermione saw the shift in Lucius’s eyes before he agreed. He looked at her with a lifted brow “You better apologize to Draco and thank him for what he did for you”
Hermione nodded and she walked over to Draco and hugged him tightly. She whispered in his ear “Thank you, for letting me stay here”
Lucius’s grey eyes looked into hers once more before he walked off.

Once it was time for dinner, Hermione joined Draco’s table. She sat down next to him and he spoke immediately.
“Glad to see you”
“I am still mad at you about Buckbeak” she said coldly “But I am thankful that you stood up for me”
Draco nodded and started to eat. He barely talked to her and just seemed to enjoy her presence. A few exhausting weeks passed and it was time to go to Hogsmeade again. Draco was waiting for her, and together, they walked to Hogsmeade. Narcissa would be there to see them. Her relationship with Draco had not improved. She was still angry with him. They sat at the three broomsticks. Narcissa looked delighted to see them again, but Hermione didn't share the same feeling. Narcissa asked them how things were going at school. If they enjoyed the lessons and if they had time to spend together. Hermione looked away once she asked that question, and Draco didn't reply immediately.
"You two haven't spent time together besides for meals?" Narcissa looked at them with a cold look "You two should bond. Not become strangers from each other"
"We know, Mother" Draco said a little pissed off "Hermione and I are working on it. We just need time. We both don't have the desire for a partner"
Hermione looked at him, and for the first time, she admired how he used logic as an excuse. He was right. They were only 13. What love would they be searching for? They were still kids, after all.
"Yes, I am aware of that. But you two should at least become friends. The public needs to know you are in love or at least like each other" Narcissa insisted and Draco nodded "Can you do it, Hermione?" her voice was serious and Hermione looked in her blue eyes.
"I am not sure" she almost whispered and felt her emotions wind up
"Tell me" Narcissa's hand moved to her face, cupping it lightly "What is bothering you?"
"I... it's just... With Buckbeak... I simply cannot now..." she brought out and felt her eyes sting.
"It’s just a creature Hermione" Narcissa said coldly "You weren't even attached to it"
"But you made me say things in court that I never wanted to" her tears started to form, and she just wanted to flee.
"Did Hagrid blame you?" Narcissa asked and grabbed her face tighter "Did someone hurt you?"
"No, he didn't. I am just hurting myself!"
"Stop blaming yourself and don't dwell on the past" Narcissa said strictly. Hermione nodded into her hand, and Narcissa let her go.
"Why don't you practice your instruments together?" Narcissa suggested "I am sure that will help the two of you to get closer again"
Hermione looked at Draco. She wondered if he had practised because she didn't. The conversation didn't last long, and soon, they had to head back to the castle again.

Hermione and Draco have now started to meet regularly to play their instruments. The music talked for them, even though it didn't always sound good. Their bond wasn't improving, but many students often came to look at them play. Especially the choir was looking forward to Hermione's improvement. They could use both her and Draco for practice or make something new. Weeks passed by and the day of Buckbeak's execution came closer. Hermione wished she knew what to do, but she didn't. She spend a lot of time with Buckbeak, crying every single time she saw him. Hagrid warmed up a lot towards her. He knew she loved Buckbeak as much as he did. On the day of the execution, she said goodbye to Buckbeak and left quickly. Hagrid requested she wouldn't be there if it happened. She was too young. She went back to the castle and met up with Ron and Harry. They walked back to Hagrid to support him. Once they walked off the bridge, they saw Draco, Crabbe and Goyle.

The day was long, and after saying goodbye to Sirius, Hermione finally got into bed. She was smiling brightly. She managed to save Buckbeak. It was such an adventure. It was thrilling, and she was scared, but it was for the best. The weight of Buckbeak's death was off her shoulders. Her heart finally felt lightweight again. Eventually, she fell asleep.

The next day she was already cheerful and sat down next to Draco. He looked at her in surprise and her good mood.
"What happened? I thought you would be sad" he said, looking her in the eyes.
"Oh, it's nothing, Draco" she hummed and started eating. Draco looked at her friends and back to her. He grinned and started eating too. Hermione looked at him and wondered why he was in a good mood too. She didn't bother to ask and carried on her day. Harry smiled at her every time their eyes met. He surely was glad too that Buckbeak is free, and on top of that, meeting his godfather was something that seemed to make him shine. However, Draco’s mood turned foul as he found out that Buckbeak escaped.

The next few days, she opened up more to Draco. He spoke a lot with her, and she also spoke with him. He always went with her to the library, which she wasn't used to. Nobody wanted to stay with her in the library. She spent so much time there that everybody always left quite quickly whenever she mentioned 'library'. But Draco didn't mind. He was doing his homework or reading a book too. He was reading books she already read but were still outside their magical league. She was impressed by it. Nobody had ever shared the same interest as she did. On second thought, she never realised that his grades matched hers. She was just a little bit better than he was. But he was exceeding in music. It was already late, and the library would close soon. The candle was bringing warmth and light to their books. Hermione looked at Draco over the edge of her book. He was relaxed in the seat, his hand near his face. His other hand held the book. She observed him more. He was looking rather attractive like that. She blushed and looked back at her book. She had never looked at boys like that before. She jumped a little at the sound of Draco closing his book with one hand. She looked him in the eyes and he did the same to her.
"Hermione, we should go. It's going to be curfew soon" he spoke and put his book on the table. She nodded and started packing her stuff. As usual, he walked her back to the Gryffindor tower. They didn't say much but wished each other goodnight. He always waited until she was inside before he left. Hermione was grateful that he always waited for her. She closed the door and watched him once more.

The last days passed, and it was time to go back home. Hermione sat in a cabinet with her friends. They talked and laughed a lot. They would write to each other during the summer. Harry and Ron told her they'd go to the quidditch cup and asked her to come too if Ron’s father would manage to get tickets. She said she would ask the Malfoys if she could and send an owl soon. She got off the train and Draco found her quickly.
"They are over there" he said and took her suitcase. They walked together to his parents. They greeted each other and went home immediately. Once Lucius opened the door and let them in, he finally spoke.
"Welcome home" he said and smiled "It’s nice to have the two of you here again"
Narcissa smiled too and hugged Draco tightly before she embraced Hermione.
"Do you guys want to go out to eat somewhere?" Narcissa asked them. Draco nodded, and Hermione just held up her shoulders.
"Good, then we will leave at 5.30" she said and looked at the time. Draco walked off with his mother, talking about the past school year. Hermione looked at Lucius. She had to ask him if she could attend the quidditch cup.
"Father, can I go to the Weasleys again this summer?" Her nerves were on the edge. She was scared and excited at the same time. Lucius looked at her and seemed to be in thought. It took a while before he answered.
"You can go there. I'll talk to him at work" he said and Hermione thanked him before she left to her room. She had to write Harry and Ron a letter. She already told Ron on the train to make sure his father knew she would just come over and not to the quidditch cup, so she didn't have to include that in her letter. She watched her owl fly to Lucius and then off into the sky. She smiled a little as it flew up high. She took a bath and got ready to go out. Narcissa came in and told her to change into other clothes because the other ones were already too small. Narcissa looked at her and was in thought. Hermione looked at the woman and wondered what was going on in her mind. Now that she was thinking of it, she had never seen the woman in thought before. She wasn't sure if she should get her out of her trance and hesitated before speaking.
"Mother?" she almost whispered. Narcissa looked at her with big eyes as if she was shocked.
"I'm sorry, dear" she said and gave a small smile "I was in thought for a moment. Do you want me to do your hair? You can't go out with your casual hair on such an occasion"
Hermione nodded and they walked over to the bathroom. Hermione sat down in front of the big mirror while Narcissa grabbed a brush. She gently brushed Hermione's hair, smiling to herself. Hermione closed her eyes and started smiling too. She loved the feeling of her hair being done. Her scalp was tingling in a very comfortable way. She opened her eyes again once the tingling stopped and Narcissa put her hands on her shoulders. Hermione looked at herself in the mirror, she had the same hairstyle as Narcissa, but only a bow was tied on the back of her head.
“Thank you, mother” Hermione said and smiled
“You’re welcome. Now let’s get going, shall we?”

Once they were downstairs, Draco and Lucius were already waiting. They were wearing a different suit and Hermione blushed a little as she looked at Draco. It suited him perfectly.
“You’re looking beautiful” Draco whispered as they followed his parents.
“Thank you” Hermione smiled “I think that suit suits you”
“Thanks” he smiled back and grabbed his father’s arm to depart.

Chapter Text

Once they departed, they arrived somewhere Hermione has never been before. The restaurant was a very tall building and on the inside decorated beautifully. A butler brought them to their table near a big window. They had walked several stairs and they had a view over the landscape. There were some hills and some houses here and there. They sat on a round table and the decoration on the table was stunning. The flowers were beautiful and gave off a slight scent while floating candles lighted their table. After ordering, they started to talk about school, recalling some fantastic memories and experiences. Hermione did not tell them about her adventure with Sirius though, since it might ruin the night. Once their first course was served, it became rather silent. Hermione enjoyed every bite she took. Finally, after her sixth course, Hermione wished she didn’t eat that much. She had a lovely time and enjoyed every minute of it. She started out of the window and noticed that the landscape is familiar to her. She took a closer look and she was right: The Weasleys lived nearby. After some time she spotted the house and smiled to herself. Maybe, she could visit them again? Hermione looked at Narcissa who was looking out of the window too. The woman looked over at her husband and nodded. Suddenly, they were leaving the restaurant and returning to the Manor. Hermione thanked them for going out before she headed to bed. Once she lay in the blankets, she fell asleep immediately. The long day has been eating on her.

The first day on the Manor started. Hermione was reading her book before it was time to have breakfast. As she walked through the hallway, Draco came to her side and smiled at her “How did you sleep?”
“Good, thank you. You?”
“I slept well too. It’s nice to be home again”
Hermione wasn’t sure if she could agree with that. Somehow, the Manor did not really feel like home. Hogwarts felt more like home, even after her first year, she felt more at home at Hogwarts than elsewhere. That was something she and Harry had in common. Even though, Hermione didn’t have it as hard as Harry. She was bullied at school too, not that anything changed at Hogwarts. Nevertheless, she had friends now, which she never really had. By the time she returned from her thoughts, they already arrived at the dining hall. They entered silently but to their surprise, both Narcissa and Lucius weren’t there. The two sat in silence and watched how the clock stroke 7. Hermione turned to Draco with a questioning look.
“What?” Draco said and took a slice of bread “Maybe they got drunk and overslept. Maybe father is busy with work. Mom might be somewhere in the gardens”
Hermione nodded and started to eat as well. A few seconds later, the door opened and Lucius came in with a big smile on his face.
“Good morning” he said as he walked over to his seat “I have great news to announce”
His eyes rested on Draco before he continued “We are going on vacation to Switzerland”
Hermione looked at him with big eyes and then she looked at Draco with excitement. Draco had the same look on his face as she did. They are going to Switzerland!
“Where is mother?” Draco asked out of curiosity
“Getting things ready for the vacation. We’re leaving tomorrow”
Hermione looked at Lucius with big eyes “When did you guys plan this?”
“Last night after dinner” Lucius smirked “That’s why we have lots to do today. Also, are you going to the Quidditch Cup with us? Or are you staying at the Manor with Narcissa?”
Hermione looked at her plate in thought. She actually promised Harry and Ron she would go with them. Her thoughts were running through her head like a bullet train and then she looked up again.
“If it’s okay, I’d like to go to the Weasley then. I don’t want to be at the Manor without Draco and I don’t like Quidditch”
Lucius’s eyes pierced through hers, but she knew she didn’t say a lie so he shouldn’t notice. Leaving out some parts of the truth is not lying. Lucius nodded and Hermione was surprised he did. She looked at Draco who was looking at his father with even bigger eyes than before. She heard him mumble something about the Quidditch Cup but she couldn’t really figure out what he was trying to say.  She continued eating her breakfast and decided she had to pack her stuff for the vacation.

Once she was in her room, she picked up Crookshanks and cuddled him tightly. “Can you believe it? We’re going to Switzerland!” she smiled brightly at the cat. It purred back in agreement. She let herself fall onto the bed, Crookshanks still held tightly. She looked at the roof of her room and wondered what they’d get to see. Do wizards and witches also go sightseeing? Are they going on a magical adventure? Hermione always wanted to go to Switzerland. Her muggle parents took her to France a few times but said that Switzerland is just too expensive. Now she finally got the opportunity to go there. She looked at her suitcase from Hogwarts and wondered if it was too big to take to Switzerland. But on second thought, she didn’t have another suitcase to use. She stood still for a few seconds and thought of what she would need for the trip. She walked in circles in her room until she decided she needed books. She left her room and Crookshanks followed her to the library. The moment she touched the door handle, she felt as if her hand was on fire. She looked at the handle in anger for hurting her. She automatically reached for her wand, only to realise she had handed it in yesterday. She sighed and stared at the door that wouldn’t let her in. Hermione looked left and right before she gave the door a kick in the hope to break it open. But that was a big fail. She jumped on one leg and held her other foot tightly. It felt like it was on fire too. Suddenly she heard Narcissa’s heels approaching her. She turned toward the sound and saw the woman walking towards her.
“Hermione, what are you doing? Did you hurt yourself?”
“I wanted to go to the library, mother. But this door doesn’t let me in”
Narcissa smiled a little and held Hermione’s hand. “Honey, why do you need to go to the library?”
“I need books for the vacation”
“Honey, you won’t have time to read them. We will have many things to do”
“But on the aeroplane, I want to read”
“Airplane?” Narcissa raised an eyebrow at her “What’s that?”
Hermione looked at the woman as if she had slapped her in the face. She completely forgot that they would be travelling differently. She hoped it wouldn’t be on a broom or by the floo network.
“How do we get to Switzerland?” she asked and was a bit scared of the reply
“We’re going with the Viavia. It’ll take only a few seconds to get there”
“Oh”
“That’s why you won’t need books. We got all transport ready to see the most of each day and teach you and Draco new things. So it would be better to bring parchment instead”
“Can I at least bring three books, please?” Hermione insisted
“Do you want that so bad?”
“Yes”
“All right, but only three” Narcissa’s eyes pierced through hers before she walked to the door and opened it. Hermione thanked her quickly and entered. Hermione didn’t know how long she was in the library, but she was constantly watched by Narcissa. Hermione reached out for a book but stopped as she heard Narcissa scream ‘don’t’. Hermione looked at the woman’s face looked in fear. Narcissa approached her slowly and took her hand before she spoke.
“Hermione dear, not all books here are safe. This one in particular is about dark magic and I’m not sure if you should read that.”

Hermione nodded and looked at the book. It was like it was telling her to read it. She looked over to another shelf but she suddenly heard voices coming from that book. She looked over at Narcissa, unsure if she should tell her or not. Hermione quickly took a potions book and one about protective spells. She quickly left the room and returned to her own. She was packing some stuff when Draco knocked on her door and came in.
“Hermione?” Draco asked her attention as he walked over to her “Isn’t your birthday soon? I wanted to ask what I could give you as a birthday present. Besides for books, I wouldn’t know what to give you”
“Well, maybe when we are in Switzerland I’ll find something that I’d love to have” she smiled at him. In her mind, however, she was surprised that he remembered that her birthday would be soon.
“Alrighty” Draco said and smiled too. He got up and left her alone again.

After she was done packing, Hermione and Draco went to the greenhouse. There they tended to the different plants they needed for potions. Hermione was amazed at the size of the greenhouse and the amount of plants there. She looked at a big tree in the centre of the greenhouse. She got scared by Draco, who suddenly stood behind her and spoke in her ear.
“That’s our most precious plant here” he said “One of our ancestors planted it here as the Manor got built. Back then, the Manor used to be smaller and more pieces were attached later on”
“It’s beautiful” Hermione almost whispered as she reached out to the tree. Suddenly, small blue lights flew out of the tree once Hermione touched it. Hermione wanted to ask Draco what they were, but his mouth was open. He probably didn’t see it before either. They stood in silence together, watching the lights float in the air.
“I see that you got accepted” Narcissa’s voice came from behind them. “When I met this tree, the same thing happened” The woman smiled at her but Draco just stood there with his mouth open. He closed his mouth quickly when his mother raised an eyebrow at him. “Some plants need fertiliser. So I assume the two of you will be busy here all day”
Draco nodded and started to search for the fertiliser they needed. Hermione still stood at the tree, looking at it. It was indeed very beautiful. Hermione looked back to Narcissa and wondered if she might tell more about the tree, but she turned away and walked off. Hermione walked to Draco and started helping him take care of the plants. It was a real struggle, especially since they didn’t have certain plants in school yet and had to be extra careful not to get hurt. Hermione was so glad that it was time to have dinner that she went over to Draco and started pulling him by his arm. He smiled at her and together they walked to the dining room, they talked about all the plants that tried to hurt them and how it was both scary and funny at the same time. After dinner, she had a well-deserved bath. She felt like she could just sleep right there after the warm water relaxed her muscles. After that Narcissa came to help her pack for the vacation and Hermione finally got to get to bed. It was already late at night when she woke up. She felt like something was calling her. She wasn’t sure what she should do. She knew from her books that in the magical world, being called might be something good or bad and she wasn’t sure about it in this case. The house obtained way too many dark magical artefacts that could try to lure her in. She twisted and turned around in her bed, trying to ignore it but eventually, she gave in. It was like her feet started to walk on their own. It wasn’t even dark in the hallways as the candles still lit the way to the library. Hermione looked at the open door before she entered. There, a few candles brought light but it was still more dark than bright. She slowly walked to the shelf with the book she had talked about with Narcissa. It was glowing some kind of green light while all the other books were their normal colour and barely visible. Hermione froze on the spot as she heard footsteps approach her from the dark. The green light slightly made him visible and Hermione was relieved it was Lucius and not something else. She stood frozen at her spot and looked into his grey eyes.
“Are we on a night trip, Hermione?” he asked and stopped a few steps away from her. She didn’t get a chance to reply as he continued. “Narcissa told me about the book this afternoon. I got curious if you’d come to get it. The moment you came here into the library, it started glowing. Would you be so kind to take it?”
Hermione stared at him and nodded. She walked over to the shelf and took out the book. “Father, what kind of book is this?”
“There are many different kinds of books here, love. Some are in different languages and translate themselves to their reader, but only if the book wants to. I personally haven’t read that particular one. It’s written in a different writing than we know today. The letters are unknown to mankind”
Hermione looked at the book and opened it. In the first few seconds, she saw the different symbols she had never seen before, just to see them change into readable writing.
“Does that mean I should read the book, father? Or would that be too dangerous?”
Lucius stood still, thinking before he replied. “I think you should read it” he said and Hermione felt a bit excited but at the same time scared about what the book contained. “However, I want you to read it only in my presence and tell me what is in the book. Now I want you to put the book on a table over there. We will start reading it in the morning”
Hermione brought the book to a nice place where she would like to sit the next morning and then Lucius brought her to Draco’s room. Draco woke up as the door opened and his father entered.
“Draco, Hermione will stay here tonight. I want you to watch over her. Don’t leave this room and sleep” he demanded and closed the door. They heard a clicking sound and looked at each other. Hermione slowly walked over to Draco’s bed and sat down on it.
“I’m sorry we woke you up” Hermione said and looked at Draco
“It’s fine. Why were you out of bed?” Draco asked and smiled
“There was this book, it was calling me. Lucius has been waiting in the library all night, I think. He was right there when I came closer to the book. It was glowing green. Have you ever had something like that before?”
“A few times. But the colours were different each time. Whenever I sneaked into the library, some kind of book was like calling me. Even in my dreams. Which is why the library is locked most of the time. There was one book that wanted to teach me about spells I could use in the greenhouse. I was looking for a cure for one of the plants that got sick and the book lit up a few days after that. Then after I read it, I managed to cure the plant and now it is still thriving.”
“So, it might not be a dangerous book?” Hermione asked, feeling a bit relieved
“I personally think the Manor teaches us what we might need at the moment or sometimes in the future” Draco smiled and made some space for her to lie down. “Now I think we should get some sleep. We will leave the Manor soon enough and I bet father and mother have many exciting things prepared for our vacation”
Hermione smiled and snuggled into the bed. “How are vacations like in the wizarding world?”
“We normally travel somewhere where there are either a lot of new things to learn or just a place where we can reset our minds and just relax” Draco replied and blew out the candle “How did you spend your vacation the past years?”
“Well, we would travel to other places and learn about history and culture there. Then we mainly focus on having fun and spend time together”
“We almost do the same. But I think you will see the differences soon enough” Draco whispered now and yawned. “Let’s sleep. I don’t want to be tired tomorrow”
“Goodnight”
“Night”

The next morning, Hermione woke up quite early even though she had little sleep. Slowly she sat up and looked at Draco, who was still deeply asleep. Carefully she got out of bed, trying not to wake him. The moment she tried to open the door, she noticed it was locked. So instead she got to the bathroom and took a nice morning bath. The warmth of the water was once again very relaxing. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment until it was time to get out again. Now that she returned, Draco was already awake, waiting for her to get out of the bathroom.
“Good morning” Draco said in a sleepish voice “How did you sleep? You woke up quite early”
“Good morning, I slept well. How about you?”
“I slept amazing” Draco smiled and closed the door behind him. Hermione sat down at the fireplace. Enjoying the warmth and the first sunrays that entered the room. It didn’t take long until Draco returned. He came to sit with her and started reading his book, almost mindlessly trying to talk to Hermione.
“Why are you still here? I thought you’d return to your room”
“The door is locked. I haven’t checked if it’s unlocked though”
“My door is always locked” Draco grinned and flipped to the next page “As a kid I had this habit to sneak out and explore the Manor. So they started to lock my door since then. Honestly, I’m too old to be locked in now, but what can I do?” he looked up from his book and stared in her eyes “The only good thing from being locked in, is that I know all the secret passages”
Hermione gave him a soft smile and sank into the seat she was sitting in. “Maybe” she started “Maybe I did wake up too early. Now I’m feeling tired again”
“I’m not surprised”
Hermione looked at the door that swung open.
“Good morning” Narcissa said with a big smile on her face “Let’s have breakfast and around 11 we’re leaving”. Narcissa walked over to them and stroke Draco over his hair. “Are you all packed and ready?”
“I’m done packing, mother” Draco said and tried to wave off her hand.
“I still have that one book I want to take with me” Hermione said silently, unsure if she could bring the book. She remembered how it glowed greenish and got all excited again to see why it wants to be read.
“Ah, yes” Narcissa clasped her hands together “You better go to the library then, I think Lucius will be waiting there for you”
“What did I miss?” Draco asked Hermione but she looked at Narcissa, unsure what to say.
“Hermione got called by a book in the library. You had that before too, but this book is an unknown one so we have to be cautious” Narcissa explained while Hermione slowly walked to the door.
“See you later, Draco. Mother…” she closed the door behind her and started running through the hallways. The Manor was still a big maze to her. It wasn’t possible to get from one place to the other without taking some time. Hermione stopped at the library and caught her breath before she entered.
“Good morning, Hermione” Lucius’s voice came from the place where she left the book the night before. He was reading a book too and had two cups of tea prepared.
“Good morning, father” Hermione smiled and walked over, sitting down in the seat next to him.
“Hermione, you should know that it’s prohibited to run in the hallways.” Lucius said without looking up “It’s not considered elegant to run”
“Sorry, father” Hermione looked at his face as she said it but he didn’t look up. She looked over at the book and slowly opened it. It was a spell book with many different random spells. Hermione tried to remember a few and started to write some down. But the moment she wrote them, the ink disappeared. She stared at it with her mouth open. Did she really have to memorise them by reading it once? She looked over at Lucius and wondered if she could have her wand to practice the spells. But on second thought, the book didn’t say what the spells did. Only some had a clear description. Most were explained in riddles. Hermione stared back at the book. Maybe she was supposed to find a certain spell. She held her head with two hands and stared blankly at the book, unsure what to do. Suddenly Hermione got pulled out of her seat by two strong hands. The hands placed themselves on both of her arms, gripping her tightly.
“Hermione? Can you hear me?” Lucius’s voice sounded worried. She looked up and stared into his eyes. “Yes, father” she whispered. His eyes scanned her face and slowly he let go of her arms.
“You got me worried there” he sighed “I thought the book tried to possess you”
“I’m sorry. I’m just a bit overwhelmed. The spells are mainly in riddles and after I read them, the letters change back to normal”
Lucius raised his eyebrows and stared at the book. “Hermione, it means you aren’t supposed to study them all. The book is trying to teach you a spell or maybe more which you might need in the future”
Hermione stared at the book. Lucius’s words were going through her head.
“Can we read it another day?” Hermione asked still looking at the book
“Of course, love” Lucius put his hand on her back “Sit down and have a cup of tea with me”
He helped her sit down and reached her tea cup. Then he took his own cup and sat down. His eyes were still on her, but his expression didn’t say anything. Hermione sipped on her cup of tea and started to relax again. After the tea, they went to the dining room where they waited for the others to come. After a very cheerful breakfast, Lucius and Narcissa helped and checked the suitcases and prepared to leave with the viavia. Once it was about to be 11, everybody held onto the viavia, which looked like a feather. With a swirling feeling, Hermione felt sucked into the viavia.

Chapter Text

After feeling like she got sucked into the Viavia, Hermione now felt how her chest hit the ground first, followed by the rest of her body. She looked over at Draco who also lay in the grass. She smiled at him and he smiled back. Slowly they got up and looked around. They were in the middle of nowhere on the alpine grass. Hermione gasped at the view she saw. The Scottish highlands near Hogwarts were nothing compared to this. Hermione couldn't believe her eyes as she saw the view. She could see the tops of the mountains behind the other ones, and she was sure she counted 7 rows. The sun was shining brightly, and the sky was a bright blue. She heard someone approach her and she looked at who it was. To her suprise it was Narcissa.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she asked and smiled "I've been here before but that was such a long time ago"
Hermione nodded and continued to take in the view. She could hear Draco talking to his father in the back.
"Why haven't we been here before, father? The past two years we haven't gone anywhere!"
"I've got my reasons and if you are patient enough, you will know why" Lucius stepped closer to his wife and kissed her on her cheek "Welcome back, love"
They stood there just a few minutes more before they started walking to their accommodation. It was a very old alpine hut and Draco already started to complain. “Father, you are joking, right? We aren’t staying in this… thing?”
“We will be staying in this lovely hut, Draco” Lucius smiled and opened the door “It has been in our possession for a few generations now”
Narcissa stepped in first, followed by her son and then Hermione. The inside of the hut was much bigger than it appeared on the outside. Narcissa guided them through the rooms. It had 5 bedrooms with each their own bathroom, a kitchen, a dining room and a living room.
“Alright," Lucius smiled "Now that we've been here, the three of us are going for a hike."

Hermione looked over at Draco and wondered if he had gone hiking a lot. Because last summer, they didn't really have many activities. Hermione had to laugh a little as she saw Draco's expression. It was a mixture of disgust and confusion. Now thinking of it, he normally would complain. At least, that's what he does at school. She observed him closely, curious if he was really going to say something. To her surprise, his expression changed back to normal.

"Make sure your wand is packed and that you wear proper shoes. We won't be returning soon and go for a rather long march"
She smiled a little at Draco's expression. He looked like his father threw a bucket of ice-cold water in his face. He stuttered as he spoke "On a hike? Is that going to take long? Father, you never took me on physical activities besides for Quidditch and picnicking"
"Draco," Lucius sighed "This is tradition and we aren't going to hike for fun. Get some good shoes, a bag, your wand and a knife"
"But father,"
"Now"
Hermione turned on her heels and so did Draco. She laughed as they walked through their new home to their room. "Are you scared for a hike?" she laughed and Draco's face turned red.
"I'm not scared of a hike" he sneered back "It's just that he never spends time with me... Last summer was different from all other summers. And now this summer is too"
Hermione gulped slowly. It felt so heavy suddenly. She didn't mean to hurt him or that the conversation would get this deep. She grabbed her stuff and put on proper hiking shoes. In silence, they walked back to the entrance where Lucius was waiting.
"Good" he smiled and looked over to Narcissa "We'll be back before it's dark. Take care, love" he kissed her on the cheek. Narcissa smiled and waved them out of the house. Their hike was starting off easy, but slowly the steepness increased and both Hermione and Draco were out of breath.

"Come on" Lucius laughed two are young. You're supposed to be running laps around me. Pathetic"
Hermione looked at him in disbelief and noticed Draco's face was red as a tomato. He started walking faster, leaving her behind at their fast pace.
"So the reason why we are here" Lucius started explaining "In the alpines there are certain herbs that work better for potions than those we can find in England. Some are used by muggles too. But they don't quite understand the power these herbs can hold. We will learn to pick herbs here without them losing their magical ability. Also, I'll teach you two to survive outside. How to use protective spells for a camp. Which things to eat, etc"
Hermione was quite thrilled, hearing that they would spend their time useful while spending time together. She wished she would be able to talk more, but she had to focus on her breathing. After surely more than an hour with small breaks passed, Lucius stopped and waited for them to come closer.

"Now this is Arnica Montana" he pointed to a yellow flower "it's an amazing potion against bites or burns. It's anti-inflammatory. We only need the leaves. It's for external use." He started picking the yellow petals off the flower and put them in a jar. "We need about a handful each." he said and handed them a jar. Hermione walked over to the flower and started picking the petals. After a while, they were done, continuing their walk for the next ingredient. Slowly, the green grass got replaced by rocks, and the steepness increased. Lucius pointed over to a flower far away, which Hermione recognised immediately: Edelweiß.

"Edelweiß are known for digestion, against gastrointestinal problems, and vascular diseases." Lucius informed them and climbed over to the flower, cutting it with his knife and returned to them. "You have to cut the stem like this to keep it's magical abilities intact. When we are back at the Manor, I'll teach you two the potions we can make with the flowers we're picking" he put away the flower and stared in the sky, looking for the sun in between some clouds. "As you may know from Hogwarts, weather changes quickly in the mountains. Also, look at where the sun is standing. Strech out your arm and bend your hand so, that your fingers horizontally align with the top of the mountain. Right now we got 5 fingers between the sun and the mountain" he explained and Hermione looked at her fingers "This means we have 1h and 15min left before it gets dark. Each finger represents 15min. We're going home now. It's too dangerous in the dark"
She couldn't await to go back. Her feet were hurting and she was sure she had some blisters. Going down the mountain was a bigger struggle than Hermione expected it to be.

The sun was setting down as they arrived. Narcissa stood at the doorway and smiled, welcoming them after a long day.
"How did things go?" she asked Lucius as soon as he entered.
"It all went well. I bet they are tired and hungry. Is supper served soon?"
"It's ready and waiting" she smiled. Silently, they all walked to the dining room. Settling down and eating immediately. Draco told his parents about some things during the school year while Hermione remained silent. She was glad she could just enjoy her meal. The long hike was exhausting, and the warm soup was making her feel so much better. After spending some time preparing the herbs to dry, they finally got to shower and ready for bed. Hermione looked over at Draco as she sat down on the bed.
"Do you think we will have to hike again tomorrow?"
"Well, I hope not" he admitted "I'm not sure I'll have any feet left from today. Do you also have blisters?" Hermione laughed and nodded, but her smile faded as soon as Narcissa and Lucius entered the room. They were both holding a potion in their hands and Narcissa spoke first.
“You have to drink this potion every night. It’s sleeping draught” she explained and sat down on the bed on Hermione’s side and Lucius stood at Draco’s side.
“Why do we have to drink sleeping draught, Mother?” Draco asked and his eyebrows were raised in curiosity and mistrust.
“The two of you have a bad habit of sneaking out” Lucius said low “We cannot afford that to happen here. Drink” he held the bottle to Draco’s lips and Narcissa did the same for Hermione. After a few gulps, they removed the bottle.
“Poppy” Narcissa called one of the house elves which appeared with a soft ‘plop’ “Make sure none of them leave their bed. If one of them does, use your magic to get us to you”
“Yes, Mistress” the elf bowed down to the ground and stared at the two children in bed. Hermione disliked the fact they were being watched, but the sleeping draught was kicking in slowly. Her eyelids were getting heavy and she looked over to Draco once more, who already slept. She heard Narcissa’s heels clicking towards her and then she was off to Neverland.

Chapter Text

Once Hermione woke up, she really felt like she hasn’t slept that good for such a long time. She wondered if sleeping draught had any bad side effects if it were to be used regularly, but she shoved the thought aside for now. She looked over the bed and saw Poppy sitting on the floor, her big eyes met hers.
“Good morning, Young Mistress” she said in a high tone
“Good morning” Hermione smiled “Can you tell me why you had to watch over us?”
The elf shook her head and Hermione crawled towards the end of the bed “Why not?”. Before the elf could reply, Hermione heard the bed crack and saw how Draco sat up sleepily.
“Good morning” he yawned and crawled to the edge of the bed too.
“Can you wake up my parents, Poppy?” Draco asked the elf, who shook her head immediately.
“No, young Master has to wait until the Master and Mistress awake” she replied and stood up but her big eyes looked at the both of them. “Remember what Mistress says: Only those who wait will be rewarded”. Draco rolled his eyes and fell with his back onto the bed. “Rewarded” he huffed “The only reward we get for our patience is another hike. Hermione, let’s bet that-“ Draco’s sentence got cut off as the door to their room opened and Narcissa entered with a smile. “Good morning” she said and walked over gracefully “Did you sleep well? You two look very well rested”
“Good morning, Mother” they replied in harmony.
“Now, it’s time to get ready for a new day. Get ready for breakfast in 15 minutes” she turned and left the room, followed by Poppy. Draco and Hermione got ready and went to have breakfast. As they entered the room, they saw Narcissa waiting and staring into the void while Lucius read his newspaper.
“Good morning, Father” Draco said with a smile and sat down. Hermione said good morning too even though it was almost a whisper.
“Good morning” Lucius said but didn’t look up from his newspaper “Today we are going to a muggle festival to show you why you have to behave well while we are staying here. Please have your breakfast. I’m not hungry today.”
Hermione looked at Draco, who didn’t take any food but stared at his mother instead. After a few seconds passed, Narcissa started filling her plate and Draco and Hermione followed her lead. There was no word said during breakfast, which made Hermione feel uncomfortable. However, she didn’t want to break the silence either. At some point, Lucius put down his newspaper and looked at his wife. She nodded to him and his gaze moved to Draco. “Your mother and I have to talk. I want you two to practise all the spells you learned in school. We will bring you to a proper practice room. Come.” He got up and they followed him silently, Narcissa walking right behind them. Lucius held open the door for them and they entered. The practice room was completely empty besides for some torches for light. On one side of the room, there was a window so big, that there was more window than wall. The door shut behind them and they looked at each other for a moment. Draco broke the silence “You know, I’ve never seen them act so strange” he raised his eyebrows and looked at the window. Hermione could see two figures enter the room and take place at the window, watching them closely. Draco looked at her “Maybe if we nag them enough, they’ll tell us more. Shall we practice our spells?”
“Yeah, let’s practice” Hermione agreed and pulled her wand. From time to time, she looked over at the window. It looked like they were having a fight. Narcissa’s face was a bit red and she didn’t look composed like she normally was. Hermione was sure she saw a tear lingering in Narcissa’s eye. She quickly cast a spell and looked over again, this time Lucius was hugging Narcissa. Draco coughed and Hermione focused on her spells again. Moments later the door opened and they looked at Lucius and Narcissa who entered.
“All through?” Lucius asked and they nodded “Good. Now Narcissa and I will teach you two more spells. Let’s start with the protective ones.”

Hermione actually liked to learn new spells from Narcissa. Narcissa didn’t go easy on her at all. To practice, Narcissa would throw curses at her and she had to use her new spell. There was no hesitation at all, the moment one spell was cast, another would come as if it were to be a real battle. Hermione looked over at Draco for a second who was struggling with the power his father’s spell caused. Because of that one second, her shield came too late and Narcissa’s spell hit her in the chest. Narcissa stopped immediately and came closer to her while Hermione sank to the ground.
“You have to focus, honey.” she said sternly. Hermione nodded and watched how she got healed from a deep flesh wound. A few moments later they would switch partners. Hermione felt a little bit scared. Lucius looked much more skilled than Narcissa was. He started off slowly, but increased the speed of his curses that were coming at her over time. Hermione didn’t know that you can get this out of breath while using magic. Suddenly, Lucius stopped and smiled at her. He walked over and put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Hermione, you did amazing” he praised “I think we will do this more often this summer”
“Thank you, father” she smiled. She couldn’t believe that he would praise her so suddenly. Draco was doing well too, she noticed now. Narcissa indeed wasn’t as quick as Lucius, but she was skilled.
“Cissy!” Lucius shouted to get her attention “We have to leave now”
Narcissa stopped after she heard her name, walked over at her husband and smiled.

They left their home and started hiking again. This time, Draco’s curiosity showed.
“Father, why are we going to a muggle festival? Are there none for wizards here?”
“The wizards are hard to find here. Most of them probably live among the muggles. Every village has a witch appointed by their community. Some aren’t real witches though, they just know how to use herbs properly.”
They walked almost an hour to the village. The houses there looked amazing. They were really old and completely different from those she used to see in England. She watched with fascination. Hermione saw some people dressed up as middle-aged witches. Lucius stopped at a huge building that read “Gasthaus”. They entered and ordered some drinks. Hermione was glad that she finally could sit down again. Her feet hurt from the long walk. After a while they ordered some food and ate silently.
“Father,” Draco started “What kind of festival is it?”
“An ancient one” Lucius replied “Long ago, there were creatures roaming here. They still exist today, but they are low in numbers. Wizardkind cleared many of them. Same for the giants.”
“Just be patient, Draco” Narcissa smiled “Your questions will be answered shortly, it’s getting dark.”
Draco nodded and looked at Hermione. He smiled for a second before he continued to eat. Hermione looked outside the window, the sun was setting. Once the darkness took over, torches were appearing in the centre of the village. Narcissa looked at her husband excited. Lucius quickly paid and they all went outside. The villagers were standing in a circle, leaving space in the centre. They joined the circle and looked curiously what would happen. Two people dressed up as ugly witches were using their brooms to sweep the floor in the centre. Suddenly Hermione could hear a voice. A narrator told a rhyme:

Der Krampus bestraft mit seiner Rute,
aber nur das Schlimmen niemals das Gute.
Unartige packt er in seinen Sack,
vorbei mit fiesen Schabernack.
Die Kinder sich die Strafe merken,
damit das Gute in sich stärken.

Hermione stood closer to Narcissa. She was feeling a bit thrilled. “What are they saying?”
Narcissa looked at her and put an arm around her, making her feel safe. She stroke Hermione’s hair. “Lucius? Can you translate?”
“It’s a rhyme” Lucius started. It says:

The Krampus punishes with is switch,
but only the naughty, never the good.
Misbehavers, he puts in his sack,
no more nasty pranks, it’s a fact.
Children, remember the punishment well,
to strengthen the goodness within yourselves.”

In the meantime the witches were fighting each other, rolling on the ground. And the narrator continued:

Finstere Gesellen mit lauten Schellen,
allen unartigen den Weg verstellen.
Sie laufen durch Straßen im Ort,
treiben so das Böse fort.
Durch wildes und hohes springen,
lassen sie die Schellen lauter erklingen.
Sie werden kommen, bald ist s soweit,
wie jedes Jahr, zur selben Zeit!

Hermione’s neckhair stood up. She could hear many big, heave bells clinging in the distance. On top of that a song was played that sounded a bit spooky. In an opening of the circle, figures showed up with big horns. They wore fur in brown, white or black. Hermione noticed they were indeed holding a switch in their hand. Lucius spoke loudly to translate the last rhyme ”

Dark fellows with loud bells,
blocking the path for all the rebels.
They roam through the streets in town,
driving away the evil, wearing a frown.
With wild and high jumps they prance,
making the bells louder, a menacing dance.
They will come, soon it will be clear,
as every year, at the same time, hear!

. And then the Krampuses came running and the show begins!“ Lucius smiled as Draco came closer. Hermione watched how the Krampus jumped and bounced to make their bells ring. She looked how they stole hats from the people who were watching, making them run after their.  Some would even pull people out of the circle and wrestle with them. A torch showed one of the faces clearly as a Krampus came closer to Hermione. The mask had scars in it, the mouth hang open and a tongue sticked out. His fingers were long and the nails were like claws as she used to see from Wolverine. The Krampus turned his head as he looked at her. It’s fingers came closer to Hermione and winked her over. She quickly shook her head and the Krampus hit her legs with the switch and moved to the next people. Hermione felt terrified, holding tighter onto Narcissa. She looked closer at the other people in the circle. They were all laughing and playing along. After like half an hour, the people who played as Krampus took off their mask. They started running in a circle and made their bells sound as loud as possible. Hermione realised now, that they were wearing big cowbells. Some even wore four or more bells on their costume. After they stopped running, everybody started talking together and drank a beer. Lucius coughed to get their attention.
“What the muggles don’t know is that their Krampus is real. They still live here in the alps but hide from humans. Due to the lack of people believing in their existence, they kind of lost their magic. The Krampus now hunt the magical children if they misbehaved. I heard stories that they eat the children to get their magical powers back.” His expression was serious and he cupped both Hermione’s and Draco’s faces. “Do you understand now why you need to behave properly until we are home?”
“Yes, father” they replied. Lucius’s eyes lingered a while on his son. “Good, now let’s go home”

Once home they went straight to bed. Poppy stood there at the end of the bed, watching them once more. Hermione twisted and turned but she couldn’t fall asleep. At some point, she sat straight up and sighed deeply.
“What’s wrong?” Draco asked her.
“I can’t sleep” Hermione replied a bit pissed “It was very fascinating to watch those Krampus-es but I am a bit scared, if I have to be honest.”
“I am scared too” Draco whispered “I mean, we are teenagers, right? At what age do they stop trying to capture us?”
“I don’t know” Hermione sighed deeper “Can we not simply go home? Why did they take us here if they knew about the dangers?”
“Because tradition goes over dangers, I guess” Draco laughed.
It fell silent. Hermione dropped herself back onto the mattress. Her eyes fixed on the window outside. She heard the bells from sheep, or at least she hoped it were the bells from the sheep. After twisting and turning a few times more, just like Draco, Hermione sat up again.
“Hermione, I think I got a solution for our problem” Draco said and sat up, crawled to the edge of the bed and looked at Poppy. “Poppy, can you send my parents here?”
“The Master and Mistress told me to only get them if there is an emergency, young Master!” she said sternly.
“Can you warn them to come here? It’s urgent” Draco said but Poppy quickly shook her head “You leave me no choice” Draco smiled and moved one leg over the bed.
“Young Master, please don’t!” Poppy freaked out. Hermione felt sorry for Poppy but knew that Draco didn’t dare to actually get out of bed, he was too scared for the Krampus to do so. He slowly moved his feet towards the floor and with a snip of her fingers, some magic left the room. Within seconds, Lucius stood in the room in anger.
“DRACO!” he shouted and Draco froze on the spot “I thought that after today it would be clear what happens when you misbehave!” he quickly walked to the bed.
“Father, wait I can explain!” Draco said quickly as he sat up and looked at his father. “We are both scared and can’t sleep!” he started to talk really quick. Hermione couldn’t remember that she ever saw Lucius’s face plastered with so much anger than now.
“And we wanted to ask Poppy to get you but she didn’t want to wake you up father so I made her do it”
A silence fell and Lucius sighed deeply. “Draco, Hermione, you are no five-year-olds.”
“But we are scared, father!” Hermione raised her voice at him and was shocked herself. She quickly put her hands on her mouth. Lucius stared at her with raised eyebrows before he spoke
“So why did I need to come here?”
“Can we sleep with you and mother in one bed?” Draco asked as if he indeed was a five-year-old.
“Draco, I told you before. You are too old to do that now. You are turning fifteen soon.”
“Please, father” Draco begged “It’s only for our stay here. After that we won’t need it anymore”
“Alright” Lucius gave in “Come get out of bed and follow me. Poppy, you can leave now”

Draco grabbed Hermione’s hand and smiled at her. “I told you”
Lucius opened the door for them and Narcissa sat up in bed.
“Lucius? Why are you bringing them here?”
“Mother, we’re scared” Draco said and walked over to her. She pet his head immediately.
“They will stay in our room until it’s time to go home” Lucius explained and grabbed his wand, increasing the size of the bed so everybody could fit in. "Now, hop in before I change my mind." he smiled. Hermione got onto the bed too. She and Draco slept in the middle of the bed, and Narcissa was sleeping behind Hermione.
"Are you really that scared that you have to sleep here?" Narcissa asked as she stroked some hair away from Hermione's ear.
"It's quite scary to know that such creatures exist." Hermione whispered "It just feels safer this way."
"It's nice to hear that you feel safe with us." Narcissa whispered. Hermione started to feel very relaxed in this warm and safe bed. Narcissa was still stroking her head gently, and she noticed that Lucius did the same for Draco, who had already fallen asleep. Lucius smiled at her and whispered "Goodnight, Hermione."
Hermione smiled back, and as she closed her eyes, she already reached neverland.

The next morning it was typical English weather: rain and rain. So instead of going for a hike, which was pleasant news to both Hermione and Draco, they would stay in. The morning was rather lazy but nice at the same time. They were sitting near the fireplace together, drinking their cups of tea while talking about the upcoming semester and plans for summer vacation. After lunch, they went back to learning spells. This time it was time to learn curses. Some where very practical and Hermione new some of them. However, she never really had the chance to practice them. The next days, they went back to hiking and picking herbs, seeing amazing views along their way. Soon, they were on their way back to England.

Chapter Text

After a good night's rest, Hermione was glad to be back at the Manor where there were no Krampus around. She spends the morning reading that special book from the library. After she read like 40 pages, she noticed there was a spell that remained in the book even though she read it. She quickly grabbed her quill and wrote the spell down in her notebook. She looked at the spell once more. It was an expanding spell. Why would she need an expanding spell? She shoved the thought away and kept reading the spells. She tried her best to memorise some but there were just too many. From time to time, Lucius would still call out to her and sometimes she was so concentrated on reading that he would stand right in front of her before she noticed. She would then stare up at him and smile before he walked back to his desk. After lunch, she and Draco had to practice their duelling skills again. Lucius would interrupt them both if, like he said “their wand use was sloppy”. A few days later Hermione started to pack her clothes to go to the Weasleys and the Quidditch Cup. She noticed that Draco was also very excited about the Quidditch Cup. Whenever he was on his own, she saw that he was reading about it. He would smile whenever he saw her and it just felt different. One morning, he joined her in Lucius’s study. Whenever Lucius called her name, she would see Draco’s eyes look at her and quickly revert to his book. Whenever her eyes would leave her book, she could see him staring at her before he would pretend he didn’t look at her. A week passed and she finally finished the book and had written down 12 spells which should be useful. Most were protective spells to put around a house or a place. Maybe a hospital? Hermione wondered where she would need it, but she realised that the future would let her know sooner or later. The spells Lucius taught them were getting more and more aggressive, which made Hermione rather uncomfortable. Hexing someone was something Hermione hoped she would never have to do. Draco on the other hand, seemed to enjoy learning those spells much more.

One day Narcissa came to her in the morning that she would be in Weekly Witch again and that they’d come to interview her in the afternoon. Hermione nodded in acknowledgement and started to mentally prepare for the interview. She knew one thing for sure: She hated interviews and seeing herself on the front page. She took the latest release of Weekly Witch to see what they wrote after the interview. On one of the last pages it mentioned that Hermione would be next week’s ‘star’. After reading Weekly Witch, she didn’t feel like she knew more about the upcoming interview. She dropped the magazine and left her room, strolling through the hallways. She looked at the portraits who looked at her as if she was a peasant. Some canvases seemed to be so old, that the background was almost brownish and lost all their colours. She stepped closer to look at a very brown portrait. It seemed that their platonic blond hair had been there for ages. She blew away the dust to read the name on the portrait: Lucius Malfoy. Hermione looked at the portrait again. This man was not the Lucius she knew. She stared at the man for a while and then turned to continue her walk. Apparently, she walked in a circle because slowly she recognized that she was walking towards Lucius’s study. As she came closer, she saw Narcissa walk out of the study and close the door behind her. Narcissa’s cheeks were flushed and she walked to Hermione quickly, her hands were fists. Hermione took a deep breath and watched how Narcissa approached her. She didn’t look controlled like she normally was.
“Why are you here?” Narcissa sneered
“I- I just…” Hermione stuttered and realised that Narcissa was angry
“If you don’t have something useful to do then go to the greenhouse!” Narcissa grabbed Hermione by her upper arm “It’s about time for harvesting Dittany so make yourself useful”
Hermione followed Narcissa quickly, who was almost squeezing her arm. Once they reached the greenhouse, Narcissa let go. She didn’t say a word and started collecting Dittany. Hermione stared at her for a few seconds and decided it was better to start working before she would give Narcissa a reason to get mad again. Even Draco came to help but didn’t say a word to Hermione or his mother. After lunch, Hermione got ready for the interview. She opened the door as soon as it rang and took the staff to the tea room. She offered them some tea and the interview started. The questions they asked were easy to answer. They mainly asked how she was doing so well at school and if she had tips for other witches on how she studied. Hermione felt completely in her element. She said that she loved to study with friends and that she spent most of her time in the library. After the interview ended, she let them out and closed the door with a smile after they walked on the path. She smiled at the door and turned on her heel. Her smile quickly faded away as she saw Narcissa coming down the stairs.
“We heard you were doing well” she said calmly and smiled a little “Good job, Hermione”
Hermione smiled a little but felt rather uncomfortable. Did they listen to the whole interview?
“Thank you, Mother” she said and she put her hands behind her back. Playing with her fingers while she nervously waited as Narcissa came towards her.
“Please do keep up your good grades this year.” Narcissa still didn’t look relaxed.
“Mother?” Hermione whispered and she almost squeezed her finger behind her back “Is there something bothering you?”
Narcissa’s eyes widened for a second but she masked herself quickly.
“There is nothing, dear. Why do you ask?”
“You look a bit… stressed?” Hermione stared into her deep blue eyes and saw her smile
“There is nothing. I’d like you to practice your violin again. We will have a party soon and I want you and Draco to play a song for us.”
Hermione nodded and started to search for Draco. Once she found him they started to discuss which song they should play. They debated between classical pieces and contemporary tunes. They decided to go for Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D major. As they practised together, the air seemed to be lifted by their harmonious notes. Hermione slowly started to get the hang of her playing. Draco would help her to improve the tones from time to time.

Four days passed and they kept practising the piece over and over again. On the morning of the party, Hermione woke up with a headache. During breakfast, she felt like her head would rip apart. Narcissa left quickly after breakfast to work on the last preparations and Draco had his interview. Lucius got up to leave too but stopped at the door.
“What’s wrong, Hermione?” he asked without turning
“Nothing, father” she replied
“You are rather silent today and normally you are one of the first to leave the room.” He turned and looked at her.
“It’s just a headache” Hermione said
“I’ll get you a potion for that. Stay here and relax in the meantime.”

After Hermione had the potion she felt a lot better. She felt so stupid that she didn’t ask for a potion immediately in the morning. All she thought about was going to the pharmacy later on to get something for the headache. Meanwhile, the Manor had everything she needed. The morning was rather peaceful. Hermione was walking outside in the garden. The sun was warm and calming. She knew the garden was big, but it was even bigger than she thought it would be. She was sure she was walking 10 minutes in one direction before a house elf appeared next to her.
“Young Mistress” Poppy said. Hermione looked at the house elf and smiled
“Hi Poppy”
“Young Mistress, you should return with me to the Manor”
“Why?”
“Master ordered me to come and get you”
Hermione sighed and nodded. Poppy grabbed the end of her skirt and together they returned to the Manor.
“Ah, there she is” Lucius smiled as he saw her “Hermione, they want a picture of you and Draco together.”
Draco offered his hand and Hermione took it. She stood beside him, his arm around her waist. Their hands were still intertwined and they smiled for the camera.
“Excellent” Lucius smiled once the photo was taken “Now, anything else?”
“No, sir” the interviewer said “That’s all. Thank you for your time. You did amazing Draco”
“Thank you, sir” Draco smiled in return, his hand was still on Hermione’s waist. Lucius guided the two men out before he returned to Draco and Hermione.
“Good, now that we have had both magazines here. That should do for this summer. Now we only need to survive your mother's party.”
Lucius left and Hermione was about to leave too. The hand on her waist pulled her closer.
“Where are you going?”
“Well, I was walking in the garden and it’s so beautiful today.”
“What about practice? I don’t want to mess up tonight. Mother wouldn’t be pleased.”
“Yeah,” Hermione’s voice dropped “Guess you’re right.”
“Should we practice where the party will be held?” Draco asked as he dropped his hand from her waist and they started walking. Practising in the ballroom was rather boring, but the acoustic was much better compared to the other rooms where they’ve practised so far. The last hour before the party was rather stressful. Narcissa made Hermione help with the last pieces of decoration and still needed to change into her ballgown. She went to her room to change quickly and returned to the ballroom immediately. She was just in time to line up before the first guests appeared. After greeting all the guests it was time to dance. Hermione and Draco danced together until they eventually didn’t want to anymore. They walked off the dance floor to get some drinks, only to hear they should get ready to play their song after the current one ended. After drinking quickly, they walked over to the small stage. As soon as the music stopped, Draco stepped up the stairs, holding Hermione’s hand as he guided her. He sat down at the piano and Hermione took her violin. Hermione could feel her hands being sweaty and hoped she would calm down soon. She slowly started to get more and more scared to mess up the piece and tried to control her breathing, and then they started. Once she was playing, she didn’t even notice the people who were looking at them. She was feeling one with the music. The harmony, the way her violin felt, the way her fingers moved. It all felt so much different from practising. She barely had to think of anything. Once the song ended, Draco stood up and started clapping for her. He then stepped next to her and bowed together with her. Once more he offered his hand and guided her down to the people. Immediately they got compliments from different people and they started talking to them. It was mainly about the piece, but also about how perfect they were as a couple. Hermione tried to smile whenever someone would say that, but she noticed too that her smile wasn’t genuine at that point. Hermione started to observe who came to the party. She was surprised that there were so many whom she didn’t know. Draco got her something to drink and something to snack on and Hermione immediately attacked him with questions.
“Draco”
“Hmm?”
“I noticed I don’t know most of these people. They weren’t there at the tea party or the other party”
“Most of them either work at the Ministry of Magic or are important”
“Are we making connections again?”
“Probably” he smiled and sipped from his drink “We talked to quite many and I think it would be mentally less stressful if we danced a little again”
The remaining evening was beautiful. They danced, they laughed, they talked and eventually everybody left and the Manor finally became quiet again. Once Hermione was in the bedroom and could take her shoes off, she felt a big relief. After the party, there was a comfortable silence at the Manor.  Their daily life existed around magic. Practising it, brewing potions and taking care of the plants in the greenhouse. Hermione and Draco were practising their spells all morning until Lucius came into the practice room. He smiled and handed Hermione her letter. "It's from Potter." he said and winked Draco over.
"You are coming with me to the Ministry of Magic, Draco. There is someone I want to introduce to you."
Hermione quickly read Harry's letter. He asked if she could send some food since the Dursleys are on a diet. Hermione smiled. She was glad he wrote her, so far she didn't have any time to write to him either. She walked to the kitchen in the hope of finding something to send Harry. But what should she send? She can't send anything that would turn bad soon. Also, it was Harry's birthday soon. She had to bake a cake. And maybe some cookies? Or maybe a muesli bar? Hermione stood still for a second. She just realised she had never been to the kitchen before. She knew one way to get there
"Poppy?" she asked, and the elf popped up. "Yes, young mistress?"
"Ehm, can you take me to the kitchens?"
"Why does young mistress want to go to the kitchens?"
"I would like to bake a cake for my friend." Hermione smiled "also I want to bake some cookies."
"Young mistress is very kind." The elf smiled. “Come, Poppy will show young mistress where the kitchens are."
Hermione followed the elf silently, but inside, she felt so excited. She wished she could bring the cake over to Harry. But the Dursleys would never allow that, nor would the Malfoys be pleased if she dressed up like a muggle. What kind of cake should she bake? Come to think of it: She didn't have a recipe either!
"Ehm, Poppy." Hermione started. “Can you guys help me to bake the cake?"
"Of course, young mistress." the elf smiled "We have to ensure that nothing happens to you. Master would be furious if you hurt yourself"
"I don't think you can hurt yourself badly while baking, no? Just a slight burn could happen." Hermione said and noticed the elf froze on the spot.
"Even a small burn on young mistress delicate skin is very bad for us elves." she spoke and stared into Hermione's eyes. The elf looked like a deer in the spotlight. "Please be extra careful, young mistress. Master will not be pleased with any kind of burn or the slightest cut." Hermione nodded, and the elf continued to walk to the kitchen. As they entered, Hermione couldn't believe her eyes. The kitchen was three times bigger than she had at home. She noticed now that five elves were there, whom she had never seen before.
"We will all help young mistress to bake a cake." Poppy said "Please tell us what you would like to bake."
"Ehm, I think a chocolate cake will be alright. Something with not so much cream. It could turn back quickly. Any suggestions?" The elves stood still and thought for a moment.
"Mory would suggest a sachertorte, young mistress." One of the elves finally spoke.
"A sachertorte?"
"Yes, it is filled with marmalade and has a chocolate coating. The cake is also from chocolate, young mistress."
"Sounds good to me. Then let's bake together."
The elves jumped and with magic, the ingredients got gathered quickly. All the necessary tools flew around the room too. Hermione realised she never cooked with magic before and wondered how other witches cooked with magic. Hermione watched as all the ingredients sorted themselves and started to mix.
"Wait, stop!" She shouted "I wanted to bake the cake" The elves stared at her and Minky moved forward.
"What's wrong, young mistress?"
"I would like to mix it and put it into the oven." Hermione said "Magic might be nice but then I haven't baked it myself." She tried to smile but the elves looked worried at her.
"We elves are unsure if Master will be pleased if young mistress baked the cake herself." Hermione looked at them and didn't know what to say. After a while, she tried a suggestion. "Is it alright if I mix it and you guys handle the rest? Maybe let me pour over the glazing too?"
"You can mix, but we handle the rest. The glaze is hot. Young mistress could hurt herself."
Hermione nodded and started mixing the cake. The elves would tell her whenever it was the right consistency. Finally, after watching for a while, the cake was done. She smiled and thanked the elves for helping her and asked to move the cake to her room, packed and all to be shipped. She left the kitchen and started wondering why the elves were so scared of her baking a cake. She remembered that Harry told her about Dobby, but he never really told her that Lucius did something to him. She didn't doubt that Lucius wouldn't be cruel towards the house elves. She knew from her books that they always got mistreated, and she still remembered one of the first tea parties where Lucius took her out of the room. A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered how mad he was at her. She quickly put the thought aside and was happy to be in her room. She grabbed her quill and started to write to Harry. In the next few days, she would send some cookies too. She sent off the owl with the letter and the cake and watched how it flew away. Probably, it would fly to the Ministry of Magic first, but she didn't write much in her letter. She looked over the landscape and to the forest far away. She sighed and went to search for Narcissa. Narcissa was in the library, searching for a book.
"Hermione," she smiled. "Why are you here?"
"I was looking for you, mother. I don't have anything to do right now."
"Hermione, I can't help you today. I have things to do."
"I can help you, mother. I have to learn from you."

Narcissa stared at her for a second and seemed to be in thought. "Read through one of those books." She finally said. Hermione nodded and picked up a book and sat down to read it. The book was about different spells for hiding purposes. She looked at Narcissa, who was searching for more books, and wondered what such a rich woman needed to hide. Hours passed by, and Hermione closed the book after she finished. She looked at Narcissa, who was reading a book too. It seemed to take her longer to read it than Hermione. Hermione started on the second book, enjoying the time to read and having a companion who would read in silence with her. Hermione felt the presence of someone and looked up from her book. She saw how Lucius was approaching them. He looked at Hermione and commanded that she should leave. Hermione looked at Narcissa and back to Lucius. She closed the book and left the library. She stopped at the door and opened it just a little to listen to their conversation.
"Cissy," she heard Lucius say with a kind voice. "I told you that you don't have to worry. We didn't do anything wrong. He won't punish us. Please, calm down, my love. I promised you that I'll keep our family safe."
"I know you promised that, Lucius." Narcissa's voice sounded stern. "I trust you. But I don't trust anyone else. I would rather be safe than sorry. You shouldn't have joined them back then. Nor should my sister."
There was a short silence, and Hermione was scared they would approach soon, so she walked away from the door a little but stopped as she heard Narcissa continue.
"I just have a bad feeling about his return. I can't help it." Hermione walked back to the door to hear more, but all she could hear now was Narcissa crying and Lucius shushing her. So Hermione decided it would be better to leave. She quickly walked to the drawing room and sat down. She held a book up as if she were to read, but in reality, she could almost hear how the gears in her mind were set into motion. Whose return was Narcissa afraid of? Hermione tried to think what was going on. She was sure in her first year, especially her second year that the Malfoys practised dark magic. Their hatred towards muggles made the possibility of being a death eater extremely high. Hermione was almost sure they were death-eaters. But whose return would they fear so much? It wouldn't make sense that Voldemort would return. Yet he did two times. But would they fear his return? But wasn't Lucius the one who slipped the diary into Ginny's cauldron? Why would he bring back Voldemort but fear his return? Hermione let her thoughts run a few rounds, but she just couldn't understand how and why. Her head started to hurt, and she sighed and closed her eyes. It all just didn't make sense. Hermione thought of the book she was reading. All those protective spells, are they related to what Narcissa feared?

Later at night, Hermione couldn't sleep. The thoughts didn't leave her mind, nor could she ask them what was going on. They would know that she was listening at the door and she could risk that she wouldn't be allowed to the Weasleys. Hermione saw how the sky slowly started to get brighter. She got out of bed and sat next to the window. Draco was still asleep, which didn't bother Hermione. She wondered if he knew more but doubted that he did. After watching how the world awakened, she left the room and walked over to the study. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door. She knew this wouldn't be a smart set, but she needed to know. To her surprise, the door opened and she entered. The door fell shut behind her, and she saw Lucius sitting at his desk.
"Hermione, what's wrong that you are here this early?"
"I... I wanted to ask something...' she stuttered.
"What is it?"
"I wanted to ask what it was like to live... As you know, before you know who got defeated."
Lucius raised an eyebrow and seemed to be in thought. "Why does that interest you?"
"Nobody wants to answer this question. Everybody is too scared to talk about it. And I thought you might tell me, father?"
"Have a seat." Hermione sat down. She felt nervous. His grey eyes were cold and had a serious look into it.
"Since we are one of the Sacred twenty-eight, we didn't have to go into hiding or anything. For us, most things stayed the same. We never took in muggles or half-bloods. So for us, it wasn't that bad. For the others, this time would be full of fear. Hiding and trying to survive. The stories of what happened to betrayers are well known: A slow death. No one in their family is safe. Just like the muggles did to wizards and witches back in the day."
Hermione nodded. She regretted she asked. She didn't gain any information she would get. Suddenly, she thought of her parents who would have to hide with her if Voldemort didn't disappear. Maybe she wouldn't have been born.
"My parents... Can you tell me something about them?"
"Your parents were fullblood too. They most likely didn't have to suffer either."
"But why did they die?" Hermione felt her emotions tingle. She wanted to ask for such a long time but never knew when. Lucius sighed and looked away.
"Now is not the time, Hermione. One day, but not now." Hermione's mouth dropped open. It felt like he threw a buck of ice-cold water into her face.
"Why?" She asked, feeling her heart ache. “Why won't you tell me?"
"You are not ready to hear it now." Lucius said as he stood up. "I don't want to hear it anymore this summer. Is that clear?"
Hermione looked down at the floor and nodded. She felt the snake's head under her chin, lifting her face to look at Lucius. "Yes, father." She said, and he nodded.
"Now next week Narcissa is leaving and you will go to the Weasleys. So please get your things ready. You will be staying there for a week. Mr. Weasley will take you to the Ministry of Magic and you will stay with me there until we go home. I'll bring you to the Weasleys."
Hermione didn't listen to what else he had to say. She just stared into his eyes and nodded. She didn't even know the name of her real parents, nor would Lucius tell her anything about them. Once she left the study, she started to feel tired. She shouldn't have been awake all night. She sat down with a book, and eventually, sleep took over. She woke up with Narcissa kneeling next to her. “Hermione, dear. Are you alright?"  Hermione nodded.
"Mother, can you tell me about my parents?" Narcissa looked at her and cupped her face with her hands.
"Hermione, love." She almost whispered. “I can't tell you. I met them once, and that was when you and Draco were born. I got to see you and we promised you two for each other. We received a ring and gave ours. That's the ring which Lucius and Draco used to find you. But besides that, only Lucius met with your parents several times. I was still pregnant with Draco. I'm sorry, love."
Hermione looked at her and nodded. Narcissa’s hands felt warm and comforting on her face. She could feel her eyes tearing up. She was mad that Lucius didn't want to tell her, but she couldn't do anything about it either. Hermione looked at Narcissa’s worried look and remembered the conversation from yesterday she heard. She wanted to give it a shot to hear more about it.
"Did something dangerous happen to my parents?" Hermione asked, and Narcissa nodded.
"Are we safe now?"
Narcissa nodded again, but Hermione wasn't sure if she was lying to comfort her or if they were safe. Hermione felt the need for comfort, so she slowly moved closer to Narcissa for a hug. She was glad that Narcissa hugged her back and didn't push her away. Her heart was aching. She wanted to know what was going on and what happened to her parents. They stayed like that for a while until Hermione broke the hug. Narcissa caressed her face and smiled.
"Are you feeling better now?"
"Yes, thank you mother."
“Good, now come. We will have visitors today. Pansy Parkinson is coming over.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, she didn’t want to see Pansy during her summer vacation. It was already enough to see her at school.  The day was rather boring and Hermione hoped the Parkinsons would leave soon. The next days were spent practising spells again. The spells got more aggressive over time. Narcissa left and now Draco and Hermione had to spar together. Lucius would comment whenever he saw something that needed to improve. Overall, he seemed rather satisfied. The last evening before she would go to the Weasleys, Hermione knocked on the door of Lucius’s study. She entered and walked towards his desk. He didn’t look up and was still writing something.
“Hermione, what’s wrong?”
“Father, I wanted to ask why we are practising so many spells right now.”
“To give you and Draco an advantage for school but even more for when you are going to look for a job. Draco wants to become an Auror one day so these kinds of spells are good for him. I honestly don’t know what you would like to do when you finish school, but I am sure that all these spells won’t harm you in any way for your future.”
Hermione nodded. She looked into his eyes and noticed that he was looking tired. She wished him good night and left the room. She went to her room and packed her stuff. It was finally time to meet Ron again and Harry would join them soon.

The next morning, Hermione woke up early. She was so excited to go to the Weasleys. On top of that the quidditch match! She didn’t tell the Malfoys about it, but there would be so many people. The chance to run into each other is almost a bare minimum. Especially since they will not have expensive tickets. She sat down in her room, took a book and felt the warmth of the fire tingling on her skin. She finished the book after a few hours and closed it After lunch, Lucius would bring Hermione to the Burrow. Hermione held onto his arm as they apparated away. She felt so happy as she saw the Burrow right in front of her eyes. She let go of Lucius’s arm but he grabbed her hand immediately. “Not so fast, young lady” he smiled. “We don’t run. Elegantly we go there.”
“Sorry, father.” She said and tried to walk elegantly, even though she barely could wait to see Ron again. Once they came close to the door Lucius stopped and Hermione stopped too. Lucius held out his hand, and Hermione took it.
"I got one more present for you." Lucius smiled as he put a ring on her finger. "It's a Portkey. If you take the ring off, it will bring you to the Manor immediately."
"Thank you, father." Hermione said as she looked at the ring. It was gold and decorated with diamonds and emerald stones.
“I assume you can go in yourself” he said and gave a quick smile “I don’t want to go into this… house.”
“Thank you for bringing me here, Mr. Malfoy” Hermione smiled
“You’re welcome. See you soon” Lucius said and watched how Hermione entered the house. She quickly turned around to wave at him and then closed the door behind herself.
“Hello!” Hermione shouted since nobody was downstairs.
“Hello, Hermione” Molly shouted “Ron and Ginny are upstairs. You know the way!”
“Thank you!” Hermione shouted back and smiled. She walked up the stairs to Ron’s room and entered after knocking.
“Hermione, I’m glad to see you” Ginny said and hugged Hermione tightly. “You are right on time! Ron has a new owl and I decided that Pigwidgeon is a cute name, no?”
“Pigwidgeon?” Hermione asked and saw the small owl fly around happily. Ron gave her a tight hug too. “What name would you suggest, Ron?”
“It’s too late for a different name now.” Ron sighed “He only listens to Pigwidgeon now. How was your trip here?”
“It was alright.” Hermione smiled. “When is Harry coming?”
“We are picking him up tomorrow.” Ron smiled “I’ve always wanted to see his muggles without having to break into the house.” He laughed at the memory. “Do you want to come along?”
Hermione thought about it for a bit. “You know, I can probably help more since I grew up with muggles. But if I leave the Burrow, I might get some problems later. Rather risk that for Quidditch later on.”
“Do you mean the Malfoys will do something?” Ron asked suspiciously.
“It’s not really that they will do something… More like a good scolding?” Hermione tried to smile. She felt rather nervous but honestly didn’t know why. She felt more comfortable with Harry than with Ron.
“How about we are going to search for Fred and George?” Ginny suggested to change the environment. “I bet they are blowing something up again.”

They went to visit Fred and George but the stubborn twins didn’t let them enter the room nor did they open the door. So they passed some time hanging out and talking about the match they are going to watch until Molly called for dinner. As Hermione entered the kitchen, she noticed that there were two Weasleys she hasn’t met yet. She introduced herself quickly but couldn’t keep her eyes off them. They looked so different from the other brothers. She wondered if the other brothers would eventually change like that too. Or maybe they’ve always been like that? After dinner she talked a little bit with them. Especially with Charlie where she learned much more about dragons than she could ever with books. Once it was late at night, she went to bed and talked to Ginny since they were sharing one room. She fell asleep and started dreaming.

Chapter Text

Hermione woke up as the sun rose. She looked at Ginny, who was still sleeping. Slowly she got up and left the room. It seemed like everybody was asleep. Hermione tried to be extra silent and sat down in the living room. The first rays of sunlight shone into the room and made the atmosphere rather pleasant. Hermione closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun. It felt a bit odd to be alone in the morning. Last year, she didn't notice it as much as this year. She opened her eyes and looked around. The Burrow just is cosy. There were a lot of colours and warm colours. And honestly, it was a mess. She expected that it would be more magical compared to the muggle world, but it was the same. Besides the clock, of course. She got up to take a close look at it. How did the clock know where the people were? How many of these were there? Hermione was startled as she heard some noise from behind. She turned around but saw nothing. She looked down to her feet where a ginger cat was sitting. It looked at her hopefully. Maybe it was hungry?
"Hello, kitty." Hermione said and kneeled to pet it. "Did you just return from your hunt? Or have you been sleeping somewhere?" Hermione smiled as she saw how much the cat enjoyed her attention. A few minutes passed until she heard someone coming down the stairs. Molly showed up and looked at Hermione with a big smile.
"Good morning, dear." She said and walked over to the kitchen. "I forgot that you are awake early every day. I'll be there for you tomorrow morning. Would you like some tea?"
"Yes, please." Hermione said and saw the cat run off again. She got up and walked over to Molly. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"Thank you, but no, not really."
"Mrs. Weasley, I was wondering if you could teach me how to cook with magic." Molly looked at her in surprise. Probably no one ever asked her that before. "I can teach you, that's no problem. However, considering your status, you'll never need it."
"It might come in handy. You never know how the future will be."
"You're right." Molly said and started teaching Hermione how to make breakfast with magic. She showed it once and with so many people in the house, Hermione had enough time to practice it. The first who came downstairs were Arthus, Bill, and Percy. They ate quickly and talked about the workday, and Arthur said something about picking up Harry. Molly woke up the others who came downstairs in their pj's, still a little asleep. Hermione sat down with them, and they all enjoyed breakfast together. After everybody was ready for the day they went outside to clean the garden from gnomes. By the time they went back to the Burrow, Arthur had returned. Fred, George, and Ron would go to pick up Harry. Hermione and Ginny went back outside and stared at the clouds.
"That one looks a little like a broomstick." Ginny pointed out and laughed.
"That one looks like the hat Professor Mcgonagal wears." Hermione pointed to the sky, and Ginny laughed.
"Yes, it does!" There was an awkward silence which Ginny broke.
"You know, I saw your interview in Weekly Witch." Hermione looked over to Ginny.
"Really? I honestly haven't seen it."
"You didn't? Well, no worries, you looked so pretty there. I hope that one day I'll be so good in Quidditch that I'll hit the front page too."
"I don't doubt that you'll hit the front page." Hermione encouraged her. “I’ve seen you play Quidditch and-“ Suddenly, they heard Mr. Weasley shout. Hermione and Ginny got up and stood at the door opening. It seemed like the twins did something again.
"Ron." Hermione said. “Why don't you show Harry where he sleeps?"
"In my room just like last year."
"Then we will check it out together." Hermione said and was pissed at how Ron could be so stupid. They went upstairs with Ginny, and Harry had a short conversation with Percy. Hermione thought he went to work, but maybe he could do work at home? Once they entered the room, they saw Pig flying around happily. Hermione smiled as she looked at the little owl. It was such a cute one. Hermione wasn't really listening to the conversation, but as Ron said, "Did you hear something from..." she could swear that her eyes were throwing daggers at Ron. How could he ask Harry that with Ginny nearby? Ron didn't finish his question and stared at Hermione. She knew her eyes were big and warning him. She noticed how Ginny looked from Ron to Harry curiously. She had to think of something quickly in this awkward situation.
"It seems that the fighting stopped. Shall we go downstairs and help Molly with preparing dinner?"
"Yeah, let's go." Ron said and left the room first. Hermione walked behind everybody. She was deep in thought. She wanted to know how Sirius was doing, but she didn't dare to ask Harry that while Lucius was reading her letters. They helped to set the tables  outside of the Burrow. Once everybody was there and started to eat, Hermione felt a bit left out. There were so many different conversations. The boys were talking about quidditch. Molly, Bill, and Ginny were talking about Bill's new piercing. Hermione, who sat next to Harry and Ginny, didn't know what to say or to what conversation to listen to. She ate in silence until she noticed Ron whispering carefully if Harry heard from Sirius. Hermione listened carefully without trying to get the attention of the others towards them. She was glad that Sirius was doing fine. She was a bit worried that he would get caught again. After all, it was not easy to free him. Suddenly, Molly told them that it was late and that they should all go to bed. Tomorrow, they would travel to where the Quidditch Cup was held. Once Hermione and Ginny were in bed, they talked for hours about what it would look like, and where they would sleep.  They were so excited that it was 3 am. before they fell asleep.

Molly woke them from their sleep. Hermione sat up, rubbing her eyes sleepily. She had slept 1h and Ginny wasn't ready to get up at all.
"Ginny." Hermione said gently as she stood next to Ginny's bed. "It's time to get up. We're leaving soon."
"Why do we have to wake up this early?" Ginny groaned. "It's vacation too."
"Well, we want to have the fullest experience so I guess this is part of it." Hermione said and pulled the blankets away from Ginny. "Come on. We have a big adventure ahead."
Ginny groaned once more but decided to get out of bed. After they were ready and had their bags, they went downstairs where Molly was somehow annoyed again. They said their byes and followed Arthur. He was looking a little odd, but Hermione decided there was no need to tell him that. After they spent the whole day together, it was finally time to watch the match. Behind the tent was the forest where they walked through to get to the stadium. Once they were there, it felt the same as in the muggle world: So many merchandise was sold, but they were all magical. Hermione was fascinated by the little figures of today's teams. They all walked around and really were amazing in their own way. Everybody bought something, and so did Hermione. You have to live the experience fully, she thought to herself and smiled as she put on her new scarf. She will remember this day with this scarf forever. Once they were all set, they started to go to their seats. They were on their 3rd stairs as it stopped a little in front of them. Everybody stood still, and nobody really knew the reason. They moved a few steps forward again but came to a hold once more. This time, they were standing on the platform in between stairs. Hermione looked over the stadium, and it was really pretty. She wore comfortable clothes to this big event. She wanted to see what was on the field, what the other boxes looked like, what ones might have better sight, etc. She saw two platinum blonde haired in the crowd and she decided to be careful. The people passed and she looked at their heads. Hermione sighed in relief. Maybe she was overthinking it after all? Suddenly from another direction she heard Lucius’s voice approaching ”Well, put it this way, if it rains, you'll be the first to know" he laughed a little.
"Father and I are in the minister’s box. By invitation from Cornelius Fudge himself"
"Don't boast, Draco. There's no need with these people."
Lucius's cane grabbed Harry's arm "Do enjoy yourself, won't you? While you can"
Hermione got pushed by the people behind her. She held herself tightly so she wouldn't push Ron out. Her hand felt the cold iron steel underneath. Just a fraction later, she felt Lucius's cane in her hand. She bit her teeth together as he slightly pulled through her hand.
"Well, well," Lucius said grinning "I did not expect you here, young lady"
"Good evening, Mr Malfoy" Hermione managed to bring out as he pulled on her hand even more
"You are coming with us. We have not allowed you to go out of the Weasley's house" Lucius’s tone sounded quite normal. He took back his cane and took his wand, floating Hermione towards them. With another flick of his wand, she was dressed up. Hermione looked at her friends, her expression was rather sad and so were theirs. "I'll see you at school" she quickly said while Lucius marched off. Draco pushed her on her back and she started walking after Lucius, looking back at her friends as often as she could. She bumped into Lucius's back as he abruptly stopped.
"You are never going back there again" he said as he turned around "You let me down twice. Constantly going back to those muggle clothes" he sounded angry now "Not holding onto the things we told you. It is about your safety, young lady. We need to know where you are"
He grabbed her face "If you keep going like this, I'll take you back to the Manor and you will never set a foot out of it again. Am I clear?"
Hermione nodded into his hand. Her face was squeezed and he moved his face towards her ears
"I think a night down in the basement will do, don’t you think?"
Hermione looked him in the eyes, her legs were shaking and she just wanted to cry.
“Come on, Hermione” Lucius whispered “Get a hold on yourself. We are going to Cornelius now”
He let go of her face and walked forward. Draco stood behind her and held out his arm for her. She held onto it and looked at Draco, however, he wasn’t looking at her at all and followed after his father at the same quick pace. Hermione started thinking to herself how could it be possible with so many people around, that she had to see them here? She saw Lucius talking to the minister, apologising for the sudden change of events of her being there. Draco stopped behind his father.
"I must apologise to you Cornelius" Lucius's voice sounded apologising but Hermione knew better "We saw her in the crowds alone, and we got worried. You never know what drunk fans will do to such a young, lovely lady"
"I am glad you brought her here Lucius" Cornelius said with a big smile "If she were to be my daughter or daughter-in-law, I would have done the same!"
Lucius gave a relieved expression. Hermione and Draco thanked the minister for his kindness before searching for a place to sit. Lucius was still talking to other important people. Eventually, calling the two of them to show them off together. Draco engaged himself in the conversations, but Hermione's mind wandered to Harry and Ron. She wondered how they were doing. She doubted that they were mad at her for leaving, yet she still felt like Ron might have been jealous of her. She took a drink off the plate and was about to take a sip when Lucius and Draco grabbed her wrist.
"Hermione, you have to be careful" Draco said and took the drink "You are underaged" he offered the glass to Lucius instead, who took it. Hermione looked at the two and at the people they have been talking to.
"I apologise and thank you for preventing this mistake. I should have checked what it was first" she said, looking at the woman. That woman put a hand before her mouth "Oh you are so lovely and so considerable. I wished my daughter would be like that"
Lucius was still looking at her and the corner of his lip curled up a little "Yes, I agree. We are so fond to have her around" he smiled and the woman just melted away. Hermione looked around and saw an elf sitting all by itself. It covered it’s face with both hands which Hermione found a bit odd. She  excused herself for a second and walked closer to the elf. “Hi, there. What’s wrong?” she asked
“Winky is a good elf” the elf said “Winky scared of heights but Master told Winky to find good place to sit to watch the match”
“Why don’t you put something there instead?” She walked closer towards the house elf, but was grabbed by her arm.
“Don’t walk off” Draco whispered “Father is pissed, don’t piss him off even more”
“I can talk to a house elf, can’t I?”
Draco sighed and pulled her back to where his father was waiting. He indeed didn’t look pleased but Hermione didn’t care. She barely listened as he scolded her for walking off. Then they moved to other people and started talking again. In between, Cornelius introduced them to Ludo Bagman. Hermione was sure they were standing and talking to at least 20 other people before Lucius sat down on a couch. Hermione and Draco didn't even sit down yet and he already started commanding them
"Draco on my right. Hermione on my left"
Hermione rolled her eyes and sat down. Lucius took another drink while Hermione got a glass of water. Draco had some juice. They watched the game closely. Hermione looked over to Draco, who seemed to enjoy the game a lot. Her eyes met Lucius, and they looked at her very darkly.
“Father? Is there something?” she whispered, hoping he would wake up from his trance and look at the game instead.
“I just can’t figure out why you misbehave so badly. It’s been over a year that you are staying with us.” Lucius raised an eyebrow and moved closer “Yet, you seem to enjoy disappointing me, don’t you?”
“That’s not true, father” Hermione replied “I just want to do what I want”
“And I just want you to listen and do what you are told to do” his hand reached out to her face and grabbed her chin “If you do those, you can do what you want with the remaining time. I feel like you and Draco aren’t on your best terms yet. The love interest doesn’t spark”
Hermione’s eyes looked away at the game, she knew he was right. Her relationship with Draco did improve, but the love interest wasn’t there.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you” he demanded and her eyes shot back “Do you think you are too young for love? Normally at this age, you get your first love interest and dates. Do you two need to go on a date?”
“I don’t know, father. I haven’t been interested in boys for a long time. My muggle friends had a crush sometimes but I never really had that”
Lucius nodded and let go of her face “Next year the two of you will go on dates then. Maybe by then, you will feel more ready for a real relationship”
Hermione looked at the game again. She heard people scream once more as the Irish team scored again. She watched the game closely, it was really heating up and starting to get aggressive. After the game ended, today’s event ran through her mind. Everything that was being said and what she had done.

Hermione watched as the Weasleys left with Harry and she looked at Draco, who was looking at her.
“Did you enjoy the game?” he asked and she nodded “Do you think we will go to a party? I’d love to celebrate”
“I doubt so” Hermione said and she looked at Lucius who was talking to some others “He might be pissed off that I’m here. Are you guys staying in a tent?” Draco laughed and her eyes shot back to his, her eyebrows raised.
“What?” Hermione sneered.
“Of course, we aren’t staying here in a tent. We have a hotel booked nearby” Draco smiled “The only thing is now that you are here, we have a slight problem because we booked for two and come with three. I hope we will get an extra room” he smiled
“I can stay with the Weasleys” Hermione suggested “They made a place in their tent for me”
“I highly doubt you are going there” Draco said and sat back in his seat. After a moment of silence, Draco spoke again. “Father always takes ages before we get to go somewhere. Come, let’s try to convince him that we can go to the parties”
Hermione followed Draco to Lucius, but he seemed to have no interest in what they wanted to say. Instead, they were introduced to another man.  Hermione already disliked the guy and it seemed that Lucius didn’t like him either. Draco took her back to the couch and sat down.
“You know, I understand we need connections and all, but I just want to go where everybody else went.” Draco said and rested his face on his hands, staring at the empty stadium. Hermione looked around, and almost everybody left. The tribunes were almost empty. She wondered if Harry and Ron went to a party too, while she was sitting here and waiting. Maybe she would see them there if she was lucky and still have a wonderful evening. A lot of time went by before Lucius returned to them and he was smiling.
“Now, loves. Shall we go? We got invited over by some of my old… friends” he said and waited for them to follow him. “Draco, did you enjoy the game?”
“It was fantastic, father. Can we go to another game soon?”
“Maybe. Hermione?”
“I loved it, even though I am not that much into Quidditch”
They left the stadium and walked through the forest. Eventually, a dark-looking building was appearing. There were a few lights that could be seen on level ground.
“Good good. Now…” Lucius walked over to the door “Nott invited us over. Please behave properly and don’t try to provoke him” he warned and entered, holding the door open for Hermione and Draco. Hermione looked around. On the outside, it looked so dark but on the inside, it was rather pleasant. The colours were quite warm even though the silver and green of Slytherin were clearly visible.
“Lucius” someone said with a smile. Hermione assumed it was Mr Nott himself “It’s nice to see you again. How long has it been?”
“Not too long, no?” Lucius smiled “How is Theodore now? I haven’t seen him for such a long time”
Hermione looked around a bit and watched how Mr Nott was glad to show off Theodore. Hermione never really talked to him before and she saw Draco smiling at him. The two fathers left and so did the two sons, leaving Hermione on her own. Hermione looked at the door and wondered if she could leave without anybody noticing. She looked over at Draco who walked onto the stairs with Theodore and then over at Lucius, his eyes were fixed on her. Hermione pretended as if she was looking around, but she knew that Lucius wouldn’t be buying that. She tried to avoid his gaze until he called out to her, leaving her no other choice than to look at him. He winked with his finger that she should come and Lucius looked back at Mr Nott and said something she couldn’t hear.
“Yes, Mr Malfoy?” she asked once she stood in front of him.
“Hermione, Mr Nott has a daughter, I’d like you to stay with her during our stay. Later on, Pansy will come too and then you will be with a bit more girls”
Hermione nodded and after Mr Nott called for a house elf to call his daughter, Hermione was told to sit down in the corner of the room where there were a few couches and a coffee table. There were some snacks too but Hermione didn’t dare to take one. She sat there and waited for the other girl to come. After a while, she came and looked at Hermione.
“Hi” the girl said and sat down “I’m not sure about you, but I don’t want to be here and go back to my room”
Hermione looked at the girl who might have been just 1 year younger than herself and she didn’t know what to say. She understood her very well and she didn’t want to be in this situation either, but yet she was. “Same” Hermione brought out after an awkward silence. They both sat there in silence until more people came into the house. Hermione was sure that after an hour, at least 30 people were in the house. She looked at the girls at the table and she got up and excused herself for a second. With all the people around, she knew it wouldn’t be difficult to sneak out of the house so she walked past all the people’s backs. She was almost at the door when an arm crossed her path. She looked at the arm and saw Lucius standing there. He grabbed her shoulder and turned her around, she looked at the people he was talking to. Then realised she didn’t know any of them and looked up at Lucius’s face. He took a sip of his firewhisky and slightly leaned onto her. Hermione started to feel a bit insecure. She has never been around drunk people before. Her muggle father never drank too much that he would be drunk.
“We are all still following the old ways. Unlike all those muggle-lovers” one of the men said and took another sip “It’s nice to just tell what you think instead of having to hide it all the time”
The other men agreed and Lucius started speaking too. “We will keep the bloodline pure, just like we did through the centuries. Hermione here is going to help us, no?” he looked at her and smiled.
“Of course, Mr Malfoy” Hermione replied but she could hear in her voice that she didn’t mean it. Luckily the men were too drunk to notice it and continued talking about their pureblood ideology. Hermione wanted to say something too, but Lucius squeezed her shoulder whenever she opened her mouth. He even squeezed it when she opened it to breathe. She looked at his glass which was empty and then suddenly full again. She stared at the glass and wondered how much he drank. Time passed and Lucius didn’t let go of her. Slowly her feet started hurting in her heels and she tried to get Lucius’s attention. “Mr Malfoy, can I go back to the other girls, please?”
He nodded and let go of her. Hermione walked back to Pansy, who smiled at her. “Didn’t your escape go well?” she laughed it out. The other girls smiled too as Pansy continued “You might look like a role model to others, but we know who you are. Without the Malfoys a nothing”
Hermione looked at the girl and took a deep breath “If you say so, Pansy. You are no different than me, no? Without the name of your family, you are a nothing too”
Hermione wished she had a camera to catch the look on Pansy’s face. The shock of her own words being backfired on her was something she probably never expected of Hermione. Hermione felt something on her shoulder. She looked at the snake that was gripping her shoulder tightly. She looked over her shoulder at Lucius and bit her lip.
“Play nicely, Hermione” he said and removed his cane “Where is Draco?”
“I don’t know, Sir” Hermione replied and looked into his eyes. They were clouded and Hermione wondered what was going on. All the fathers were walking over to their children. It only took a few minutes before Draco returned to Lucius.
“Father, is it true what I hear? You guys are leaving us here and we have to wait here?”
“Yes, Draco” Lucius smiled “Stay inside and I’ll see you two later. Watch over Hermione while I’m gone”
Draco nodded and Hermione sat down on the sofa. Draco sat down next to her and watched how all the men left the building. He turned to Hermione “Come, let’s follow them”
“Draco, we will get in trouble if we do”
“As if you weren’t in trouble already. It can’t get worse, can it?”
Hermione looked at Draco’s grey eyes. She was curious too about where they were going so she nodded and followed Draco. They didn’t walk to the front door but instead opened a window.
“Let’s go” he smiled and helped Hermione climb through the window. The air felt cold and she heard the men laugh not that far away from them. With enough distance, she followed the men with Draco. In the woods, it was even easier than in the open field they were in before, but suddenly the men were gone. Hermione walked a little further and looked at all the tents that were there. They heard a lot of screaming and quite some tents were on fire. Hermione looked at Draco with big eyes. “We have to stop the fire, Draco!” she said in panic “No one has been hurt yet”
“Are you insane?” Draco asked with annoyance in his voice “They haven’t noticed we are here. And now you want them to pay attention to us? Do you really think that we, not even started our fourth year are able to do anything?”
“But we have to do something”
“No, we don’t. We can watch and enjoy”
Hermione looked at him in disbelief but she knew he was right. There was nothing they could do. Draco started moving to the other side of the woods, where all the people ran to. She followed him silently, not knowing what to say. Draco laughed at the people’s scared faces and the chaos there was created. Hermione suddenly noticed the ginger hair from the Weasleys and she ran towards them. Draco shouts behind her but still follows her.
“Harry! Ron!” Hermione shouted and the two of them looked at her.
“Hermione!” Draco shouted from behind and caught up to her “Don’t go walking off on your own”
“Malfoy” Ron said his name as if it was something to vomit at “We should have known that you were here. Is your father part of that gang?”
“I see no reason to answer your question, Weasley” Draco gave a cocky smile “If I were you, I’d keep running”
Hermione looked at Draco with questioning eyes, she didn’t understand why they had to keep running. She knew from the masks that they were death eaters, but why would Ron and Harry have to run? They weren’t muggle-born.
“Harry, let’s go” Ron said and looked at both Hermione and Draco with disgust. Hermione felt pain in her heart, were they starting to hate her? She looked at Draco who was watching her closely.
“Maybe, you should move to Slytherin after all. Your friends are already starting to dislike you.”  
“They don’t!” Hermione shouted “They hate you and I understand why!” she started to run after Harry and Ron, even though she knew she would never catch up to them. She was pissed. Hermione was surprised that she caught up with them.
“Hermione!” Harry shouted “I lost my wand, look if you see it from there!”
Hermione held her wand tightly and whispered a quick lumos. She searched the ground with the light of her wand.
“Did you have it with you all this time?” Hermione asked as she got closer to them.
“I haven’t checked. I just noticed now.” Harry admitted but seemed rather down, but Ron didn’t have time to worry about Harry’s wand.
“We have to keep going. More people are on their way here.” Ron said and they all started running again. Finally, they found a good place to hide. They sat down in some kind of drench and waited.
“If Lucius is really one of those masked guys” Ron said “I hope my dad will catch him.”
“He always wanted to catch Lucius red-handed.” Harry laughed “Maybe he is lucky today.”
Hermione looked at them both and felt a bit angry.
“I know that he is a cruel person. But please don’t forget that it is still my current home you are talking about. Lucius is part of that too.”
“Sorry, Hermione.” Harry said but Ron just faced away. Hermione stared at him but heard a sound from behind and looked over her shoulder. Ron and Harry looked in the same direction. Someone was walking over to a place close to them.
“Hallo?” Harry shouted, but there was only silence. “Is somebody there?”
The silence was broken by a voice that was completely different from what they’d heard all day. The person cast a spell and the dark mark appeared. Many people in the forest started to shout.
“We have to go!” Hermione said and grabbed Harry by his arm.
“But why?”
“It’s his mark, Harry” Hermione tried to run and Ron quickly got up.
“From Voldemort?”
“Yes, from Voldemort!” Hermione shouted, but it was too late. A lot of popping sounds were heard all around them and cast spells in their direction.
“Duck!” Harry shouted, which wasn’t necessary as the three of them threw themselves to the ground.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Arthur shouted “That’s my son!” he walked over to them “Ron… Harry, Hermione, are you all alright?”
“Out of my way, Arthur!” Mr Crouch said “Who of you did this?!”
“We didn’t do this!” Harry said first
“Don’t lie!”
“Barto, they are still children. They couldn’t have done this.” A witch said and walked closer to them.
“Have you seen somebody who could have cast this?” Arthur asked quickly.
“Yeah, a man over there.” Harry pointed in the direction where they saw the man. Everyone started searching but they returned with Winky.
“It wasn’t her!” Hermione shouted “We heard a deep voice.”
“She had a wand with her.” Mr Diggory said.
“That’s mine!” Harry said and walked over.
“Did you drop it after casting the mark?” Mr Diggory said and looked at Harry with big eyes.
“No, I lost it.”
“Right.” Mr Diggory said in disbelief.
“Amos,” Arthur said “This is Harry Potter. Do you really think he would cast the mark?”
Mr Diggory became silent but returned Harry’s wand. Arthur looked over at the others “Come, we are leaving now. We need to go home.”
“But what about Winky?” Hermione said as Arthur gathered the three of them and pushed them away.
“She’ll be alright.”
“She didn’t do anything!” Hermione shouted and tried to go back but Arthur held her tightly.
“Hermione, this is none of your business. Nor any of you!” Arthur said quickly as he saw that Ron and Harry were about to protest. “We are going home now. The Ministry knows how to handle this.”
They walked and walked and came to a spot where all the other Weasleys were gathered. Arthur looked relieved as he got everyone together. There still was no sign of the morning and rather dark. The green dark mark lit up their faces slightly which made it look rather spooky.
"Okay, I suggest we go home like most have done already." Arthur smiled "We've watched the match anyway and we only booked for one night. Bill and I will pick up the tent later on."
They arrived at the burrow and everyone went back to bed immediately. Hermione was sitting on the bench outside. She didn't know what to do. Should she stay at the Burrow? Arther came to sit next to her without her noticing.
"I think you should go back." He said and Hermione got so startled that she fell off the bench.
"Oh. I didn't want to scare you." Arthur said and reached out his hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Weasley." Hermione said and sat next down to him. "I just want to stay longer, but maybe I really should go back."
"I think you should." Arthur smiled."I bet they are worried about you. Should I bring you back?"
"No, I will use the Portkey." Hermione sighed
"Portkey?"
"This ring is a Portkey." Hermione explained. "Thank you for looking after me." Hermione looked at Arthur, who smiled at her. He got up to go to Bill and pick up the tents. Hermione looked up to the Burrow once more. She hoped she could come back any time soon. She pulled the ring off slightly and felt herself being taken away.

Chapter Text

She fell onto the ground and got up quickly. She was just beyond the gate in the middle of the path towards the Manor. She took a deep breath and walked to the door. Once she stood at the door, she hesitated. She took one last deep breath and opened the door. The only source of light was the fireplace. She heard a loud plop and looked at the spot where the sound came from. Lucius stood there, still in his travelling clothes.
"I see you have returned." He said in a low voice and walked over to her. Hermione closed her eyes as she saw how he lifted his arm. She was scared to be slapped again. Instead, the hand reached behind her head and pressed her into him. "I was worried something happened to you. I'm glad to see you are safe." Hermione nodded into his chest and hugged him.
"Were you looking for me all this time?"
"Of course I was." Lucius said and let go of her and took a step back. "Draco is in his room. Please go over there and get some rest."
"Goodnight, father." Hermione said and left. She knocked on Draco's door before she entered. He looked up from his bed and got up immediately.
"Hermione, you're safe." He smiled and hugged her tightly. "I was blaming myself all this time. I shouldn't have said what I said. I'm sorry."
"It's okay. Just don't do it again, okay?" She hugged him tightly. "I want to go to bed it you don't mind. I'll be going to my room now."
"Please stay here." Draco said abruptly. "I think father will come to this room too. I'm not sure why but it seems he is a bit scared too."
Hermione nodded and went to his bed. They both fell asleep rather quickly. It was a long night, after all. Once they woke up, they saw Lucius sitting at the fireplace. He was asleep.
"Told you he would come. Whenever he can't rest his mind, he wants us all in the same place. I wonder if it had to do with the dark mark." Draco whispered.
"I thought your father was a death eater?" Hermione whispered back.
"He was. Maybe he still is. I honestly don't know. You must know very well that the dark Lord hasn't returned. Maybe father is scared of his return? Or maybe he is scared of something else."
"Why would he be scared of Voldemort' return?" Hermione whispered.
“I don’t know.” Draco whispered “We can only wait and ask, at least if you dare to do so.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Lucius asked and turned his head to see them.
"Father," Draco started and sat down in the seat next to him. "Can you tell us what is going on?"
"I honestly don't know what's going on." Lucius sighed. "Cissy is worried sick. I think there will be a big change soon. Hopefully for the best."
He looked up to Draco. "I doubt there is a reason to be worried. Now, enough about this. The new year will start soon. In about a week, you'll be going back to school, and you'll stay there until summer anyway."
“Aren’t we returning for Christmas break?” Draco asked and Lucius grinned.
“This year you both will stay at Hogwarts during Christmas. I’ll tell you before you go.”

They all ate breakfast together and now it came to duelling again. This time instead of practicing with Draco, Hermione faced Lucius.
“Consider this as punishment for both of you.” Lucius smiled “Show me what you’ve learned this summer.”
Hermione rolled her wand in her hand. She started casting spells on him but he just reflected them with ease. She tried other spells she learned from books, but Lucius started casting back spells more and more quickly. At some point, she got hit with a spell and flew through the room. She huffed but got up back on her feet. She wasn’t going to give up easily. Lucius smiled as he saw her walk back to her spot.
“I like your attitude in battle, young lady.” He smiled and cast another spell. Hermione successfully blocked it and started to enjoy the battle. She felt like she could let out all her anger right onto Lucius without having to worry that he might get injured. After a while, a spell hit her wand-arm and she dropped her wand to the floor. Lucius ran over and started healing her arm.
“I’m sorry.” He said without looking at her “I let myself go.”
“It’s okay, father.”
“Draco, it’s your turn now.” Lucius said. “Hermione, you did well. Go and rest.”
Hermione left the room and walked through the Manor. It felt good to be praised by Lucius over her duelling skills. On top of that, she had time off now. She could do whatever she pleases. So she headed to the library, where she found a nice book to read and sat down. The crackling fire made the atmosphere pleasant and no one was around. She almost read half of the book when she decided it was time for a break. She took her book back to her room and sat down to write Harry.

“Hello Harry,

I hope all is fine. I am doing well and I can’t wait to see you next week. Did you stay at the Weasleys? Or did you have to return to hell? I know you are as excited as me to return to Hogwarts. Have you been practising with Ron in Quidditch? I know you both love playing it so much. The weather has been lovely too, so I do hope you went outside and played. It would be a shame if you didn’t.

Please write to me soon,

Hermione”

She quickly got up and sent her mail, watching the owl fly towards Lucius’s office. She rolled her eyes, still feeling annoyed he read her mail. She had to think of a way to contact them without anyone knowing. Like when she had a phone, she could just call them and hear how they were doing. But there was no chance that a mobile phone would work here. She had to think of something else. She heard a knock on her door and saw Draco peek in.
“Ah, there you are.” He smiled. “I’ve been looking for you all over the place. The weather is so nice today. So I wanted to ask if you would like to go on a nice walk with me.”
“Sure” Hermione said and got up. Draco held out his arm to her. “The summer plox are blooming right now. They smell absolutely brilliant!” he said excitedly. Hermione nodded, she didn’t have a clue what summer ploxes were. Once they were in the garden, Draco walked her towards the south where there was a gate of roses. They passed the gate and there was a trial in the middle of many different kinds of flowers, neatly arranged by the elves. Draco pointed at the summer plox. “This one. Can you smell it’s nice sweet fragrance?” Hermione bowed to smell the flowers and he was right, they were lovely. They smelt sweet but not overly sweet.
“I like them.” She smiled at him. They strolled around for a while, walking in silence and enjoying nature. There were a lot of butterflies and bumblebees in the garden.
“At the end there is a pavilion,” Draco informed her “Would you like to drink a cup of tea there?”
“Yes, please” she replied and smiled. Draco could be really cute and a gentleman. Once they arrived at the marble-white pavilion, Draco helped her get seated. Hermione focused on the tea set and served tea. This was definitely a skill she would always be thankful for learning. She reached to her cup and nipped on it. This time they received a cherry tea, it was slightly bitter but it smelled amazing. It absolutely fitted in the garden with all the sweet fragrances. She reached out for the honey to add into her tea. Draco did the same and kept looking at her. His eyes were soft towards her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing, just looking at your beauty.” He smiled and took a sip. Hermione felt her cheeks warm up from the blush and quickly took a sip too. Looking over the garden and enjoying her cuppa.
“Tomorrow,” Draco started “We are going shopping. You need a new dress, mother said.”
“Another dress? I barely wear one more than once.” She said surprised. “I don’t need a new dress.”
“You can try to argue that with her” Draco grinned “I am just telling you what they told me.”
“Thank you” she whispered.
“You’re welcome.”

The next morning they were all going to Diagon Alley. Hermione still loved the alley a lot. It always felt so cosy. Why weren’t muggle malls not as cosy? She wondered as they walked around. She silently followed them and Draco was looking at the Quidditch shop. He opened his mouth but closed it quickly, Lucius and Narcissa were walking rather quickly and apparently not in the mood for any extra stops. They walked straight into Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.
“Madame,” Madam Malkin started and looked at Narcissa “how can I help you today?”
“We need the most beautiful dress you have” Narcissa said and brought Hermione in front of her. “Make her look so pretty that we barely can recognise her.” Narcissa smiled. Madam Malkin nodded and asked Hermione to follow her. In the back of the store, she showed Hermione several dresses.
“Please pick one you like, my love.”
“Ehh…” Hermione brought out and Madam Malkin breathed in deeply, probably annoyed at her reaction.
“I think a nice blue dress would suit you best, madame.” She adviced and held out a beautiful dress to her. “Would you like to try this on?”
“Yes, please.” Hermione whispered and while changing, she heard someone enter the room.
“It looks too lose.” Narcissa said coldly. I want a nice open chest, tight on the waist and fluffy all the way down. Something that shines like the stars.”
“Yes, madame” Madam Malkin said friendly and searched for a different dress. “This is the best dress I’ve got at the moment.” She showed Narcissa the dress who nodded. Hermione changed to the newer dress and looked in the mirror. It was absolutely a beautiful dress. Narcissa walked behind her and pulled her waist stronger, so she was completely snugged by it.
“Miss Malfoy, I can’t breathe” she whispered
“That’s fine honey, you just have to be pretty. No need to breathe.” She smiled and walked around Hermione. “We need some silver and dark blue jewellery with this” she said to herself.
“What do you think, Hermione?”
“I love it.” She smiled “It is really pretty.”
“Then we will take it” Narcissa said. Hermione looked at the price tag and her eyes widened.
“Miss Malfoy, it is just too expensive” she tried to argue
“There is no expensive for a Malfoy. Everything is cheap, honey” her red lips curled up. “Lucius and I will be glad to buy you this dress.”
“Draco!” Narcissa shouted “It is your turn now.”
Hermione wasn’t even finished changing as Draco came in. Narcissa looked at the different suits available and looked for one that fit with Hermione’s dress. It was a traditional black one with white, but the black had a hue of blue in it.
“Perfect.” Narcissa smiled and turned to Madame Malkin. “We are done now. Please, send it to Malfoy Manor.”
“Yes, madame” Madame Malkin bowed “Thank you for coming!”

Once they went outside, they saw Lucius waiting.
“I assume it was a success?” he asked Narcissa and offered his arm.
“Of course it was!” Narcissa smiled “We do need some nice jewellery for Hermione. Then we are done.”

The jewellery shopping was terrible. Narcissa was not satisfied with most designs they showed her. So she had one custom-made for Hermione. She quickly drew what it should look like, what silver she wanted, what rhinestones she wanted and where they should be placed. After all the necessary shopping was done, Draco could convince his parents to go to the Quidditch shop, where he bought new gear for the new school year. Narcissa turned to her to ask if she wanted to go somewhere to, but Hermione shook her head quickly. They spent so much money on her already. They were walking to the next shop where Lucius held open the door for them.
“Go ahead, Hermione” Narcissa whispered “There is no need to hold back” she planted a kiss on her forehead. Hermione looked at Narcissa and whispered “I don’t want to be a burden…”
“You’re not, honey. Look, even Draco is looking for books. We all know you love reading, so go ahead. Search a few books you like that you can read the last few days at the Manor.”
Hermione nodded and walked around through the shop, letting her fingers run over the books. After a while she found a few books she would like to read. She walked over to Narcissa, still feeling guilty.
“Only those?” she asked and raised an eye brow
“Yes, Miss Malfoy”
“Are you sure?”
“Definitely, Miss Malfoy”
“Go search two more and then we will leave.”
“I am fine with these, Miss Malfoy.” Lucius bowed down to her “That wasn’t a question, search two more, love”
Once Hermione got her books, Lucius took them and those from Draco and went to pay. After, they went back to the Manor, where she spend the rest of the day reading her new books.

Chapter Text

The last days at the Manor passed in peace. Hermione spent most of her time with her books, poring over her reading for the new school year. She even received a letter back from Harry, who mentioned that he’d mostly been playing Quidditch with Ron and hadn’t done much else. When the day finally arrived to board the Hogwarts Express, Hermione was bursting with excitement. Nothing, she thought, could compare to reuniting with her friends. Over breakfast, Lucius brought up the Triwizard Tournament, telling them that this year, they’d have the chance to make friends with students from other schools.

At the station, Narcissa wrapped Draci in a tight hug, while Lucius placed a firm hand on his shoulder, bowing down to murmur something only for him to hear. Narciss then turned to Hermione, pulling her into a warm hug and speaking softly into her hair.
“I hope you have a wonderful year, Hermione. Enjoy yourself, and we’ll see you again in summer.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Hermione replied, hugging her back with a smile. Lucius approached and put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Take care, Hermione. Write to us from time to time. And no troublemaking” he added with a faint smile. Draco and Hermione waved goodbye and boarded the train.
“Well, Draco,” Hermione started “I’ll go search my friends. I’ll see you around.”
Draco nodded and they went their separate ways. Hermione found Harry and Ron quite quickly. She gave them both a tight hug and they talked about the upcoming year. Until there fell a silence. Hermione returned to her books and enjoyed the train ride in her own way. The journey from the train to Hogwarts, however, was less peaceful. It was pouring rain, with sheets of water flooding the ground. By the time they reached the castle, they were all soaked, and if that wasn’t enough, Peeves the poltergeist decided to add to the chaos, flinging water balloons at the drenched students. One narrowly missed Hermione, but Ron wasn’t so lucky. He caught a balloon square on the head. Hermione tried to reach him, slipping on the wet floor and instinctively grabbing Harry’s arm to steady herself.
“PEEVES!” Professor McGonagall’s sharp voice echoed down the corridor “Come down here immediately!”
Peeves tossed one last water balloon before vanishing in a cackle. Professor McGonagall ushered everyone swiftly into the Great Hall, making sure they were seated before the first years arrived for the Sorting Ceremony. After the sorting, the tables were finally laden with food. Ron, famished, wasted no time digging in, as Nearly Headless Nick floated by, looking quite pleased.
“You’re lucky there’s such a feast tonight!” he commented. “Peeves caused quite a ruckus in the kitchens earlier.”
“Oh, what happened?” Harry asked mid-bite.
“Peeves, of course!” Nick replied with a sigh “He wanted to join the feast. Though, naturally, that privilege is reserved for us House ghosts.” He puffed up proudly “Whenever Peeves sees food, his first thought is to throw it. But the Bloody Baron refused him entry, thank goodness. Peeves only listens to him, you see.”
“That explains why he was throwing water balloons at us.” Ron said darkly “What did he do in the kitchen?”
“Oh, the same as usual. Creating chaos and disaster. The poor elves didn’t know what to do.”
“There are elves here?” Hermione asked in shock “At Hogwarts?”
“Indeed,” He answered with pride “Hogwarts employs more house-elves than any other location in Britain! We might have over a hundred!”
“But,” Hermione’s brow furrowed “I’ve never seen one.”
“Well, that shows what fine house elves we have here, doesn’t it? They work best unseen- keeping fires lit, cleaning, cooking… all the essentials. ”
“But… they do get paid, right?” Hermione asked, feeling a growing unease.
“Paid?” Nearly Headless Nick looked at her in horror “My dear girl, house-elves love to work! They have no need for wages.”
Hermione set down her fork, pushing her plate away. This was wizarding world slavery, and it infuriated her. She thought of Dobby, who had found freedom after leaving the Malowys, and the other elf she had seen briefly at Lucius’s party. Refusing to eat, she bristled with anger as Dumbledore announced that all were “well-fed”. Just then, Hermione noticed the storm overhead had grown more intense. Thunder rumbled ominously as rain lashed down. The doors of the Great Hall opened and a figure entered. He limped heavily with each step. The lightning outside seemed to flash in sync with his movements, casting an eerie glow over his scarred face and electric-blue eye, which spun around, scanning the Great Hall. Professor Dumbledore introduced the new Professor, Alastor Moody. Hermione had never seen a wizard like him before. He was the sort whose looks wouldn’t need to change for a Halloween party, so she thought. She wondered what he had faced to end up looking this way.
“Blimey,” she heard Ron mutter “That’s the most famous Auror!”
“Did you see his eye?” Harry asked, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s like he could see right through us!”
“I reckon he’s seen loads of dangerous stuff,” Ron added, sounding full of admiration. “Dumbledore must think he’s brilliant if he brought him as our Defence teacher!”
Dumbledore raised his hands for silence. A hush fell over the Great Hall, and every eye turned toward him, filled with curiosity.
“This year,” Dumbledore began “Hogwarts has the great honour of hosting a remarkable event- an event that has not taken place for over a century: the Triwizard Tournament.”
Once again, excited murmurs broke out among the students, and Dumbledore waited a moment before continuing, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses.
“This legendary contest,” he went on, “Is designed to strengthen bonds of magic cooperation and friendship between the three of the most prestigious wizarding schools in Europe: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Each school will select a champion, and these champions will compete in three extremely challenging tasks designed to test their magical skill, daring and cleverness.”
Hermione exchanged a look with Harry and Ron, eyes wide with anticipation. Dumbledore’s tone grew serious.
“However,” he said, “it is a competition not without danger. Therefore this year, only students of age seventeen or older are allowed to put their name forward.”
A wave of groans broke out from the younger students. She heard Fred and George booing loudly.
“Now, our guests from Beauxbtons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October, just in time for the Halloween feast. I trust that you will all extend them every courtesy as our honoured guests. Let us show them the best of Hogwarts.” He smiled and sat back down, the hall buzzed with renewed excitement. Hermione couldn’t remember that the way to the dorm was this loud ever before. Even though she couldn’t join the Tournament, she was excited for the other new students she would meet. She quickly thought of Lucius reminding her and Draco to make friends with the foreign students.

The next morning, Hermione remained resolute about avoiding food prepared by the elves. She skipped breakfast, heading to her classes with a quiet stomach that betrayed her hunger with frequent growls. Her focus wavered throughout the morning, but she stubbornly passed on lunch as well. By dinnertime, she’d gone to the library to work on her potions essay, nearly finishing her first paragraph when someone approached.
“Hermione,” Draco’s voice broke her concentration. She looked up to see him sit beside her, his brow creased. “I didn’t see you in the Great Hall all day. Are you alright?”
“I am fine, thank you, Draco.” She smiled but Draco wasn’t convinced.
“Come, let’s have dinner together.” He said, taking her bag. “Hand over your books, please.”
Reluctantly, Hermione gathered her things and handed them over. Draco gave her a gentle smile, extending his arm as they made their way to the Great Hall. He didn’t even waver a second to walk straight to the Slytherin table. A few of Draco’s friends looked up in surprise.
“Hermione, you haven’t been here for ages.” Pansy Parkinson sneered. “I was enjoying the peace.” Hermione barely glanced at her, focusing on Draco, who already added food to her plate and then served himself. Hermione sat down and as she only pretended to eat, Draco leaned in closer.
“What’s really going on?” he pressed.
“I just… I’m not hungry today, Draco.” She said lightly.
“You haven’t eaten all day. Don’t try to fool me.” His gaze was steady and unyielding. “Either eat, or I’ll feed you myself.”
Hermione took a small bite, but her hunger soon took over, and she ate more quickly. Draco seemed satisfied, eating as well. Once she finished, Hermione made a move to leave, but Draco took her bag and walked her back towards the library.
“Now, tell me,” he said as they walked, his tone softer, “What’s going on?”
Hermione hesitated but finally sighed. “I don’t want to contribute to the elves’ forced labour anymore.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “You and this fixation on elf ‘slavery’! Elves love to care for others. They choose to serve.”
“But some are punished, even mistreated,” she argued “They shouldn’t have to suffer.”
“Hermione, it’s been this way for centuries. I know you think of Dobby, but Dobby was unusual. Have you ever even spoken to the other elves?”
She fell silent, realising she hadn’t spoken to any besides Dobby and Winky. Draco smirked. “I thought so. Just eat properly, please. I’ll be keeping an eye on you. I might even let Mother know, so she’s not surprised if you end up in the hospital wing.”
“You don’t have to write her.” Hermione protested
“I’ll write what I want.” He said amused. At the library, Hermione let go of his arm, but Draco stopped her.
“I’m not leaving. I’ll do my homework with you tonight.”
They worked quietly until it was nearly curfew, and Draco insisted on walking her to her dorm, carrying her stuff. Handing her the bag, he stepped back to let her say the password.
“Thank you, Draco” Hermione said softly and smiled “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” He replied, watching as the portrait door closed behind her.
As soon the portraying swung closed behind her, Hermione found Harry jumping up from his seat, looking concerned.
“Hermione! Where have you been? You weren’t in the Great Hall all day.” He said, his voice full of worry. Hermione smiled, feeling a warm sense of gratitude at her best friend’s concern.
“Just caught up with some things, Harry.” She replied, touched that he’d noticed. She walked over and helped him with his potions essay. Eventually, Ron joined them too.

The next morning, as Hermione sat down in the Great Hall for breakfast, an owl swooped in, dropping a delicate envelope in front of her. Hermione recognised Narcissa’s handwriting immediately. She quickly looked at Draco, who grinned at her. Unfolding the letter, she read Narcissa’s neatly penned words.

My dearest Hermione,

I hope this letter finds you well and you are enjoying your studies. Draco mentioned something concerning yesterday, and it prompted me to write. I understand you may be choosing to avoid the meals, perhaps in protest of the elves’ work. I admire your commitment, but I worry about the toll on your health. The elves, as you know, take pride in their duties; their work is a cherished tradition.

Please take care of yourself, and know you’re always to discuss any concerns with us. Draco is watching out for you, of course, but I would feel much better hearing directly from you that you’re well.

Warm regards,
Narcissa

Hermione sighed. Narcissa’s letter was both gentle and firm, a reminder of her place within the Malfoy family’s watchful care. She tucked the letter away, glancing back to where Draco was seated, catching his eye briefly as he raised an eyebrow, clearly aware of the letter’s contents. Hermione smiled faintly before returning back to her breakfast. Over the next few days, Hermione couldn’t help but notice how Draco watched her closely at each meal, making sure she ate. Though she appreciated his attentiveness, his constant scrutiny began to feel a bit overbearing, leaving her both touched and slightly exasperated.

In the next days, Hermione quickly wrote a letter to Narcissa:

Dear Mother,

Thank you for your concern about my health; I assure you I am doing well, but I must confess that I am struggling with the situation regarding the house-elves. I understand that they take pride in their work and that it has been a tradition for centuries, but it troubles me to think of their circumstances. As you may recall, one of the elves got a beating at the party, and I cannot get this memory out of my head. I think they deserve to be treated with dignity and respect.

I promise to take care of myself.

Warm regards,
Hermione

After sealing the letter, Hermione felt a sense of relief wash over her. She had expressed herself honestly and knew Narcissa would understand her perspective. She hurried to Transfiguration class. The excitement surrounding the Triwizard Tournament filled Hogwarts with an infectious energy. Hermione found herself torn between the buzz of her friends and the growing pressure of her own thoughts. She sat beside Harry and Ron, who were discussing what the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would be like.
“I heard that the student’s from Durmstrang practice dark magic” Harry said to Ron.
“The Beauxbatons are supposed to be really graceful! Maybe they have really pretty girls!”
Hermione smiled at their enthusiasm, but her mind drifted back to her conversation with Draco about house-elves. “It’s not just about their skills, you know.” She said suddenly “We should thinkg about the implications of the tournament. It’s a dangerous competition.”
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, their expressions shifting to one of concern.
“You’re not worried about it, are you?” Ron asked, leaning in closer. “It’s not that we are competing in it.”
“No, but it is important to consider how the tournament affects everyone involved.” Hermione replied earnestly. “It could be life-threatening.”
“Right,” Harry said “But that’s the thrill of it!”
Hermione sighed, knowing they wouldn’t fully understand her concerns. Instead, she returned her attention to the lesson.
A few days later, as Hermione sat in the library immersed in her studies, she felt a familiar presence approach her table.
“Hermione,” Draco stood nearby, hands tucked into his pockets.
“Hallo Draco” she smiled, looking up “What brings you here today?”
“I thought I’d check on you,” he replied, moving to sit beside her. “You’ve been spending a lot of time alone lately.”
“I’m fine.” She assured him. “Just busy with schoolwork.”
“Would you fancy a walk?” he asked. Hermione looked at the workload she still had to do and then back to Draco.
“Only a short walk.” She said and got up. Draco grinned but offered his arm to her.
“A short walk where to?” he asked her.
“It’s raining outside, so maybe just a bit in the corridors?”
“Sounds good.” He said without looking at her. “How are things between you and your friends? You don’t seem to talk much to them lately.”
“They are only talking about Quidditch and the Tournament.” Hermione replied, a hint of sadness in her voice “I have no interest in hearing the same things over and over again.”
“That’s understandable. I get tired of the Tournament already. I hope it is at least thrilling to watch.”
Hermione sighed, and Draco noticed immediately.
“Are you worried about the Tournament?”
“Well, honestly, yes.” She said, glancing at his expression quickly. He only had concern for her. “It is a dangerous contest. But everybody only seems to take it lightly. It could be life-threatening but all they think about is how cool it would be.”
Draco nodded, his brow furrowed slightly. “I can see why you’d be concerned. It’s not just a game; it’s a matter of life and death. I suppose some people just don’t understand the gravity of the situation.”
Hermione appreciated his understanding. It was rare for anyone to see past the excitement that surrounded the event. As they walked, Draco kept his pace leisurely, allowing her to set the rhythm. The corridor was lined with portraits, their painted figures watching with curiosity as the pair moved past. Hermione felt a sense of comfort being with him.
“What about you? How do you feel about it all?” she asked, curious about his perspective.
Draco shrugged, his eyes scanning the portraits. “Honestly, I am not looking forward to the constant chatter about it. It’s not just the danger that surrounds the Tournament, it’s the pressure it puts on everyone, especially those competing.”
She tilted her head, intrigued. “You’re right. The pressure must be immense. It’s not just about winning; it’s about survival.”
“Exactly,” he agreed “Sometimes it feels like everyone’s forgetting what really matters. It’s just a competition, but the way they talk about it, it is as if their lives depend on it.”
They stopped at a window, watching the rain streak down the glass. The castle's stone walls glistened in a soft light, and for a moment, they were both lost in thought.
“Now,” Draco smiled” shall we head back before your workload multiplies exponentially?”
“Yes.” She said, feeling a renewed sense of energy as they returned back towards the library. Their conversation was lingering in the air like a pleasant melody.

Chapter Text

The chill of autumn air filled the corridor of Hogwarts as Hermione made her way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. The stone walls echoed with the hurried footsteps of students, their chatter mixing with the rustle of robes. She felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension; this was her first lesson with Professor Alastor Moody, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and she had heard nothing but whispered tales of his formidable reputation. As she entered the classroom, Hermine was stuck by the sight before her. The room was dimly lit, with dark wood furniture and an assortment of strange artifacts lining on the shelves. Student’s expression ranged from eager anticipation to nervous uncertainty.
“Oi, Hermione!” Ron’s voice broke through her thoughts as he waved from the back of the room. She made her way over to him, settling into a seat beside him.
“Have you heard anything about him?” Ron asked, his eyes wide with excitement.
“Only that he was an Auror.” Hermione replied, glancing at the front of the room. “They say he’s seen things we can’t even imagine.”
Just then, the classroom door swung open with a creak, and a figure entered that seemed to fill the room with an air of authority. Professor Moody stood before them, his mismatched eyes scanning the class. The magical eye swivelled around, giving the impression that he could see every student, even from behind.
“Good morning, class.” He growled, his voice gravelly but commanding. “I’m Alastor Moody, and I’ll be teaching you Defence Against the Dark Arts this year. I hope you’re ready for a bit of a challenge.”
Hermione felt a thrill run through her. She had always loved this subject, and Moody’s presence only heightened her anticipation.
“Today, we’re going to dive right in. I want you to understand the dangers you’ll  face.” Moody continued, pacing slowly in front of the students. “The Dark Arts are a serious matter, and I won’t sugar-coat it either. We’ll start with the three Unforgivable Curses.”
The classroom felt silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air. He moved toward a trunk in the corner of the room and opened it with a loud clank.
“These curses are not merely spells; they’re the darkest magic you can encounter. Using any of them on another human being is punishable by a life sentence in Azkaban.”
Hermione felt a chill run down her spine. She had read about the Unforgivable Curses in textbooks, but hearing Moody discuss them in person made her skin prickle.
“Who can name a curse? Weasley!”
Ron looked up in shock “Ehh.. the Imperius Curse.”
“Aaah..” Moody replied, pulling a spider from his pocket. With a flourish, he cast the spell, causing the spider to rise and dance as though he had no control of his action. The class watched, wide-eyed, as Moody demonstrated its effects. “The curse allows you to control another’s actions completely. Next?”
Neville hesitantly raised his hand, and Moody’s magical eye caught him immediately.
“Longbottom?”
“the Cruciatus Curse.”
“Yes, a very nasty curse.” Moody said and pulled a scroll out of the trunk. “The Cruciatus Curse,” with a flick of his wand, he conjured a scene depicting a victim writhing in agony. Hermione winced, her heart racing. “causes unbearable pain. It’s used for torture and can even…” he looked at Neville “Turn people into madness.”
Pointing his wand at the spider, he casts the spell. The spider began to writhe in agony, and Hermione felt a wave of revulsion wash over her. The sight brought back memories of her own experience, how Lucius had forced her to use the Killing Curse on a spider. The memory flooded her with a mix of shame and anger. She couldn’t bear to watch the spider suffer.
“Stop it!” Hermione shouted, her voice cutting through the classroom. Moody halted, fixing her with a grim expression “The last curse, Miss Granger?” .
“The Killing Curse.” She almost whispered almost inaudibly.
“Exactly, the most infamous of them all. No spell can block it and there’s no counter-curse.”
Hermione felt a knot tighten in her stomach. The gravity of what they were learning weighed heavily on her. Moody’s intensity was both terrifying and captivating; it was clear he wanted them to take these lessons seriously.
“Avada Kedavra!” Moody shouted, and the spider fell lifeless to the ground.
As the bell rang, Moody quickly assigned them homework. “I want you all to take a moment and think about the implications of these curses. In your careers as witches and wizards, you may face dark times. It’s crucial you understand how to defend against them.”
“He is amazing!” Ron said as they left the classroom. “Crazy, but amazing!”
Harry nodded in agreement, but Hermione remained silent. A lingering ache settled in her stomach, and she was relieved that this was their last class for the day.
“I’m going to the library.” She announced, turning on her heel and walking away.
“See you at dinner!” Harry called after her, continuing to chat with Ron, still caught up in the thrill of their lesson.

Once inside the library, Hermione headed straight for her usual spot. She sat down and opened her textbooks, but the words blurred together. Her mind kept drifting back to Moody’s demonstration- the writhing spider, the chilling implications of the curses. A wave of nausea swept over her. Memories of the day she was forced to use the Killing Curse crashed over her like a tide, and tears began to form in her eyes. She bent down, letting her sleeves soak up her sorrow, and remained there, lost in thought until exhaustion claimed her, and she fell asleep. A gentle pat on her shoulder stirred her from her slumber.
“Hermione, wake up.” Draco said softly “It’s time for dinner.”
Startled, Hermione looked up, her eyes still puffy from crying. Draco immediately noticed, his expression shifting from concern to care.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, enveloping her in a tight hug. “Why were you crying?”
“I’m just being pathetic.” She murmured, allowing him to hold her, grateful for the warmth and comfort.
“Tell me.” He urged, pulling back slightly to meet her gaze.
“We saw Moody demonstrate the three Unforgivable Curses.” She confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I kept thinking back to that day…” the lump in her throat made it difficult to continue. “The day…”
“That we used the Killing Curse?” Draco finished gently, his voice low and filled with understanding. Hermione nodded, tears spilling over once more as she buried her face in his shoulder. He hugged her tighter, his warmth enveloping her.
“You’ll never have to use that spell again, you know that right?” he reassured her.
“I know.” She said, her voice muffled against him. “But the memory… it’s hard to shake off.”
Draco took a step back, his hands resting on her shoulders.
“Let’s not dwell on it tonight. Come on, dinner will help clear your mind. You need to eat.”
Reluctantly Hermione wiped her eyes and nodded. They made their way to the Great Hall, where the smell of roasted meats and fresh bread filled the air. As they entered, the lively chatter of students greeted them. Draco led her to a quieter corner of the Gryffindor table, where they could talk without interruption.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall buzzed with excitement as the students of Hogwarts prepared for the arrival of the two other schools participating in the Triwizard Tournament. Banners from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang adorned the walls, fluttering lightly in the enchanted breeze. Hermione was excited about what was to come. They waited outside to welcome the schools, but the air was bitterly cold. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, shivering slightly. Suddenly, a voice pierced the chill: “Look up there!” a student pointed to the sky, drawing everyone’s attention. Hermione squinted against the bright sunlight and gasped as a massive carriage drawn by magnificent, soaring Pegasi descended toward them. The sight was breathtaking, and for a moment, the cold was forgotten as everyone watched in awe. As the carriage landed gracefully in front of the crowd, a tall woman stepped out. Hermione heard her classmates whisper that it was Madame Maxime, the headmistress of Beauxbatons. The students clapped and cheered. However, as the cheers subsided, the cold began to seep back into Hermione’s bones. She glanced around, noting the shivers of her classmates. Nearby, Draco smirked, his icy grey eyes glinting with mischief.
“At this rate,” he remarked to his friends “We’ll all turn into ice cubes before the Durmstrang lot even arrives.” Hermione shot him a glare, her teeth chattering slightly. Draco’s smirk faltered as he noticed the faint blue tint on her lips. Without a second thought, he strode over.
“You’re freezing.” He said softly. He draped his cape around her shoulders, the fabric warm against her skin. “Here. I hope you’ll get warmer soon.”
“Thank you.” She replied “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.” He said, shrugging nonchalantly. He put his arms around her, rubbing her warm. Hermione felt her body warming up. Just as she wanted to thank him again, commotion stirred as the students turned their attention. A dark ship, with a large dragon figurehead, was slicing through the clouds, making its descent towards Hogwarts. Hermione’s heart quickened. The Durmstrang students had finally arrived. They walked from the lake to the castle, their dark cloaks swirling around them. Hermione watched with interest as they gathered near the entrance. Their faces were serious and determined. Draco leaned closer to her ear. “Ready to go inside?”
“Yes” Hermione replied, trying to shake off the lingering chill. As the crowd began to shift and murmur.

In the Great Hall, candles floated high above, casting a warm glow over the students. The usual Hogwarts banners had been joined by vibrant flags of crimson and silver for Durmstrang, along with banners in delicate shades of blue and gold for Beauxbatons. The air was thick with excitement and the mingling aromas of unfamiliar dishes, a fest fit to welcome the visitors. Durmstrang students sat down with the Slytherins at one end of the hall. Their heavy, fur-lined cloaks contrasting sharply against the Hogwarts robes. They held themselves with an air of cool confidence, exchanging only low murmurs amongst themselves. Meanwhile, Beauxbatons had been seated beside the Ravenclaws, where the students exchanged polite glances and curious whispers. The Beauxbatons students, dressed in graceful blue robes, seemed a bit taken aback by the colder climate of Hogwarts, but they smiled politely as they took in the hall’s grandeur. Plates began appearing on the tables, filled with foods from each school’s homeland: rich, hearty stews and dark bread from Durmstrang, delicate pastries and fine cheeses from Beauxbatons. Ron’s eyes were lingering on a plate of buttery, golden-brown pastries.
“Have you tried this?” Hermione asked, nudging a platter of French cheese towards Ron. “It’s a bit stronger than I expected, but it’s quite good.”
Ron winked his nose as he tried a piece. “Ugh, it’s … an acquired taste, I suppose.” He said, quickly washing it down with a sip of pumpkin juice. “Give me good Yorkshire pudding any day.”
Harry chuckled, nodding towards the Durmstrang students. “They look like they’re used to some serious winter food. Have you seen those stews? They’re practically thick enough to stand a spoon in.”
Hermione laughed, glancing down at the table where some of the Slytherins were chatting quietly with the Durmstrang students. “They must have grown up in colder climates; they look perfectly comfortable even in this drafty castle, " she observed Draco talking to Krumm. Krumm quickly looked at her, and their eyes met for a second.
“Excuz-moi, could you pass zose?” Fleur Delacour asked in her lilting accent, her blue eyes sparkling. Ron flushed a deep shade of pink, fumbling with the plate as he handed it over.
“Uh, sure, here you go.” He managed, trying not to stare too obviously. Hermione rolled her eyes as she took in the scene, but her lips quirked up in the amusement. The feast continued, with laughter and curious exchanges of words between the students. The Great Hall was filled with clinking silverware, the hum of excited conversation, and the quiet spectacle of Hogwarts extending its welcome to students from far beyond its walls. Harry glanced around, sensing the blend of cultures and traditions filling the hall.
“It’s a bit surreal, isn’t it?” he said, “All of us here together, sharing a meal.”
Hermione nodded, her eyes filled with wonder. “It’s a glimpse of the wizarding world outside Hogwarts,” she murmured “And it’s amazing.

After the last of the dishes vanished from the tables, Dumbledore rose, and a hush fell over the hall. He smiled warmly at the gathered students, his eyes twinkling as he held up a hand.
“As you know, we are her to welcome both our friends from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, who will join us this year for the Triwizard Tournament,” he began. His gaze glided across the hall, meeting the curious and eager faces of students from all three schools. “Tonight, we reveal the means by which each school’s champion will be chosen.” He lifted his wand, and with a swift flick, a large, ancient goblet appeared on a stone pedestal near the head table.
“This Goblet,” he continued, “will decide our champions. For those eligible, you may place your name inside, and on Halloween night, it will select one student from each school to compete.”
Harry, Ron and Hermione leaned forward, their eyes fixed on the Goblet. Though they had known the tournament was coming, the sight of the Goblet itself made everything more real, the air thick with excitement and a little nervousness.
“The Goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall, where it will remain until Halloween.” Dumbledore announced. “I want to gently remind you, that only those of age, seventeen and above, may submit their names.”
Once again, the Weasley twins were boo-ing.
“Only those truly prepared for the risks should enter.” Dumbledore cautioned, his expression growing serious. “The Goblet’s choice is final, and champions are bound by a magical contract to see the tournament through.” He let the weight of this final point settle over the hall, then nodded with a slight smile. “Now, may you all rest well. This promises to be a year none of us will forget.” With that, Dumbledore sat down, the Goblet’s flames casting an eerie glow that left students whispering and exchanging excited looks long after the Headmaster’s words had faded.  

As they walked to the dorms, Hermione started the conversation. “It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”
After noticing the confused looks from Ron and Harry she continued. “The Goblet of Fire. Just look at it, centuries of history and magic in that one object. It’s almost… mesmerising.”
Harry nodded “Yeah, it is. It almost feels alive.”
Ron however, looked at it with a different sort of admiration. “Magnificent? That’s one way to put it, Hermione. I’m thinking more life-changing.” He said his eyes shining with excitement. “Imagine, if you’re chosen, you’d go down in history. You’d have glory and fame… maybe even a bit of gold to go with it.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow, her expression sceptical. “Glory and gold, that’s all you’re thinking about?” she said, shaking her head. “This tournament isn’t a game, Ron. Dumbledore said there are serious risks.”
“Oh, come on, Hermione. It’s not every day a regular student has the chance to become a champion,” Ron said “Just imagine what it would feel like, everyone cheering your name… You’d be a hero!”
“Well, it’s not like any of us could enter anyway.” Harry pointed out “We’re not of age, remember?”
Ron sighed dramatically. “Yeah, the rule’s completely unfair. I’d bet anything that I could have a shot if I were allowed to try.”
Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t fully hide a smile. “I you’d put as much effort into studying as you do dreaming up ways to get into trouble, Ron, who knows- you might really have a shot.”
Ron chuckled, nudging her playfully. “Don’t worry, Hermione. I’ll keep my studies balanced- right after I finish imagining myself as Hogwarts’ Triwizard champion!”
They all laughed, feeling the excitement that buzzed throughout the hall. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they knew they’d face them together- the way they always did.

Chapter Text

The crisp autumn morning found Hermione tucked away in the quietest corner of the library, surrounded by stacks of books. She was revising her Charms notes, underlining sections on advanced Summoning Charms, while occasionally jotting down extra notes in the margins. The faint light filtering through the tall windows illuminated the dust motes drifting lazily in the air, and Hermione found the calm of the library a welcome contrast to the excitement buzzing through the rest of the castle. The Triwizard Tournament had stirred a whirlwind of energy among the students, but for Hermione, there was comfort in the familiar routine of studying. Her quill moved swiftly over her parchment and she filled in gaps in her notes, fully absorbed in the work- until a faint clanging of the distant bell signalled her next lesson. She gathered her books, tucked her bag under her arm, and made her way to Transfiguration. McGonagall’s lesson on advanced Vanishing Spells was challenging, but Hermione found herself quickly picking up the wand movements, her concentration unshakable even as her classmates whispered excitedly about who might put their name into the Goblet of Fire. Potions with Snape was next, and as always, the atmosphere was tense. Snape had given them an intricate Sleeping Draught to brew, and Hermione carefully measured each ingredient, taking care to follow each step with absolute precision. Harry and Ron sat nearby, struggling to keep up, and she occasionally whispered pointers to them without drawing Snape’s attention. When the lesson finally ended, the three friends hurried out of the dungeons, chatting excitedly as they walked toward the Entrance Hall, where the Goblet of Fire awaited.

The hall was already packed, filled with students gathered around the Goblet. The bright blue flames flickered against the ancient stone walls, casting an eerie glow over the crowd. Students of age were filing forward, each with a name written on parchment, and tossing their entries into the Goblet. A soft murmur ran through the crowd with every new name added, students wondering aloud who would be chosen as champions. Hermione found herself enhanced by the flames, the mysterious light mesmerising even as her logical mind reminded her of the dangers Dumbledore had mentioned.
“Reckon anyone from Gryffindor’s got a shot?” Ron asked, craning his neck to get a better view. Before Hermione could respond, Fred and George stepped up to the Goblet, each with a parchment held aloft. With identical grins, they clinked their hands together and marched up to the perimeter of the Goblet, where Dumbledore had drawn an Age Line to keep underage students from entering.
“This should be interesting.” Harry whispered, a grin spreading across his face. Hermione held her breath as the twins chanted a spell together, each drinking a vial of Aging Potion they’d clearly been working on for weeks. They looked at each other, nodded confidently, and stepped over the Age Line… Only to be thrown back as if hit by an invisible wall. They flew through the air, tumbling head over heels, and landed with a loud thud, now sporting long white bears that cascaded down to their waists. The hall erupted into laughter as the twins sat up, dazed but grinning, clearly unbothered by their failure. Fred glanced down at his beard, then looked at Goerge, who was similarly adorned. “Well, it was worth a try, eh?” he said chuckling. Hermione shook her head, stifling her own laughter. Ron snorted, watching his older brothers dust themselves off, still beaming despite their mishap.
“Leave it to Fred and George to turn it into a spectacle.”
Just as the crowd began to settle again, Hermione felt a presence nearby. She turned to find Viktor Krum standing just a few feet away, watching her with a curious look in his dark eyes. He was quiet and reserved, a stark contrast to the loud energy of the Weasley twins, and his intensity seemed to fill the space around him. Hermione met his gaze and managed a polite smile. Krum inclined his head in acknowledgement, his expression softening slightly before he continued on, blending back into the crowd with his Durmstrang companions. Ron noticed the exchange and nudged her.
“Blimey, Hermione. Didn’t know you were getting attention from the famous Viktor Krum!”
“Oh, honestly, Ron. He was just being polite.” She said though she could feel her cheeks warm slightly. As the evening went on, the crowd lingered around the Goblet, watching as students from each school came forward, each hopeful, each eager.

The Halloween Feast filled the Great Hall with a warm, festive glow. Candles floated above, casting light over tables piled high with pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, and goblets of sparkling pumpkin juice. Fred and George were already plotting some mischief involving the enchanted bats circling the ceiling, their antics drawing amused glances from students all around. Hermione watched them with a fond eye roll.
Just as the desserts began to disappear, the room fell quiet, a subtle tension creeping into the air. The Goblet of Fire flared to life. Hermione’s eyes fixed on it, her pulse quickening in anticipation. The blue flames burned higher, and then, with a crackle, turned bright red. A slip of parchment shot into the air. Dumbledore caught it smoothly, lifting it for the hall to see. ‘
“The Durmstrang champion,” he declared “Viktor Krum!”
Cheers erupted from the Durmstrang table, and Hermione couldn’t help noticing Krum glaring in her direction before he stood. She managed a quick, encouraging smile, but her mind was already back on the Goblet. Again the flames turned red, and another parchment flew out.
“The Beauxbatons champion is… Fleur Delacour!”
The Beauxbatons students clapped with pride, and Fleur rose, all grace and poise, acknowledging the applause with a small smile. Hermione exchanged a look with Ron, who seemed struck by Fleur’s presence, mouth hanging open slightly. She nudged him, amused, just as the flames blazed for a third time.
“And the Hogwarts champion,” Dumbledore’s voice rang out “Cedric Diggory!”
Hufflepuff erupted in cheers, loud enough to shake the walls. Hermione joined in, genuinely pleased for Cedric, who looked both proud and overwhelmed. She felt a swell of pride that Hogwarts would be represented by someone as fair and kin-hearted as Cedric. But as the cheers settled, Hermione noticed a strange flicker in the Goblet. It hadn’t died down. The flames turned red once more, and with a burst of sparks, another parchment flew out. Dumbledore’s face grew serious as he caught it, his brow furrowing as he read the name.
“Harry Potter.”
A shocked silence gripped the hall. Hermione’s heart plummeted, her mind racing. How could Harry be chosen? He wasn’t of age, and he certainly hadn’t entered his name. She turned to him, eyes wide with disbelief, seeing her own shock mirrored on his face. Whispers started rippling through the hall, students exchanging glances of confusion and suspicion. Hermione felt a pang of dread as she noticed the students glaring at Harry. Dumbledore cleared his throat, drawing Harry forward, but his gaze was soft, a hint of concern in his eyes. Hermione’s hands clenched around the edge of the table as Harry walked to the front, his steps slow and uncertain. He glanced back at her and Ron, looking small and bewildered in the spotlight that had been thrust upon him. She managed a reassuring smile, hoping he could see her faith in him. But deep inside, worry gnawed at her- whatever had happened tonight, she feared it was only the beginning. The professors exchanged glances, and even Dumbledore’s calm expression held a note of concern. He cleared his throat, raising his hands to quiet down the hum of voices.
“We will be conducting a thorough investigation. Rest assured. Goodnight.”
The hall fell quiet again, as Dumbledore and the other professors left the Great Hall. Hermione could feel the tension lingering, unspoken questions hanging thick in the air. She stole a glance at Ron, whose face was pale and tense. His hands were clenched into fists, a strange, unreadable look in his eyes.
“Blimey,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Harry.. I mean.. he wouldn’t, would he?”
Hermione shook her head, her voice quiet but certain. “Of course he wouldn’t. this has to be a mistake, Ron.” But even as she said it, a shadow of doubt nagged at her. No doubt in Harry- she knew him too well to believe he’d ever break the rules this way. But doubt in how much control they had over anything that happened here. If someone else had entered Harry’s name, then they were playing a dangerous game, with Harry at the centre of it all. Hermione stayed rooted to her seat, hands folded tightly in her lap, her thoughts whirling. What if someone was setting Harry up? What if this was just the beginning of something far more dangerous than they’d imagined? After what felt like an eternity, the feast slowly came to an end, students filled out the Great Hall in small, subdued groups. Hermione could hear snippets of conversation, whispers that made her jaw clench- accusations, theories, some students even suggesting that Harry had found a way to cheat the Goblet’s age line as she and Ron made their way to the Gryffindor common room, her mind raced, trying to piece together a defence she could use to ward off the rumours. But deep down, all she wanted was to find Harry, to see how he was holding up, to tell him she believed him, no matter what anyone else thought. When they finally entered the common room, it was filled with Gryffindors, all talking over each other, some asking questions, others voicing doubts. Hermione stayed quiet, eyes scanning the room as she tried to ignore the sceptical glances aimed at her friend. Eventually, the room emptied, and she was left alone with Crookshanks, who curled onto her lap as she stared into the flames, waiting for Harry’s return. After what felt like an age, the portrait hole flew open, and Harry walked in, looking tired and wary. Surprised, Hermione stood up, displacing Crookshanks, who gave an indignant hiss as he leapt off her lap.
“Harry”, she said softly, crossing the room to him and wrapping him in a tight hug. “Are you alright?”
He managed a slight nod, but she could see the worry in his eyes, the weight of something larger pressing down on him.
“I’m fine… I think.” He said, though his voice betrayed his unease. “I don’t know what happened… but I swear, I didn’t put my name in the Goblet of Fire.”
“I know you didn’t,” Hermione replied, her voice steady. “We’ll figure this out, Harry. Ron and I- we’ll help you.”
Harry gave her a grateful look, his shoulders relaxing just a little.
“Thanks, Hermione,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Hermione squeezed his arm reassuringly before they made their way to the sofa near the fire, sitting together in silence. The warmth of the flames seemed to offer some small comfort, but Hermione could still see the strain in Harry’s face as he stared into the fire, lost in thought.  They sat there for a while, just the two of them, the silence between them comforting in its own way. Hermione could feel the heaviness of what lay ahead, but as long as Harry knew he wasn’t alone, she felt sure they’d face it together. The fire crackled softly as they stayed close, sharing the quiet resolve that no matter what the Tournament would throw at Harry, they would find a way for him to get through it.

Chapter Text

The following morning, the atmosphere at Hogwarts was thick with tension. The news of Harry’s unexpected nomination as champion left a tension between Harry and Ron. As Hermione entered the Great Hall for breakfast, she noticed Ron glaring across the table at Harry, who was quietly picking at his food. The usual morning chatter was muted, overshadowed by the unspoken words between the two boys. Hermione felt a knot tighten in her stomach as she took her seat, hoping to ease the situation.
“Morning,” she said brightly, trying to bring some warmth to the table.
“Morning,” Harry replied, his voice flat. Ron grunted in response, his expression stubborn.  They sat in silence for a few moments, Hermione stealing glances at both boys. Ron’s eyes were fixed on Harry, and it was clear that the atmosphere was heavy with resentment.
“Ron,” Hermione finally said, sensing the need to break the silence. “You should talk to him.”
“About what?” Ron snapped, his frustration boiling over. “How he didn’t even have to put his name in the Goblet? How he’s just going to waltz in and be champion?”
“Ron, that’s not fair!” Hermoine shot back, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You know he didn’t ask for this. He’s your friend!”
“Friend?” Ron scoffed, leaning back “If he was really my friend, he wouldn’t have gone and made it all about him. You heard Dumbledore- only the champions get attention. It’s like he’s flaunting it.”
“Flaunting it?” Hermione echoed, incredulous. “He didn’t do this on purpose! You’re being childish.”
“Childish?” Ron retorted, standing up abruptly. “I’m not the only one who thinks this way. I thought we were in this together, but it feels like I’m just… invisible.”
Before Hermione could respond, Ron stormed out of the Great Hall, leaving her and Harry in stunned silence. Harry looked down at his plate, avoiding her gaze. “I didn’t want this.” He muttered, his voice strained.
“I know, Harry,” she said softly, her heart aching for both of them. “But you can’t let Ron’s anger drive a wedge between you. He’s just.. he’s struggling with the idea of you being a champion.”
“I just wish he’d see that I’m scared too.” Harry said, finally meeting her eyes. “I never asked for all of this.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Hermione promised, reaching out to place her hand on his. “You both just need time. Let’s talk about it later, okay?”
Harry nodded slowly, though the worry still lingered in his eyes. The rest of the day passed in a blur, with Hermione trying her best to hold onto the threads of their friendship. At dinner, the atmosphere remained charged. Ron was conspicuously absent, and Hermione could see the concern etched on Harry’s face. As the evening wore on, Harry and Hermione exchanged worried glances, both acutely aware that their tight-knit trio was beginning to unravel. The looming challenges of the Triwizard Tournament felt more daunting than ever, not just because of the dangers ahead, but because of the growing rift between Harry and Ron.

The next morning dawned with a heavy sense of unease hanging in the air. Hermione trudged through her lessons with Hagrid, her mind still swirling with the previous day’s tumultuous events. The creates they were studying were unlike anything she had encountered in her books- peculiar beasts that stirred her curiosity but left her bewildered. The Slytherins made no effort to hide their disdain for the lessons, complaining as casually as they often did.
“Hermione, you’re looking unwell today. Are you alright?” Draco asked, his tone a mix of concern and his typical aloofness as he sidled up next to her while they tended to their Blast-Ended Skrewts. She shot him a look of surprise, noting the sincerity in his icy grey eyes.
“I’m fine, thank you.” She replied, forcing a smile despite her lingering worries.
“Are you sure? You seem distracted. I noticed you haven’t been eating much this morning.” He pressed, genuine concern seeping into his words. Hermione glanced down at her own Skrewt.
“Really, Draco. I’’m alright. Just a bit stressed with everything happening.” She said, keeping her voice steady.
“Don’t tell me you’re worried about Potter,” he sneered, though his eyes softened slightly. “You shouldn’t worry about others, just the studies and your health.”
she bristled at his dismissive tone, feeling the urge to retort. “I can handle my own worries, thank you very much.” She replied defiantly, even as she wondered if her concern for Harry was worth the hassle. Draco’s expression shifted as he noticed the weight of her words.
“If you say so,” he lied, his shoulders slumping slightly. He moved back to his Skrewt, but the air between them felt thick with unspoken words. As Hermione observed Harry and Ron from a distance, she couldn’t shake the frustration that had grown between the two boys.

Hermione had watched the silence between her friends stretch into weeks, and no matter how much she encouraged each to reconcile, her efforts were met with resistance. Every time she mentioned one to the other, she faced an onslaught of irritation, and they took their frustrations out on her instead of addressing the issue. Hermione’s heart raced as she stood by the door of the Gryffindor common room, watching Harry and Ron at opposite corners of the room. The fire crackled quietly in the heart, its warmth a stark contrast to the cold tension between the two boys. It had been weeks since they talked to one another, and despite Hermione’s best efforts, Ron had refused to even acknowledge Harry, let alone speak to him. She had hoped desperately that time would heal the rift, but nothing had changed. In fact, things had only gotten worse. Every attempt to get Ron to talk about his feelings had been met with stubborn silence, or worse, a sharp comment. Hermione knew how hurt Ron was, how betrayed he felt by Harry’s unexpected nomination for the Triwizard Tournament. But she also knew that Harry hadn’t entered his name into the Goblet, and the constant accusations were wearing him thin. Tonight, she’d had enough. She couldn’t take the sight of them anymore – their silent animosity hanging over everything. The tension was suffocating. With a sigh, Hermione walked over to the fireplace, standing between Harry and Ron, who were both sitting with their backs to each other. She glanced at them both, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on her.
“I’m not going to stand here and watch anymore,” she said, her voice firm, but not unkind. Harry and Ron both looked up, surprised by her sudden intrusion.
“What are you talking about?” Ron muttered, his eyes not even looking at Harry once.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Hermione replied, her frustration clearly noticeable in her voice. “This- this silence between you two! This isn’t just some silly argument anymore. You’re both miserable and it’s making everyone else miserable too!”
“I’m not the one making it miserable” Ron shot back, turning away from her. “It’s Harry who got himself into this mess. He is the one  who didn’t tell anyone he was putting his name in the Goblet. He is the one who’s ruined everything.”
“Ron, you know I didn’t put my name in,” Harry said angrily, his voice hoarse with the weight of the words. He said it a thousand times already, but Ron refused to listen.
“Right,” Ron muttered bitterly, his voice laced with sarcasm. “I’m sure the Goblet just picked you randomly. Because that makes perfect sense.”
“Ron, please” Hermione interjected “Harry didn’t choose this. He didn’t even want to be in the Tournament. You know him better than that.”
Ron was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the floor. He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening.
“I don’t know anything anymore, Hermione. I thought I knew him, but clearly, I don’t.”
Hermione felt her heart ache for both of them, she looked at Harry, who was looking down at his hands, avoiding eye contact with Ron.
“I never wanted any of this, Ron.” He said quietly “I didn’t put my name in. I don’t even know how it happened. I… I thought the Goblet was meant for people who were actually eligible. But it chose me, and now I’m stuck in this mess.
Ron didn’t answer immediately. He stared at Harry for a long moment, his face unreadable. After a long moment of silence, Ron let out a heavy breath and spoke, his voice softer than before.
“I just don’t get it, Harry. Why didn’t you tell us? We’re your friends, mate. You could have told us what was going on.”
Harry’s face tightened and he ran a hand through his messy hair. “I wanted to, Ron. But I didn’t want to make it worse. I didn’t want to drag you into this… all this attention, the interviews, the constant eyes on me. I didn’t want you to think I wanted it.”
Hermione recognised the way Ron looked at his best friend, a flicker of the bond they shared.
“I thought you were just.. so bloody excited about the Tournament. I thought you were keeping something from us. I don’t know… I was just angry. And I hated seeing everyone else look at you like you were some kind of hero. It’s not fair, Harry. We’re supposed to be in this together. And you…” he stopped, looking down to the floor. “You left me behind..”
Harry turned to Ron fully. “I never meant to leave you behind.” His voice was thick with emotion “I never wanted to make you feel like that. You are my best friend. You’ve always been there for me, and I… I never wanted to feel like I was choosing this stupid Tournament over you.”
There was a long silence between them. Hermione could see the tension between them start to loosen, just a little. Slowly, Ron rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the fire.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re on your own in this.” Ron muttered. “I just.. I guess I didn’t know how to handle it. I was jealous. And angry. But I’m sorry.”
Harry nodded, swallowing before speaking “I understand. I should have done better, Ron. I should have told you everything but I didn’t. I’m sorry too.” is the       a
There was a long silence between them and all Hermione could do was watch. Surprisingly, Ron made the first move and stretched out his hand.
“You still want to be mates, then?” he asked, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Harry gave a relieved smile and reached to shake Ron’s hand.
“Of course I do” Harry said smiling brightly. “I don’t want anything to come between us, Ron. We’ve been through too much.”
Hermione smiled and hugged them both.
“Finally” she whispered, her heart feeling relieved. It felt amazing to be a trio again. This would be a moment, she hoped she would never forget.

The week before the first task was nerve-wracking for Hermione. She barely slept, her thoughts consumed with worry for Harry, who seemed equally tense and distracted. She wanted to ask if there was anything she could do to help, but each time she tried, the words stuck in her throat. At night, she scolded herself, frustrated for holding back. Harry was her best friend. The day before the task, Hermione could hardly eat. She was startled when Harry approached her in the Great Hall.
“Hermione,” he greeted her with a small, weary smile. “I need your help.”
“Always,” she replied, her own smile brightening as she nodded. They found an empty classroom, and once inside, Hermione looked at him, heart pounding, wondering what he needed.
“I have to master the Summoning Charm,” Harry explained, his voice laced with anxiety. “And I need to do it today- for tomorrow’s task.”
Hermione felt a wave of relief, channelling her nerves into focus. She gave him an encouraging smile and began coaching him through the charm. Hour after hour, they practised, Hermione cheering when he made even the slightest improvement. She corrected his wand movement and reminded him to concentrate, and though he looked exhausted, Harry kept going. As they returned to the Gryffindor Tower well past curfew, Hermione felt a quiet satisfaction. She was able to help Harry in some way in the Triwizard Tournament. Lying in bed that night, she reflected on Harry’s resolve and their friendship, finally drifting off to sleep, her heart a little lighter. The next morning, Hermione was up before dawn, she awoke feeling jittery, the event of the previous day’s practice playing through her mind. Determined to stay calm, she got ready slowly, brushing her hair and straightening her uniform with unusual care, as if these small routines might somehow steady her nerves. She tried reading in the common room but couldn't focus on a single sentence. The minutes ticked by, each one making her more anxious. Unable to sit still longer, she decided to make her way to the grounds. By now, students were gathering around the arena, their excited chatter only adding to her tension. Hermione looked over at the champions’ tent and found herself moving toward it. Taking a deep breath, she slipped through the crowd until she reached the tent flap, where she spotted Harry inside, looking pale but focused as he adjusted his wand.
“Harry,” she whispered, stepping inside quietly. He looked up, relief flashing across his face as he saw her. She closed the distance between them, wrapping him in a tight hug. They stayed like that for a moment, neither of them saying much.
“You’ll do great,” she murmured, and jumped surprised as she heard the sound of a camera click. Hermione pulled away immediately, startled, and saw Rita Skeeter standing in the doorway of the tent, her Quick-Quotes Quill already scratching away furiously across her notepad.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Granger,” Rita said with a smirk, her Quick-Quotes Quill already scratching across her notepad. “Here to offer some last-minute support to dear Mr. Potter?”
Hermione didn’t know what to say. Viktor Krum appeared from the side and walked straight up to Rita.
“Leave.” He said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared down at her. “The champions do not need you disturbing them. This is for the champions and friends.”
Rita’s eyes sparkled with mischief, but she backed off, her quill momentarily still.
“Oh, Viktor, dear.” She cooed with a mock pout “Just here for a little encouragement, are we?”
Krum’s expression hardened. “Go.” He repeated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. Rita finally huffed and turned on her heel, casting Hermione and Krum one last smirk before striding off.
“Thank you, Krum.” Hermione said sincerely, her gratitude evident in her eyes. Just as she was about to reassure Harry that he had nothing to worry about, the tent flap opened, and Dumbledore entered. The atmosphere shifted as they prepared to reveal the task that lay ahead for the champions.
“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said gently, though his tone carried a hint of curiosity. “The stands are the designated spot for spectators. Would you mind…?”
“I… I just wanted to wish Harry good luck.” Hermione stammered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She glanced at Harry, wishing she could convey all her confidence in him with just a look. “Good luck, Harry.”
Harry’s smile was small, but there was a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. As she hurried past Dumbledore, she caught a glimpse of him watching her, his expression filled with mixed emotions- thankfulness, apprehension, but mostly, a quiet determination. Her heart raced as she stepped outside into the bright sunlight. The stands were packed with spectators, the air thick with anticipation. As she made her way toward the stands, she could hear the roar of the crowd as the first dragon emerged. Hermione swallowed, her stomach tight with nerves for Harry. She found a spot with a clear view of the arena and sat down, her hands tightly clutching the edge of the bench. The first competitor, Cedric Diggory, was already facing off against his dragon. Hermione’s gaze followed every moment, every flick of the dragon’s tail, every spark of fire. She held her breath as Cedric darted and dodged. She could feel the tension in her chest growing, her heart racing as she imagined what it must be like for him in that moment. And then it was Fleur’s turn. The French champion was graceful as ever, but the dragon was fierce. Fleur’s charm didn’t seem to faze the beast, and Hermione’s fingers dug into the wood of the bench as she watched, praying that she’d make it through safely. When the dragon finally stumbled, defeated, Hermione let out a small sigh of relief.

But then came Viktor. Krum looked calm and collected as he moved to face his dragon. The crowd’s attention shifted in an instant, and a hushed anticipation settled over the stands. She could feel the tension in the air, as everyone waited to see how Krum would handle the task ahead. He didn’t hesitate and his eyes were fixed on his dragon. The Chinese Fireball, with shimmering red scaled and eyes that blazed with fury, was fierce. Krum didn’t appear fazed by the dragon’s size or aggression. It was as though he had already entered a trance-like state, focused entirely on what he had to do. Hermione couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nervousness for him. The task was far from easy. Hermione could see the strain on Viktor’s face, the way he gritted his teeth as he evaded yet another blast of flame. The dragon’s wings beat furiously, sending gusts of wind that threatened to knock him off course, but Viktor didn’t flinch. Viktor raised his wand and with a sharp flick, he cast a spell. A stream of blue light shot out of his wand and hit the dragon in the eye. The creature bellowed in agony, trashing around in pain. Viktor seized the moment and darted forward, managing to grab the golden egg nestled between the dragon’s claws. Though the applause was thunderous, Viktor didn’t smile. His gaze met Hermione’s for a brief moment, and she offered him a small smile of encouragement. Despite everything that had happened, he had faced the challenge head-on and handled it with grace. He gave her a slight nod, acknowledging her support.

Hermione looked at the champion’s entrance anxiously. The other three candidates managed to get their eggs, but now she was all worried about Harry. The stands seemed to fall into a heavy silence as Harry stepped forward, the Hungarian Horntail’s sharp eyes tracking him. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat as she watched Harry walk towards the egg. The Horntail almost hit him with her tail. Hermione hoped her mind could reach Harry. She kept repeating the wandmovement and whispered accio until Harry finally summoned his broom. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat as she watched Harry mount his broomstick. The dragon roared, flames bursting from its nostrils, and Harry took off in a blur of motion, soaring in the sky. The heat of the dragon’s fire could be felt even from where Hermione as sitting. She could see Harry dodging the fire, swerving and weaving through the air with agility, his movements precise. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as the dragon lunged, its massive tail whipping through the air, and Harry had to dive sharply to avoid it. Every flick of its tail, every burst of fire, made Hermione’s heart race. Her fingers gripped the edge of the bench so tightly that her knuckles turned white. It was too much. It was terrifying to watch. And then, with a daring dive, Harry swooped down and snatched the golden egg from the dragon’s nest. He pulled up just in time to avoid being hit by the dragon’s flame, and the crowd erupted into cheers. But Hermione didn’t hear any of it. She was too busy watching Harry, her heart pounding in her chest. He had done it. He had faced the Hungarian Horntail. The cheers from the crowd broke through her thoughts, but all she could focus on was Harry’s determined face as he landed safely, the golden egg in his hand. The weight in her chest seemed to lift, a huge wave of relief washed over her. She could breathe again. Hermione still felt a bit of anxiety, as this was only the first task and there were more to come. She couldn’t let herself forget that. But for now, all that mattered was that Harry had made it through, and he had done it brilliantly.

Chapter Text

The morning after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament dawned cold and grey, with a chill creeping through the Hogwarts halls that had nothing to do with the weather. Hermione Granger had hardly slept, her mind whirling with thoughts of the task, the danger, and the tension that had filled the air. But now, as she slowly awoke, she felt a different, sharper sense of unease. She had been up early, as usual, taking a quiet moment to herself in the Gryffindor common room before the bustle of the day began. But when she sat down, she noticed a copy of the Daily Prophet, and immediately saw a headline that made her blood run cold:
“HARRY POTTER UNITES WITH HERMIONE GRANGER BEFORE THE FIRST TASK: A DISPLAY OF AFFECTION OR SOMETHING MORE?”
There, in bold print, was a photograph of her, standing with Harry before the task had even started. The two of them were in the Champion’s tent where Hermione gave Harry a tight hug, hoping to give Harry some comfort. But the Daily Prophet had captured it just as they pulled apart, and the framing made it look intimate, too close, as though they were more than just friends. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as she scanned the article. The picture, in which she had offered Harry a brief, comforting hug was now twisted into something that felt far more personal than it ever was. To the outside world, it might look like something between lovers, a moment shared in secrecy. Her hands trembled as she set the paper down. She hadn’t meant for it to be anything like that. She had simply been there for Harry, trying to help him calm down, trying to ease his nerves. And now the entire wizarding world would read into that innocent gesture, adding meaning and rumours where there were none. But even worse than the article itself was the realisation of what this would mean for her. The Malfoys would be watching, waiting. Her thoughts have turned to them, a sinking feeling washed over her. She didn’t want to think about what kind of consequences this picture might have.
“Miss Granger.” The voice cut through her anxious thoughts. Hermione looked up and saw Professor McGonagall standing at the entrance of the common room, her face as unreadable as always. She gestured for Hermione to come with her.
“Professor?” Hermione asked, standing up and gathering her things.
“You are needed,” McGonagall said curtly. “Madam Malfoy would like to speak with you.”
Hermione’s stomach dropped. Madame Malfoy. Narcissa. She followed Professor McGonagall through the hallways, her heart racing. She knew what this was about. It had to be the Daily Prophet article. The photograph. Her hug with Harry now splashed across the front page, would surely draw the attention of the Malfoys, who held family reputation above all else. when they reached the door, McGonagall knocked twice before opening it. Inside, Narcissa Malfoy stood by a window, her posture perfect, eyes sharp as she turned to face the door. She was composed as ever, though there was something cold in her gaze as she looked at Hermione.
“Thank you, Professor,” Narcissa said, her voice calm but distant. McGonagall nodded and left, closing the door quietly behind her.
“Sit, Hermione,” Narcissa commanded. Hermione’s legs felt weak as she sat down in one of the plush chairs, but tried to appear composed. Narcissa’s gaze remained steady, her pale blue eyes never leaving Hermione’s face.
“I trust you know why I’ve called you here,” Narcissa said, her tone laced with an edge of controlled disappointment. Hermione nodded, feeling her throat tighten. “I saw the picture in the prophet” she barely whispered. “I never meant for it to look like that. It was just before the task. Harry was nervous, and I was trying to comfort him. It wasn’t anything-“
“-Anything more, yes, I know.” Narcissa interrupted, her voice cutting through Hermione’s explanation like ice. “But that is not how the public will perceive it. The world sees what they want to see, not the reality. A hug, an intimate moment, a friendly gesture- it doesn’t matter. What matters is what they choose to believe.”
Hermione opened her mouth to defend herself, but Narcissa held up a hand, silencing her. “The Daily Prophet has chosen to spin this into something far more than what it is. And now, because of this, you are being seen with Harry Potter in a way that is not appropriate for someone of your standing. The Malfoy name does not associate itself with… friendship of that sort.”
Hermione flinched at the way Narcissa said “friendship”, as though even the term was something to be ashamed of in this context. She opened her mouth, but Narcissa continued.
“I have been quite clear with you, Hermione,” she said, her voice now colder. “You are no longer just Hermione Granger. You are Hermione Malfoy. Your actions, your behaviour, reflect on this family. And this photograph is not something that should be seen by anyone, let alone the wizarding public. Do you understand?”
Hermione nodded quickly, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. She hadn’t thought about the consequences of a simple, caring gesture. She hadn’t thought that something so innocent might be misinterpreted so easily. The weight of Narcissa’s words was beginning to feel suffocating.
“I never meant to cause trouble.” Hermione said quietly, her voice strained. “I just… I was trying to help him.”
Narcissa regarded her for a long moment, her icy blue eyes narrowing slightly as though assessing her. Finally, she spoke again, her tone softer but still carrying an unmistakable authority.
“I know you meant no harm.” Narcissa said, her voice almost gentle now. “But you must learn to be more careful. You must learn to control how the world perceives you.”
Hermione swallowed hard. She wasn’t just Hermione Granger anymore. She had to be someone different now, someone who understood the delicate balance of appearances and actions. Narcissa took a small step forward, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor, and Hermione instinctively straightened. Narcissa moved closer, her eyes locking with Hermione’s as if daring her to look away. With one hand, Narcissa gently lifted Hermione’s chin, forcing her to meet her gaze. The touch was light, but there was an underlying command that made it impossible to resist.
“Promise me,” Narcissa said, her voice low and deliberate “That you will not hug your friends again as long as Rita Skeeter and the rest of the press are sniffling around.”
“I promise, mother.” Narcissa held her gaze for a long moment, her sharp eyes searching Hermione’s face for any hint of insincerity. Finally, she nodded, stepping back with a quiet but deliberate movement. Her expression was still cold, but her demeanour seemed to soften.
“Good,” she said. “I will return to the Manor now. You most likely will receive a letter from Lucius, even though I came here personally.”
Hermione’s stomach turned at the thought of Lucius’s letter. She could already imagine the cold, unforgiving words -each one a reminder of her failings, each sentence a measure of his disappointment. Her mind raced with the bitter thought that there was nothing she could do to change it. At least, he wouldn’t hit her for this.
“Thank you, mother.” Hermione said quietly. Narcissa’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. Then with a swift, graceful movement, she turned and swept toward the door.

Hermione’s legs felt heavy as she made her way down the grand staircase, her mind still reeling from her conversation with Narcissa. As she descended into the Great Hall, the familiar hustle and bustle of students surrounded her, the noise of chatter and clinking cutlery filling the air. Hermione was deep in thought, thinking of how Narcissa tried to squeeze her into a mold she didn’t fit. She hadn’t realised she had reached the Gryffindor table until she felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder.
“Hermione?” It was Harry, his brow furrowed with concern. “Are you okay? You look… off.”
Hermione gave him a tight smile, trying to push down the anxiety bubbling in her chest.
“I’m fine, Harry. Just.. a long night.”
He looked at her for a long moment, clearly unconvinced, but then nodded and turned his attention back to the table, where Ron was eagerly digging into a pile of bacon. Hermione sat down beside him, but the food in front of her held no appeal. Her appetite had vanished completely. As she absently reached for a piece of toast, her eyes were drawn to a small envelope resting on her plate. It was white with the Malfoy family crest pressed into the wax seal. Her heart skipped a beat, and her hand trembled slightly as she picked it up, recognising the sharp, elegant handwriting scrawled across the front:
For Hermione Granger
She felt a knot form in her stomach. Her fingers traced the wax seal before carefully breaking it. She unfolded the letter, her hands shaking and began to read:

Hermione,

It has come to my attention that your recent actions have caused some unnecessary public scrutiny. The photograph in the Daily Prophet is but a small example of the missteps you have made. You know as well as I that appearances are everything in our world, and the image you presented by hugging Potter in public is far from appropriate.

Your actions, though no doubt well-meaning, have been careless. I trust you understand the importance of the image you present- not just to this family, but to the entire wizarding world.

You are expected to do better, Hermione. I do not need to remind you that your place within the Malfoy family requires discipline, restraint, and careful consideration of every decision you make.

I expect nothing less than full compliance with Narcissa’s instructions. Should you fail to adhere to these standards, I will have no choice but to address the matter further.

You are, after all, a Malfoy.

Lucius Malfoy

Hermione could almost hear his voice as she read the words, his quiet but authoritative tone echoing in her mind. He had made it clear, once again, that nothing less than their standards would be tolerated.
“Hermione?” Harry’s voice broke her thoughts, and she looked up to see him watching her closely. His expression of confusion and concern. She didn’t want him to see this side of her.
“I’m fine”, Hermione lied, her voice trembling slightly. “It’s just.. it’s a letter from Lucius… Regarding our hug.”
Ron, who had been listening intently to the conversation frowned. “From Lucius?” he seemed to choose his words carefully, though it was clear he had his own concerns about the Malfoys. Hermione nodded, still clutching the letter tightly. She didn’t want to go into details, not now. She didn’t want to explain the sharp sting of disappointment that Lucius always delivered with his words, the way he seemed to make her feel smaller and smaller with each passing day. Harry didn’t push her, but he gave her a look but chose not to press further. Hermione let out a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. She folded the letter back up, tucking it into her bag. She couldn’t afford to let anyone see how much it had affected her. She had to hold it together.

Her day was filled with lessons and a lot of laughter, leaving the conversation with Narcissa and the letter from Lucius out of her mind. Later that evening, as Hermione sat in the Great Hall, engrossed in her book, she felt an odd sensation, as though she was being watched. She glanced  and was startled to find Viktor Krum, seated at the Slytherin table among his Durmstrang peers, gazing directly at her. His expression was pensive, his brow furrowed slightly, as if he were trying to solve a complex puzzle. For a fleeting moment, she held his gaze, her cheeks growing warm under his scrutiny. There was an intensity in his dark eyes, a depth that caught her off guard. She found herself wondering what he saw in her, if he was looking at her at all. Hermione’s pulse quickened, and she felt a strange, unfamiliar thrill at being the object of his attention. She quickly looked away, attempting to focus back on her book, but she couldn’t shake the awareness of his gaze, still lingering on her. She stole a quick glance in his direction, only to find him looking away, now focusing on one of his friends as though nothing unusual has happened. Yed, the brief encounter left her feeling strangely flustered, and she couldn’t explain why. She was no stranger to being overlooked at Hogwarts; her studious nature often left her in the background while others took the centre stage. And yet, Viktor Krum, had noticed her.

Chapter Text

The lesson  had almost ended when Harry and Ron started playing with one of Fred and George’s newest joke wands. It squeaked and folded in Harry’s hand before turning into a rubber fish, earning a wave of laughter from Ron. But the amusement died quickly as Professor McGonagall fixed the boys with a sharp glare that silenced even the boldest Gryffindors.
“Potter. Weasley. If you intend to behave like first-years, then perhaps I should reduce your privileges accordingly,” she said coldly “If you wish to make a spectacle of yourself, you may do so outside of my classroom. But if you disrupt my lesson again, you will find yourselves serving detention every evening until the holidays.”
“Yes, Professor.” They mumbled together. Hermione let out a slow breath, lowering her eyes back to her parchment. They would never learn. McGonagall let the silence linger for a moment before she straightened her robes and spoke again, her tone shifting from sharp to formal.
“As you are all aware, the Triwizard Tournament is not only a test of skill and courage, but a celebration of tradition. In honour of this, the Yule Ball will be held on Christmas night.”
A stir of excitement swept through the class. Whispered voices rose at once, students turning eagerly to one another. McGonagall continued, unfazed.
“Dress robes are required. The Ball will begin at eight o’clock in the Great Hall. It is open to fourth-years and above, though younger students may attend if invited by an older partner.”
When the ball rang, chairs scraped against the floor as everyone hurried to gather their things. The room buzzed with excitement. Girls whispering about dresses and who might ask them, boys groaning or bragging in equal measure. Hermione slid her books neatly into her bag, though her mind was elsewhere.
“Potter. A word, please.” McGonagall said as Harry reached the door. Ron groaned “What now?”
Harry gave a helpless shrug before stepping back into the classroom. Ron and Hermione waited I the corridor, pressed against the cold stone wall as students streamed past them. Their chatter echoed through the hallway, the word ‘Ball’ repeated again and again like a spell. When Harry finally emerged, his face was pale, his shoulders tense. He didn’t say a word until the corridor had emptied around them.
“Well?” Ron asked impatiently. “What did she want?”
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding both their eyes. “She says I have to open the Ball. The Champions do. I have to dance first, with a partner … in front of everyone.”
Ron snorted with laughter, clapping Harry on the back. “That’s brilliant! You’ll be the first one out there, everyone watching you-“
Harry’s glare silenced him at once. “It’s not brilliant. I can’t dance, Ron. Not at all. I’ll make a complete fool of myself.”
Hermione studied him quietly, her stomach tightening. She could see the genuine panic in his eyes, the same kind of fear she had seen before the first task of the Tournament. Only this time, it wasn’t dragons, but the weight of hundreds of eyes fixed on him. For a moment, she hesitated. She remembered too vividly her first dance at the Manor: the suffocating corset, Narcissa’s cool command, Draco’s firm hand guiding her steps beneath the floating candles. She hadn’t wanted to learn, not at first, but she had been given no choice. Appearances had to be flawless, and failure was not an option. She understood what Harry was thinking.
“I could teach you.” She said, her voice softer than she intended.
Harry blinked. “You? You know how to dance?”
“Yes.” Hermione said simply “I’ve had lessons… Formal ones. If you practice with me, you’ll be ready.”
Harry’s expression shifted, relief flickering across his features. “Would you?”
Hermione nodded and Harry smiled. “Thank you, Mione”.
Ron muttered something under his beath about torture, but Hermione ignored him. She gave Harry a small, reassuring nod. “Meet me after dinner in the old music classroom. It will be quiet there. We’ll start with the basics.”
As they walked toward the Great Hall together, Hermione felt the weight of her decision settle over her. It was only a dance lesson, nothing more. But already she could hear Narcissa’s voice in her mind, cool and commanding: Appearances are everything. You are a Malfoy now. Do not forget it.
Hermione pressed her lips together, pushing the thought aside. She would help Harry because he needed her. And she would do it carefully, quietly, making sure no one could twist the truth of it.  

The music classroom was empty and silent, the air faintly scented with dust and old parchment. Rows of instruments lined the walls, their wood dulled with age, strings broken, keys stiff with disuse. Hermione lit a few lamps with her wand, their glow chasing away the shadows until the room felt warmer, safer, though still far too quiet. Harry stood awkwardly near the centre, shifting his weight from foot to foot, as though he were already preparing to trip over himself.
“All right” Hermione said gently, setting her bag down. “We’ll keep it simple. A waltz is the opening dance. Just three steps, repeated. Nothing complicated.”
Harry gave her a look of pure doubt. “Three steps that I’ll get wrong every single time.”
Hermione ignored the protest. She moved closer, lifting his hand and placing it firmly on her right. Then she guided his other hand, resting it slightly at her waist. The gesture felt familiar in a way that made her stomach twist. For a moment, the room dissolved into another place entirely: the echo of shoes on marble floors, the tightening of a corset, the weight of Draco’s hand pressed firmly against her back. She forced the memory away, grounding herself in the here and now. The smell of dust, the uneven floor, Harry’s nervous hand trembling just slightly against her waist.
“Stand straighter” she instructed softly, adjusting his arm until his frame resembled something closer to proper. “Good. Now follow my lead. It’s one-two-three. Forward, side, together.”
Harry concentrated so hard that his brows knitted together. He stepped too far on the first count and stumbled into her foot on the second.
“Sorry!” he hissed, pulling back at once.
“It’s fine” Hermione said quickly, hiding her wince. “Again. You’ll get it.”
They tried once more. And then again. Each time Harry seemed more determined, though no less clumsy. He looked down constantly, his focus fixed on his shoes rather than the rhythm.
“Don’t look at your feet” Hermione said firmly “They know where they are. Look past my shoulder.”
He did, though the expression on his face as so strained that Hermione almost laughed. Almost. She began to count softly, her voice steady and rhythmic. “One, two, three.. one, two, three…” Slowly, the movement began to smooth out. His steps were still heavy, but no longer crashed into her toes with every pass.
“You see?” she said after a few turns. “You’re getting it.”
“I feel like I’m walking on ice.” Harry muttered, though there was a faint spark of relief in his eyes. Hermione allowed herself a small smile. “Better than falling on ice.”
They moved together for several more minutes, the silence broke only by her counting and the shuffle of their steps. After a while, Hermione flicked her wand, and the faint sound of music filled the air. A slow, graceful waltz that echoed softly against the walls. The melody wrapped around them, pulling her deeper into memory: Draco’s voice whispering at her side, his grip firm, his precision flawless. She remembered the way he guided her effortlessly, the way the dance had been more performance than choice. Now, here with Harry, everything felt different. His steps were unsure, his movements too rigid, but there was no cold demand, no weight of expectation. Only effort. Only trust. They danced until Harry stumbled back, out of breath and red-faced. “That was awful.”
“It wasn’t.” Hermione said quietly, releasing his hand. “It was progress. And you’ll improve more tomorrow.”
Harry gave her a grateful look, though his ears were still pink. “Thank you, Hermione. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Hermione’s heart gave a painful twist at the words. She looked down quickly, fussing with the sleeve of her robe. “It’s nothing. We’ll keep practising until you’re ready.”
Together, they headed back to the Gryffindor Common Room, where they sat down to do their homework.

The days slipped by in a blur of lessons, homework, and stolen evenings in the old music classroom. Hermione found herself surprised at how quickly the week had gone, though each night left her with the same mixture of weariness and unease.
Harry kept his word, meeting her faithfully after dinner, even when his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. Their second lesson went no smoother than the first. He stumbled over her feet, muttered apologies through clenched teeth, and grew redder each time she corrected him. Yet, beneath the awkwardness, there was something steady in his determination. He never gave up, even when his frustration made him run a hand through his hair until it stuck up worse than usual.
“Relax your shoulders.” Hermione murmured during one turn, her voice soft enough to be lost beneath the faint strains of enchanted music. “If you’re stiff, your steps will be stiff.”
“I can’t help it.” Harry muttered back, though he tried, forcing his movements into something smoother. Hermione hid her smile. By the end of the week, he was no longer tripping over her toes every other step. It was small progress, but progress all the same. Outside of their lessons, life at Hogwarts pressed on. Classes filled her days, essays stole her evenings, and sometimes she almost forgot about the Ball entirely. But then, one morning, as she entered the Great Hall for breakfast, Hermione stopped short. The ceiling glittered with enchanted snowflakes that drifted lazily down before vanishing into thin air. Frost sparkled along the walls, and thick garlands of holly and ivy wound themselves around the doorways. The long tables had been polished until they gleamed, and golden baubles twinkled on towering Christmas trees that reached towards the star-strewn ceiling. Hermione blinked, momentarily disorientated. Somehow, in the rush of lessons and late evenings, the castle had transformed around her. And with it came the realisation that she had not prepared her Christmas gifts. A flutter of unease stirred in her chest as she sat down at the Gryffindor table, her eyes still following the glimmer of the decorations. She could not leave it too late. Gifts had to be chosen with care, and soon. That evening, she carried her books not to the common room but to the library, determined to settle her thoughts before time slipped away from her again. She tucked herself into a quiet corner of the library, quill poised over her parchment as she tried to set her thoughts in order. The fire crackled softly in the distance, and the hush of the room wrapped around her like a cloak. Harry’s name was the first she wrote. That was easy. Quidditch still lit something inside him, even when the world pressed down on his shoulders. She ordered for him a richly illustrated volume of European Quidditch teams, something to remind him of joy beyond the Tournament. She smiled faintly, imagining him bent over its pages, excitement overtaking worry, if only for a while.
Ron’s name followed, though she hesitated longer this time. He carried so many insecurities, and never she never wanted her gift to feel like pity. After much thought, she settled on a large assortment from Honeydukes. Simple, warm, and certain to make him smile. Chocolate frogs, fizzing whizbees, peppermint toads. Nothing too fine, nothing that would set him apart. Just comfort.
Then Draco. She sat back in her chair, staring at his name for a long moment. She remembered him hunched over his Arithmancy notes, his quill moving in careful, deliberate strokes. A finely bound journal seemed right. Black leather with silver-etched edges, clean parchment for his calculations.
Narcissa’s name was next. Hermione’s stomach knotted as she considered the sharpness of that cool, perfect gaze. Nothing frivolous, nothing too bold. A silver bookmark, she decided at last. Elegant enough to please, modest enough not to overstep.
And finally… Lucius. The quill lingered over his name for a long time before Hermione dared to write anything. He was the hardest of all. To send nothing would be unacceptable. To send something too personal, unthinkable. Her mind circled in thought, and she felt a headache coming. Finally, she decided on a silver quill. It is fine, elegant, heavy in the hand, the kind of instrument that would not be out of place upon his desk. It was useful, respectful, and a symbol of precision and control.
She set her quill down at last, her list complete. The parchment felt heavier than it should have, every name a reminder of the strange balance she lived in: half friendship, half obligation. Tomorrow, she would send her owls. For now, though, she leaned back in her chair, her eyes drawn to the frost gathering at the corners of the window. She was so caught in her thoughts that she didn’t notice him at first. It was only when the sound of footsteps broke the silence that Hermione glanced up, startled to find Viktor Krum standing a few paces away. He looked far more imposing here, framed by the tall shelves and the shifting shadows of the library, than he ever did on the Quidditch pitch. His dark eyes lingered on her, unreadable, and for a moment he didn’t speak. Hermione’s heart quickened. He had been watching her, she realised suddenly. Perhaps for longer than she knew.
“Viktor,” she managed, her voice soft but steady. “Did you need something?”
He shifted, his broad frame awkward in the narrow space between the tables. “I… vanted to ask you.” His accent curled around the words, low and hesitant, as if he had been rehearsing them for some time. Hermione blinked, uncertain. “Ask me what?”
His gaze flickered to the parchment before her, then back to her face. “The Yule Ball. I vould like.. to take you.”
The words hung in the air, impossibly heavy. Hermione stared at him, her breath caught somewhere in her throat. Out of all the girls in the castle. The pretty, confident ones who trailed after him in giggling groups, why her? Why quiet, bookish Hermione, hunched in the corner with ink-stained fingers and parchment scattered around her?
“I-“ she faltered, shaking her head slightly as if to clear it. “Me? Are you certain? There are.. There are so many others who would-“
“Not others.” Viktor said firmly, “You.”
Her face burned. She tried to look away, back down at the parchment, but his words clung to her, threading through her disbelief. A part of her wanted to refuse out of sheer instinct, to protect herself from the sting of doubt. But another part whispered that he meant it. That he had been watching her for longer than she realised, seeing something in her that others overlooked. Slowly, she nodded. “Yes. I… I would like that.”
For the first time, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, fleeting but real. He inclined his head slightly, almost formal in his gratitude. “Thank you”
When he turned and walked away, leaving her once more in the hush of the library, Hermione pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart was racing, her mind whirling. She could hardly believe what had just happened.
The Yule Ball. Viktor Krum. And her.

Chapter Text

The days leading up to the Ball blurred into a rhythm of lessons, hushed library corners, and moments Hermione never thought she would have to juggle. Her evenings were no longer just Harry’s determined dancing lessons in the music classroom. Now, there was Viktor too. He found her easily enough after their first conversation in the library. Quiet but steady, he began to linger at her side. He didn’t linger with her in the Great Hall or wait outside classrooms where everyone could see. Instead, their meetings were quiet, deliberate. A shadowed alcove near the library. The old music classroom when no one else was around. Sometimes, they even met in the courtyard just before curfew, where the snow muffled their voices and no footsteps carried. It felt… secret. And perhaps that was why Hermione’s heart raced every time she slipped away to meet him. Practising with Viktor was entirely different from practising with Harry. With Harry, she laughed, teased, guided, and reassured. With Viktor, she had to remind herself to breathe. He was steady, his hand firm at her waist, his lead confident. When he counted under his breath, his low accent curled around the rhythm. Hermione found herself following without thought. But they never spoke about keeping it hidden. It was unspoken, like a pact between them. Meanwhile, Harry had flourished. Each evening in the music classroom, his steps grew lighter, his movement more fluid. Hermione watched with pride as he mastered figures he once thought impossible. His grin, when he spun her without stumbling, made her cheeks ache from smiling back. Those moments with Harry felt simple and golden: friendship distilled into shared laughter and trust. But simplicity shattered the evening she found Draco waiting at the turn of a corridor. He stepped out of the shadows, his expression sharp, eyes flickering over her like he was cataloguing secrets. Hermione froze mid-step, her hand tightening on the strap of her bag. “What do you want?” she asked carefully, though her voice betrayed the quickened beat of her pulse. Draco didn’t answer. He simply studied her, his gaze cool and unblinking, as if every inch of her told him something he had already suspected. After a moment, he turned, his robes whispering against the stone floor.
“Come with me.” He said quietly.
“I don’t have time for this-“
His head turned just enough for his eyes to catch hers. A look. Sharp. Final. “Now, Hermione.”
Reluctantly, she followed. He led her down a narrow stairwell and into a room long forgotten. Dust floated in the lamplight, and the air was still, heavy with the faint smell of ink and parchment. The door shut with a quiet thud behind them, sealing the silence. Draco leaned against a desk, arms folded across his chest, watching her. He didn’t speak at once. He just let the quiet stretch until Hermione shifted uneasily, hugging her bag a little closer. Finally, his voice broke the silence, “You’ve changed.”
Hermione lifted her chin. “If you dragged me here to tell me I’m spending too much time in the library-“
“This isn’t about books.” He cut in smoothly, his eyes narrowing. “You’re distracted. Slipping off when no one’s watching. Coming back looking… different.” His gaze settled over her, too sharp, too knowing. “You’re hiding something.”
Her throat tightened. “If you’re imagining things, that isn’t my problem.”
“Imagining?” A faint, humourless smile tugged at his mouth “I don’t imagine, Hermione. I notice.”
He pushed off the desk, closing the space between them until the shadows pooled around his shoulders. Draco’s gaze flicked downward, catching on the chain at her throat. The silver glinted faintly in the lamplight, the silver necklace with the green pendant engraved with a delicate “M” resting just above her collarbone. His eyes lingered there, and when they rose back to hers, they were sharper, hungrier, edged with something that made Hermione’s breath hitch. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out. His fingers brushed against the charm, the lightest touch, but it sent a shiver skittering down her spine. He toyed with the pendant for a moment, the pad of his thumb pressing against the engraved letter as though to remind her of what it stood for.
“You wear it.” He murmured, his voice low and certain. Not a question but a statement. Hermione swallowed, heat creeping into her cheeks despite herself. “It’s just a necklace,” she whispered, though the words sounded weak even to her own ears. Draco’s mouth curved faintly, though it wasn’t a smile. “No. It’s not.” His fingers tightened just slightly on the chain before letting it back against her skin. The small movement felt louder than anything he could have shouted. For a heartbeat, the space between them seemed to thrum with unspoken things: ownership, defiance, the ache of something unnameable. Then Draco leaned in, close enough that Hermione could feel the warmth of his breath against her ear. “The Ball is coming,” he said softly “And I expect you’ll be on my arm, where you belong.”
Her breath caught. But instead of swallowing the words like she usually did, Hermione forced herself to speak. Her voice was low and steady, but she felt it tremble inside her chest. “I’ve already said yes to someone else.”
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Draco froze, his fingers curling slowly into a fist at his side. For a moment, his expression didn’t change, but the stillness of him was worse than any outburst. His jaw ticked, and when his eyes met hers again, they were colder.  “Who?” one word. Quiet. Deadly. Hermione swallowed hard. “That’s not your concern.”
His laugh was short, humourless. “Not my concern?” he stepped closer, and she instinctively backed into the edge of the desk. He didn’t touch her this time, but the space between them shrank to nothing. “Everything about you is my concern, Hermione. Especially when you start making… mistakes.”
“It’s not a mistake!” she shouted, though her voice shook now. “I had the right to choose-“
Draco’s eyes flashed. “You don’t choose. Not with this.” His hands shot out suddenly, not grabbing her but bracing against the desk beside her hip, caging her in. His voice was lower, sharper, the calm crackling. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What it looks like? You think you can parade yourself around with someone else, when you’re already-“ he cut himself off, biting back the word. Hermione stared at him, her chest rising and falling too fast. His gaze burned into hers. Possessive. Unyielding. For a moment, he looked like he might finish his sentence, but then his mouth snapped shut. He dragged a breath through his teeth, stepping back sharply, as if distance alone would stop him from shattering. When he spoke again, his voice was tight, cold, but trembling underneath. “Enjoy your little date. Because it’s the last time you’ll make a choice without me.”
The words hung in the dusty air like a curse. Draco’s eyes lingered on her one last time. Then he turned, his robes snapping behind him as he stormed from the room. The door slammed shut, leaving Hermione pressed against the desk, heart hammering and the necklace burning hot against her skin. The moment Draco left the room, it felt empty. Yet, the air seemed thick with the memory of him. The brush of his fingers against the necklace, the sharp certainty in his gaze, the quiet, dangerous promise lingering in his words. She lowered herself onto the edge of the desk, hugging her bag to her chest. Her thoughts spun in circles, revisiting the past few days: the stolen evenings in the music classroom, Harry’s steady progress with the waltz, Viktor’s quiet patience, and … Draco. The way he had looked at her, the way the shadows had pooled around his shoulders, the dangerous calm in his voice… it twisted her stomach with something she couldn’t quite name.  Eventually, exhaustion crept in, dragging her down despite the storm of thoughts. She headed back to the Gryffindor tower, climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She stared at the ceiling as memories and half-formed feelings tumbled through her mind. Her thoughts twisted and turned. She turned into her side, pulling the pillow closer, willing the image to fade, but they clung stubbornly. Finally, as the castle settled into its deep nighttime hush, Hermione’s eyelids grew impossibly heavy. The last thing she saw before sleep claimed her was Draco’s sharp gaze, fixed on her with a promise she couldn’t escape. And then, finally, she drifted into dreams, tangled between what she wanted, what she feared, and what was already inevitable.

Morning light fell through the tall windows, but Hermione didn’t stir immediately. Her mind was still tangled with the memories of Draco. She forced herself to sit up, her fingers twisting the pendant nervously. She sighed deeply and went to the Great Hall for breakfast. Hermione had barely finished breakfast when an owl slid silently through the open window, dropping a neatly folded note at her feet before disappearing again. Her fingers trembled slightly as she untied the ribbon and unfolded the letter.

Miss Granger,

You are to report immediately to the Potions classroom. Enter alone.

S. Snape

Alone. The word made her stomach twist. The Potions classroom was always intimidating, but combined with Snape’s summons, the shadows seemed thicker, the torches flickering with a colder light. The dungeon's corridor felt endless. Each footstep echoed harshly against the stone walls, and the shadows seemed to twist and reach for her. When she finally reached the classroom, the door stood ajar. She paused, taking a deep breath, before pushing it open. The room was dim, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows. And then she realised, she wasn’t alone. Lucius Malfoys sat at the far desk, his pale, sharp features even more severe in the low light. Narcissa leaned slightly in the shadows nearby, poised, yet watchful. And Draco.. Draco stood at the edge of the room, leaning against the shelves, his eyes immediately locking on hers, smouldering with an intensity that made her stomach knot. Hermione stumbled slightly. “I- I wasn’t expecting..”
Lucius rose slowly from Snape’s desk. Each step he took toward her made Hermione’s chest tighten.
“Hermione,” Lucius began, his voice smooth but edged with menace. “Do you have any idea how.. disrespectful it is to make choices without consulting those who.. guide you? Choices that concern matter far beyond your understanding?”
Hermione shrank back instinctively, wishing the floor would swallow her. His gaze drilled into her, each word carrying the weight of a man who had no patience for defiance. She swallowed hard, unable to answer. Lucius stepped closer. “You presume.. freedoms.. that are not yours to claim. And for that, there must be a consequence.” Hermione’s heart hammered, her body trembled as he drew nearer. Every instinct screamed to flee, yet she stood frozen. Lucius stopped only a step away, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across his sharp features. His hand lifted slowly, deliberately, just enough to cast a shadow across Hermione’s cheek. The motion was controlled, but it made her stomach twist, her pulse hammering. Hermione instinctively pressed her arms to her chest, flinching, her wide eyes locked on his. She felt the weight of his gaze, cold and knowing, as though he could see every secret thought, every weakness.
“You flinch” he said, voice low, almost amused. “Predictable. And yet… still unsatisfactory.”
Her breath caught, and she pressed her arms tighter to herself, searching for comfort. Lucius’ smile was faint, cruel, but there was no true warmth in it. Only the satisfaction of control, of fear elicited. Narcissa stepped closer, her hand lightly brushing her husband’s arm. “Lucius,” she said softly, yet there was steel beneath her calm. “Let her go to the Ball. Just this once. She is young and… clever. She deserves some understanding. You cannot control everything.”
Lucius’ sharp eyes flicked to her. “Understanding? A Ball? And you believe this girl can be trusted with such liberties?”
“She’s intelligent and careful” Narcissa continued, voice unwavering. “Allowing her this one evening will not undo her training. Sometimes, a small allowance teaches responsibility more effectively than punishment ever could.”
Lucius’ jaw tightened. He studied Hermione for a long moment. Then, finally, he straightened, his voice measured but cold. “Very well. She may attend. But mark my words, Hermione, this is your final freedom. Consider it a gift, one you will not receive again. Next summer, all liberties will be rescinded. Every choice you make, every action, will be under my scrutiny. Disobedience... will not be tolerated.”
Before Narcissa could sigh in relief, Draco’s voice rang out, sharp and indignant. “You can’t just let her go, father! She- She’s mine! She shouldn’t be-“
“You will hold your tongue!” Lucius snapped instantly, voice like steel. “Do not presume to speak on matters that do not concern you. You will not question my decisions, nor interfere with them. Is that clear?”
Draco’s jaw tightened, fists clenching at his sides. He opened his mouth to argue, but Lucius’ stare, icy and absolute, cut him off. “Yes, Father.”
Without warning, Lucius’ hand shot up, cupping her face. His thumb brushes lightly along her cheek. The pressure was subtle but commanding. An unspoken assertion of control.. “Look at me” he said. Hermione’s stomach twisted; her eyes instinctively darted away. Hermione’s pulse raced. The warmth of his hand, the pressure on her face, the power in his eyes… Slowly, she forced herself to meet his gaze.
“Cleverness, bravery, intelligence… none of it grants freedom” he continued “You presume liberties that are not yours, Hermione. Every step you take, every choice you make, will now be observed. This,” he said, flicking his wand towards the silver necklace, the M engraved in the green heart-shaped stone at her throat, “will ensure I know where you are at all times”.
The magic sank into it smoothly, silently binding her movements to his watchful eye. Hermione’s fingers went to the charm instinctively, feeling the subtle thrum of enchantment against her pulse. Lucius’ thumb brushed lightly once more across her cheek. “You will obey, and you will remember: cleverness does not excuse disobedience.”
He let his hand drop, stepping back just enough to let her breathe, though the weight of his presence lingered like a shadow over her. Hermione swallowed hard, her fingers still clutching the pendant. Narcissa stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “You must not disappoint us, Hermione.” She said softly, her voice calm but firm. “Choose wisely, behave with care. And do not worry about the dress. I will select it myself and have it sent to you at once. You are to attend with your partner, and that is final.”
Hermione nodded quickly.
“Very well,” Lucius said “You may leave. Remember your place.”
Hermione’s legs felt unsteady as she stepped backwards, clutching the pendant as if it might shield her. She turned towards the door, heart hammering, and hurried into the corridor. No sooner had the door clicked shut than Draco’s voice, low and urgent, reached her from inside the room. She paused, pressing her back against the stone wall, listening.
“.. Mother, I don’t understand. Why would you allow it? Why allow her to attend when-“
Lucius’ gaze flicked to Draco, sharp and calculating. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Part amusement, part indulgence. “Ah, my son,” he said, his voice smooth “I understand your feelings. You care for her… fiercely. That is natural, you are a Malfoy.” He let the words linger, letting Draco feel both the indulgence and the weight of his father’s judgment. Draco’s fist tightened, jaw set, but Lucius raised a single finger, stopping him before another word left his lips. “But this… is not your choice to make. It is mine. You will not question it or interfere. Do you understand?”
“Yes, father.” Draco said reluctantly, voice tight, burning with frustration. Lucius’ eyes softened for the briefest fraction. A subtle nod to the fact that he indulges his son allows him to feel important. But the next moment, his tone snapped back to absolute authority. “Good. You may feel jealousy. You may feel desire. But you will act only when permitted. Until then, you wait. And when the time comes, you will have what is yours. Do you understand this too?”
“Yes, Father.” Draco repeated, the fire in his eyes simmering under Lucius’ gaze. Narcissa stepped forward, placing a calm hand on Draco’s shoulder. “You will have your moment.”
Hermione quickly walked off; she didn’t want to see Draco. She felt happy that she could be with Viktor. Things felt different with him than with Draco.

Chapter Text

The last week before Christmas settled over Hogwarts with the usual mixture of tension and excitement. Snow pressed softly against the castle windows, and the corridors seemed charged with anticipation. Classes went on as usual, and the professors maintained their strict schedules.
Snape’s Potions lessons were sharp and exacting, his dark eyes sweeping over the classroom like a hawk ready to pounce. Every mistake of incorrect measurement of an ingredient earned a pointed look. Or worse, points deducted from the house. Hermione worked methodically, double-checking every calculation and measurement, her quill scratching confidently across parchment.
Moody’s Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons were unpredictable and tense. Magical training dummies lunged, enchanted creatures lurked in corners, and students had to stay alert at every moment. Hermione dodged, parried, and cast spells with her precision, her mind focused and steady.
McGonagall’s Transfiguration classes were no less demanding. Every flick of the wand, every syllable of an incantation, needed to be perfect.
In contrast, Flitwick’s Charms classes were a relief. He encouraged experimentation, levitation games, and small competitions, and the classroom often rang with laughter. Hermione, however, used these moments quietly to perfect her own incantations, practising subtleties that even the teacher didn’t notice.

Despite the busy, structured lessons, Hogwarts had its lighter moments back in the Gryffindor Tower. Harry and Ron sprawled at a corner table, deeply absorbed in an unusual project: building a house of cards. Only, the cards could explode at random, making the game even more difficult and fun for the duo. Hermione, passing y with her notes in her hand, raised an eyebrow. “Harry,” she said, nudging him gently back to reality, “don’t forget you still need to solve the riddle of the egg.”
Harry waved a hand without looking up. “Relax, Moine. I’ve got until February 24^th. Plenty of time.”
Ron’s fingers wobbled on a card, and another slipped from the tower. “Yeah, until it all falls down.” He muttered, scrambling to steady the top. Hermione shook her head, stifling a smile before returning to her studies. Later that afternoon, Hermione retreated to the library, seeking the familiar solace of tall shelves, quiet corners, and the faint, comforting smell of parchment and ink. The sunlight slanted in through the high windows. Most of the students were absorbed in their own work, scribbling notes or flipping through heavy tomes, but the space felt calm. Hermione sank into her usual corner, laying out her parchment, quill and notes with meticulous care, her mind already sorting through the week’s lessons. It was then that she noticed Neville at the end of the aisle. He was fidgeting with the strap of his bag, glancing toward her, then quickly looking away, as though he might change his mind at any moment. His shoulders were tense, his posture awkward in that uniquely Neville way, but there was determination there, faint but unmistakable. Hermione watched quietly as he took a hesitant step forward, then another, until he stopped beside her table.
“H-Hermione…” he began, his voice low, almost swallowed by the rustle of pages and the quiet scratch of quills nearby. He cleared his throat nervously. “I… I was wondering if you might… accompany me to the Ball?”
Hermione blinked, surprised, Neville’s usual shyness was softened today by a hint of courage and hope. His cheeks were flushed, and his hands twisted the strap of his bag so tightly, it looked like he might tear it. She could see he practiced the words in his mind, rehearsing them over and over, yet there was something achingly honest about the way he asked.
“Oh… Neville.” She said softly, meeting his gaze. “That’s very sweet of you, but I’ve already made plans with someone else.” She gave him a gentle, apologetic smile. She could feel the weight of his hope, and he she hated to disappoint him, but she had to be honest. For a heartbeat, Neville froze. His shoulders slumped slightly, the flush in his cheeks deepening, but he nodded with quiet dignity. “I… understand.” He said, his voice steadier now. “I just… thought I should ask. You are always so kind to me.”
Hermione’s expression softened, and she reached out, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm. “I appreciate that, Neville. It really means a lot that you asked. It’s very brave of you.”
He gave her one last tentative smile, that mixture of shyness and pride, before retreating down the aisle, glancing back once more as if to memorise the moment. Hermione watched him go, noting how his steps were slightly more confident than before, despite the clear sting of rejection. Hermione tried to focus back on her notes, but her thoughts returned to Neville. She felt really sorry for him.

The Gryffindor common room had never buzzed so much with whispers and schemes. Talk of the Yul Ball filled every corner. Girls compared dress robes in eager voices, while boys muttered in anxious tones about who to ask. Harry sat slouched in one of the armchairs by the fire, staring at the flames with a frown. Ron paced back and forth, muttering under his breath, ignoring the chessboard that still sat unfinished on the low table.
“Well, who are you asking then?” Ron said suddenly, spinning to face Harry. Harry shrugged, tugging at the sleeve of his jumper. “I don’t know. They always walk in flocks. How can you ask one girl?”
Ron grunted. “There’s got to be someone. We can’t turn up on our own.”
Before Harry could answer, Hermione descended the girls’ staircase, her arms full of books. She looked rather determined, but there was a faint lightness in her step that neither boy failed to notice.
“Hermione,” Harry said quickly, half-teasing “don’t suppose you’d save me the trouble and come with me to the Ball?”
Hermione blinked, startled. Then she gave him a small, apologetic smile and shook her head. “I can’t, Harry. I’m already going with someone.”
Harry looked surprised but not especially hurt; Ron, on the other hand, went rigid.
“What?” he demanded. Hermione hesitated, clutching her books tighter. “I was asked. Some time ago.”
Ron stared at her as though she’d grown another head. “You… You’re not serious. You’ve already got a date?”
“Yes, Ron.” Hermione said crisply, though a flush coloured her cheeks. “And I accepted.”
Ron spluttered, his ears turning red. “But… But who? Who’d you-?” He broke off, glaring at her as though she deliberately betrayed him. Hermione’s eyes flashed. “That’s none of your business.”
Harry raised his brows, glancing between the two of them, but kept silent.
“Not my business?” Ron repeated, his voice rising. “Of course it is my business! We’re friends, and you’re sneaking around-“
“I’m not sneaking!” Hermione snapped, pressing the books tighter against her chest. “I was asked and agreed. And that’s the end of it.”
Ron gave a disbelieving laugh, his face flushed scarlet now. “So, you’re just not going to tell us? You expect us to sit here and-“
“Yes, actually.” Hermione cut across him, her tone sharp as a whip. “Because it’s my choice, Ron. Mine. And I don’t have to explain it to you.”
The common room had fallen quiet around them. A few second-years were whispering behind their hands. Hermione noticed and lifted her chin higher, refusing to let Ron see how much his words had stung. Ron wasn’t satisfied and folded his arm. “Fine. Keep your little secret. But don’t ask me later if you have to go alone!”
Hermione gave him one last glare. “I don’t expect anything from you, Ronald.” She climbed through the portrait and swung the door shut behind her. Hermione stood for a moment in the dim corridor, her breath caught somewhere between anger and hurt. The muffled buzz of the common room pressed faintly against the stone wall, but out here, it was only her and the echo of Ron’s words. Her chest ached, though she straightened her shoulders as if anyone might be watching. ‘I don’t expect anything from you, Ronald’. The words left her lips sharp, but now, repeated in silence, they tasted bitter. Of course she expected things from him: kindness, trust and friendship. Yet, he always managed to get the bad side out of her. She walked slowly down the corridor, the flickering torchlight catching on the polished stone. The memory of Draco’s warning still lingered there, Lucius’ cold eyes and Narcissa’s careful words shadowing her thoughts. And now Ron, of all people, questioning her choice. As if she owed him some explanation, some permission. It wasn’t fair. Hermione pressed her lips together, quickening her pace. She wasn’t ashamed of her decision, nor of who had asked her. Viktor had treated her with respect, quietly, without fanfare, as though she mattered for more than her cleverness. He had sought her company in corners away from prying eyes, and with him, she felt seen in a way that neither Harry, Ron nor Draco had ever managed. And yet… why did Ron’s words cut so deeply? Hermione leaned against the cold wall, closing her eyes. She took a few deep breaths, feeling the cold stone on her back, grounding her back to reality. She would not cry over this. Not over Ron’s foolishness, nor over the weight of Malfoy's eyes. She would go to the library, where books never questioned her choices, and perhaps, surrounded by parchment and ink, she could remind herself of who she was. The library was quiet at that hour, the lamps burning low, the scent of parchment and dust hanging thick in the air. Hermione slipped into her casual corner. Their secret had grown into a rhythm: when she appeared in the library after supper, he was never far behind.
“Hermione?” she turned, already smiling. Viktor was there, his heavy step softened as he approached her table. His dark eyes lit up when she met them, and he set down the book he carried with surprising gentleness.
“You came,” she said, her voice lowering as though it belonged only to this space between them.
“I vould come always,” he replied simply. “Unless you tell me not to.”
She flushed faintly and busied herself with unrolling her parchment. Their time together had become a delicate balance; Sometimes shared silence, sometimes whispered conversations, and once or twice when the library was emptier still, laughter held carefully between the shelves. By the time Madam’s Pince’s stern figure appeared, driving them out with sharp gestures, Hermione felt lighter, as though the ache of Ron’s earlier words had been gently smoothed away. Together, she and Viktor stepped into the corridor. His arm instinctively lifted to take her stack of books. They walked slowly, as though neither wished to reach the staircases too soon. That was when Dumbledore appeared, tall and half-shadowed in the torchlight, his eyes glinting with an unreadable calm. He paused, gaze drifting from Viktor’s quiet presence to Hermione’s flushed face.
“Ah,” he said softly. “Two dancers stepping from the music into silence. Fitting, I think, for this castle.”
Hermione froze, startled that he could know. But before she could speak, Dumbledore’s gaze had shifted upward, following a flicker of movement on the stone wall. “Curious, how the smallest creatures slip in where they are least welcome.” He murmured. “Beatles, for instance. So easy to ignore… until one realises they are listening.”
Viktor looked confused, but Hermione felt a prickle of unease. Dumbledore straightened suddenly, his smile as bright and warm as if nothing strange had passed his lips. “Well then,” Dumbledore continued. “Students shouldn’t be caught wandering past curfew, so I mustn’t detain you. Off to your dormitories.” He nodded once and drifted past them, humming a tune. Hermione and Viktor exchanged a glance, his brow furrowed.
“He always talks so.. like this?” He asked in a low voice.
“Yes.” Hermione answered, though her mind was already turning over his words. Dumbledore’s hints were rarely without weight, and this one lingered like an unfinished riddle.

Chapter Text

Christmas morning dawned crisp and pale, the frost on the windowpanes glittering like shards of glass. Hermione woke early in the girls’ dormitory. Her bed was already piled with parcels, each wrapped so distinctly that she knew at once who had sent them. She reached first for Harry’s. His handwriting, awkward but earnest, stretched across the label. Inside, she found a book and smiled at the worn cover. It was a collection of advanced defensive spells, the kind Harry had clearly chosen with care rather than impulse. Tucked inside the first page was a clumsy but heartfelt note wishing her strength for the year ahead.
Ron’s package was less tidy, the brown paper slightly crumpled as though he had sat on it before sending. Hermione unwrapped it with amused patience to reveal a quill and two sets of ink. Hermione smiled and was thankful for his gift.
Draco’s parcel was wrapped in green velvet ribbon, the paper precise and elegant. Inside lay a silver hair clasp, shaped like a curling vine set with a single pearl. It was beautiful, she thought, and she considered wearing it to the Ball that night.
Narcissa’s box followed, smaller but wrapped with a delicate touch. She opened it to find a length of pale silk, embroidered with tiny silver threads. Hermione pressed it against her cheek; it felt so soft to her skin. Another gift that would suit for the Ball.
Lucius’ package was heavier than the rest. She unwrapped it slowly, almost cautiously, to reveal a leather-bound volume of magical theory- rare, clearly valuable. It’s spine gleaming with gilt lettering. When she glanced around, Parvati and Lavender were still dozing, their own parcels scattered across the blankets. Her attention shifted to a larger package resting beside her bed. She approached it cautiously, heart fluttering, and peeled back the layers. Inside lay a gown of pale silver silk that shimmered faintly, catching the light as if dusted with frost. Tiny, intricate embroidery traced along the hem and boice like curling ivy, threaded in silver that matched the glint in Draco’s hair clasp. The neckline was elegant, modest yet refined, and the sleeves fell in delicate folds that promised grace with every movement. Nestled in the folds of the package, a pair of matching slippers waited, their soft silver leather polished to a shine. A folded note slipped between the layers of the fabric. Hermione unfolded it carefully.

Dearest Hermione,

May you have the most wonderful evening at the Yule Ball. Enjoy every moment.

Narcissa

She pressed the gown to her chest, imagining the warmth of the silk and the delicate shimmer under the ballroom lights. This gift, like Draco’s clasp and Narcissa’s silk, was perfect for the Yule Ball.  Hermione hurried downstairs, excited to see Ron and Harry already waiting for her.
“Merry Christmas!” she smiled. Her friends gave her a tight hug and wished her a Merry Christmas too. The weather was too beautiful to remain inside. The grounds were dazzling beneath their cloak of snow, the lake frozen over, and the trees glittering with frost. After breakfast, Hermione joined Harry and Ron for a walk, the three of them crunching through the white drifts as their breath misted in the cold air. Ron bent to scoop a handful of snow and lobbed it at Harry’s back. Harry spun, laughing and returning the fire. Hermione tried to keep her dignity, but within minutes, both boys had ganged up on her. Soon, snow was flying in every direction, and Hermione’s cheeks glowed pink as she ducked behind a tree, shrieking with laughter.
“Unfair!” she called, brushing flakes from her hair. “Two against one is hardly sporting!”
“That’s what you get for keeping secrets!” Ron teased, but his grin gave away the softness in his words. Hermione retaliated with a surprisingly strong throw, which caught Ron squarely in the face. He sputtered and wiped his nose, while Harry doubled over laughing. The fight ended with all three of them damp and breathless, collapsing into the snow for a brief rest before trudging back towards the castle. As they stepped into the warmth of the entrance hall, Hermione announced, “Well, that’s enough for me. I’ll be off to get ready.”
Ron blinked. “Get ready? Hermione, it’s not until tonight. You don’t need half the day!”
she gave him a long-suffering look. “Actually, I do. There’s hair to manage, and I want a proper bath, and-“
Ron rolled his eyes. “Three hours? Honestly, what are you doing? Brewing potions there?”
Hermione raised her chin. “If you think appearance don’t matter at a ball, Ronald, that explains an awful lot about you.”
Harry smothered a laugh as Ron scowled. Hermione swept past them towards the staircase, leaving damp footprints on the flagstones.
“Three hours.” Ron muttered again. “What could possibly take that long?”
Harry shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out.”

The top of the grand staircase seemed impossibly high, the enchanted ceiling above shimmering with stars as if the night sky had been lowered into the Great Hall. Hermione’s heart thumped in her chest as she stepped forward, her hand brushing lightly against the railing. And then she saw him: Viktor, waiting just a few steps below, tall and composed, his dark eyes trained on her with quiet intensity. Eh inclined his head, the faintest curve of a smile tugging at his lips, and for a heartbeat Hermione felt the world narrow until there was nothing but him, the glittering hall, and the soft rustle of her dress.
“You look… beautiful.” Viktor murmured, heavily in his accent. Hermione felt her cheeks warm at the sound, but she lifted her chin, refusing to let herself falter. Viktor held out his hand, and she placed hers in his, the contact light but steady. Slowly, deliberately, he guided her down the staircase. Each step was measured, his presence firm and reassuring beneath her fingers. The eyes of the hall seemed to follow them with a weight that made her stomach flutter, but Viktor never faltered, never wavered. His gaze was soft, protective, and somehow entirely his, and in it Hermione felt a strange combination of pride and comfort. As they reached the base of the staircase, she caught sight of Ron. He froze where he stood, his mouth slightly open, ears red, and his eyes wide in disbelief. Hermione’s pulse skipped, a pang of guilt and amusement twisting through her. Viktor drew her gently towards the other champions, where she caught sight of Harry. He stood near the orchestra, cheeks flushed, a little awkward in his dress robes. Parvati, standing beside him, leaned in with a whisper, clearly giving him a hint. Hermione’s lips curved into a small, self-conscious smile, her cheeks warming. “Hello, Harry.” She murmured, and he returned the smile. Viktors hand moved to her waist, steadying her as the music began to swell. The opening dance of the champions had begun. Hermione allowed herself a deep breath, letting the rhythm of the orchestra guide her. The hall seemed to shrink to just the space between her and Viktor, the light of the enchanted ceiling casting shimmering patterns over the polished floor. She laughed softly at a small stumble Viktor feigned, her nervousness melting into the thrill of the movement. It wasn’t until she completed the first turn and the music carried them closer to the centre of the hall that she became aware of Draco. He stood near the edges, hands behind his back, immaculate and still, his grey eyes fixed on her with that sharp, calculating intensity. The sight sent a brief shiver through her, a reminder of their complicated bond. She caught herself straightening, her chest tightening slightly, but Viktor’s steady hand and guiding presence kept her moving, keeping her focused on the dance and the moment itself. The whispers and astonished glances of the crowd seemed to swirl around her, but Hermione’s mind settled on the small, subtle interactions: the pride in Harry’s eyes, the warmth of Viktor’s guiding hand, and the quiet intensity of Draco’s watchful stare waiting just at the edge of her awareness. For one night, she allowed herself to be fully immersed in the dance, savouring the elegance, the freedom, and the small, secret thrill of being seen in a way the world rarely allowed. The music swept them across the floor in a flurry of motion, the polished surface reflecting the glow of enchanted chandeliers. Every turn, every spin, made Hermione feel both exhilarated and weightless, as though the world outside the dance had dissolved entirely. She laughed softly when Viktor murmured a soft compliment on her beauty. Many of the students had never seen Hermione like this: radiant, poised, and confident in her movements. Whispers rose and fell like ripples in a pond, and Hermione’s heart swelled with the strange, dizzying thrill of being noticed. For once, not for her books or her cleverness, but for this perfect fleeting moment of grace. Across the floor, Ron’s gaze had fixed on her almost the instant she stepped down the staircase. His jaw tightened, ears red, eyes darting from Hermione to Viktor and back again. There was no subtlety in his reaction; his surprise and frustration were written plainly on his face. Hermione caught sight of him once during a spin, giving him a small, awkward smile. It wasn’t until she twirled near the centre of the hall that Draco’s eyes registered fully in her awareness. He leaned slightly forward, hands clasped behind him, his grey gaze sharp and assessing, studying her with a focus that made her pulse thrum in a different way. Despite the attention of hundreds of pairs of eyes, she felt the weight of his awareness keenly, the reminder of their betrothal pressing lightly at the edges of her mind. Viktor, however, remained a steady presence and she leaned into his guidance, letting the dance and his pride carry her. By the time the music slowed and the first dance ended, Hermione was breathless and flushed, cheeks warm from exertion and excitement. She allowed Viktor to lead her toward a quieter corner to catch her breath, their hands lingering together a moment longer than necessary. His dark eyes held hers, full of unspoken admiration, and for the briefest instant, the world felt suspended in that delicate balance of joy and quiet attention. As the dancers began to disperse, the smell of roast meats and sweet treats drifted through the hall, drawing Hermione’s gaze toward the long tables where the Yule Ball feast awaited. Students settled into their seats with laughter and chatter, candles flickering along the tables and enchanted ice sculptures glinting in the candlelight. Hermione followed Viktor, weaving between clusters of students, feeling the warmth of his hand still brushing hers occasionally as they reached a table near the centre. Hermione sampled each dish thoughtfully, savouring the flavours while keeping one eye on the floor. Harry sat nearby, still flushed from dancing, offering a sheepish grin when their eyes met. Draco, meanwhile, remained at a distance, his gaze unwavering, quietly observing her movements with that same calculated intensity. Hermione could feel the tension of the hall, but for this time, it seemed manageable. Hermione and Viktor settled at the table of the Champions. Plates piled high with roasted meats, candied vegetables, and spiced pastries were set before them, but Hermione found herself more interested in the conversation than the feast. Hermione picked at her roast absentmindedly, curiosity finally winning over her nerves.
“So… What is Durmstrang like?” she asked softly, glancing at Viktor. He leaned back slightly, the flicker of candlelight catching his dark eyes. “It’s…” he began, his accent strong “.. a school set in the north, high in the mountains. Cold with snow covering the grounds for much of the year. Pine forests surround the castle, their scent sharp in the air. The halls are long, dimly lit, lined with stone, echoing with the sounds of students’ footsteps and spells. It is… different from Hogwarts, quieter in some ways, harsher in others, but…” he paused, a faint smile tugging at his lips “it is beautiful in its own manner.”
A sharp voice interrupted him before he could continue. The Durmstrang Headmaster had leaned closer, his expression stern but not unkind. “Viktor,” he said quietly, “do not give her too many details. She is clever… clever enough to learn more than you intend. Even subtle hints can unravel what must remain secret.”
Viktor’s hand tightened around his fork, and he inclined his head respectfully “Yes, Headmaster. Don’t worry.”
Hermione’s eyes widened slightly at the warning, curiosity mingling with amusement. She didn’t press, sensing the gravity behind the caution. Viktor’s expression softened as he glanced at her, and she felt the quiet pride in his eyes, the delicate balance of sharing a moment without giving everything away. When the plates were cleaned and the next dance began, Viktor extended his hand. Hermione took it, laughter bubbling softly from her as he guided her back onto the floor. The Great Hall, glittering with enchanted lights, seemed to fade into the background as they moved together. The orchestra resumed after the feast, and Hermione allowed herself to be led back onto the floor by Viktor. This time, the music carried a lighter, more playful air, and the polished hall seemed to shimmer around them with a softer glow. Hermione laughed softly as Viktor twirled her into a smooth spin, his dark eyes catching hers with that quiet, intense pride that always made her heart flutter. The initial awe of being seen by the entire hall had faded, replaced by a warm focus on the dance itself. Each step was precise yet effortless, their movement syncing naturally. Viktor whispered a small tease under his breath in his accent, and Hermione stifled a giggle, the sound a rare, bright spark in the glittering hall. She noticed him watching her reactions as much as the dance, and it gave her a heady sense of delight. Ron sat at the edge of the hall, clearly unable to hide his frustration. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, scowling. Harry sat beside him and gave an awkward, nervous smile. Hermione caught the gesture and offered a small, reassuring nod, feeling both amused and guilty at Ron’s obvious tension, though she refused to let it intrude on her enjoyment. As the music tapered off, Viktor guided Hermione toward a quiet corner near one of the tables, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You dance wonderfully” he murmured, a compliment that made her chest warm. Hermione smiled, cheeks tinged with a soft blush. “Thank you… you make it easy” she replied, her voice light but sincere. At that moment, Harry and Ron approached, moving carefully through the clusters of students. Harry’s grin was awkward but earnest. “Hermione, you look – uh, amazing.” He said voice rising slightly as he glanced between her and Viktor. Hermione returned a small, polite smile. “Thank you, Harry. I’m glad you’re enjoying the evening.” She said, keeping her tone warm but neutral. Ron, however, did not hide his reaction. He stepped a few steps away, jaw tight, arm crossed. “Yeah… amazing.” He muttered, his words dripping with reluctant admiration. His eyes flicked from Hermione to Viktor repeatedly, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Hermione caught his gaze for a brief moment and offered a small, teasing smile, though it was tempered with gentleness, as if to say she appreciated him but was perfectly content where she was. Harry, sensing the tension, cleared his throat and waved a hand toward the dance floor. “Well… maybe we should let you rest before the next dance,” he said, attempting to steer the conversation toward safer ground. Hermione nodded, grateful for the intervention, and cast one last glance at Ron. With a small laugh and a subtle squeeze of Viktor’s hand, she allowed herself to be led back toward the floor. The glittering hall, the gleam of candlelight, and the whispers of admiration melted into a perfect, ephemeral world where she could dance, laugh, and savour the thrill of the Yule Ball without the weight of expectations pressing too hard. As the evening wore on, the music shifted to slower, more intimate pieces. The crowd thinned slightly, leaving the dance floor dotted with pairs moving in gentle, measured steps. Viktor extended his hand once more, and Hermione allowed herself to be drawn into his arms, the warmth of his hand steady at her waist. Each step flowed naturally, a quiet harmony that made the world beyond the floor fade away. She laughed softly when Viktor whispered a teasing remark under his breath, the words curling around her in his accent. His eyes caught hers, dark and steady, and Hermione felt a thrill in the intimacy of the moment, the way he seemed entirely present with her, aware of every subtle shift in her movements. Her chest warmed, her heart lifted by the simple joy of dancing together, unhurried, unobserved except by those who could not look away. From across the hall, Draco’s gaze followed her like a shadow. His jaw was tight as he watched Hermione spin gracefully with Viktor. There was frustration in the set of his shoulders, something probably only she noticed. As the final notes of the night swelled and faded, Viktor dipped her in a smooth, practised motion, lifting her with a gentle flourish that drew a murmur of admiration from those nearby. With the last echoes of the music fading, Hermione allowed herself a deep, contented breath. The Yule Ball has been a swirl of lights, laughter, and enchantment. A memory she would carry long after the candles burned low. Viktor led Hermione toward the exit, is hand steady at her waist. The warmth of the evening lingered between them, the glow of candles and enchanted lights reflecting in their eyes.
“I had a wonderful evening.” Viktor whispered at her hand and gave it a soft, gentle kiss. “Thank you for spending this moment with me”
“Thank you, Viktor” Hermione blushed “I’m glad we got to do this together.”
He gave a small nod, his dark eyes holding hers for a moment longer than necessary. “I’m glad too.” He said, voice edged with something tender but restrained. “You… you deserve to enjoy nights like this, Hermione. And I hope you did.”
She returned his gaze, feeling the sincerity in his words. “I did,” she whispered, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks to you.”
Viktor inclined his head, a faint smile of his own appearing. “Then I’ve done my duty.” He said lightly. “Good night, Hermione”
“Good night, Viktor” she said softly.

Chapter Text

Hermione stirred awake the next morning, the faint winter light spilling across the dormitory. The echoes of music and laughter from the Yule Ball still lingered in her mind, vivid and insistent. She lay still for a long moment, eyes tracing the canopy above her bed, before the memories pushed their way to the surface. Viktor. His steady hand at her waist, his quiet pride in every step of their dances, the way he’d looked at her with such unguarded admiration. It had been flattering, comforting even, to be so wholly seen. She could still hear his accented voice, low and sincere, when he told her she danced wonderfully.
But then—Draco. His eyes in the crowd, unblinking, sharp and unreadable, following her every movement. There had been no words between them, yet she had felt the weight of his gaze like a tether pulling at her chest. It was maddening, the way he could unsettle her without lifting a finger. And though she had tried to focus on Viktor, the awareness of Draco had never quite left her.
And Ron—well, Ron’s reaction had been impossible to miss. The scowl, the muttered remark, the stubborn flush of his ears. Yet it hadn’t stirred much within her beyond a flicker of guilt and mild exasperation. She cared for him, of course, she did, but not like that. Not in the way his stormy look seemed to demand. Hermione turned onto her side, burying her face into the pillow with a soft groan. Viktor’s warmth, Draco’s scrutiny, Ron’s frustration—it pressed on her from every angle, a tangle of expectations she wasn’t sure how to unravel. With a resigned sigh, she pushed herself upright and reached for the Daily Prophet folded neatly on her bedside table. The headline leapt out at her at once, inked in Rita Skeeter’s gaudy hand:

“Dumbledore Employs Half-Giant at Hogwarts!”

Hermione’s frown deepened as she skimmed the article. Skeeter’s words dripped with insinuation and venom, painting Hagrid as dangerous and unfit for the post. Hermione felt her jaw tighten. Of course, Rita would stoop this low. She had suspected something about Hagrid for some time, but it changed nothing. Hagrid was kind, loyal, and braver than half the Ministry combined. Clutching the paper, she hurried down to the common room, where Harry and Ron sat slouched by the fire, nursing the remains of their breakfast. Without a word, she thrust the Prophet into their hands. Harry’s brows lifted as he read, but he only shrugged faintly, pushing the paper back across the table. “Doesn’t bother me,” he said simply. “It’s Hagrid. Who cares what she writes?”
Ron, however, had gone pale beneath his freckles. He stared at the words, lips pressed tight, then let out a slow breath. “This is… bad,” he muttered. “People already talk, Hermione. You know how it is. Giants aren’t exactly welcome. And half-giants… it’s going to make things harder for him. Much harder.”
Hermione sat down beside them, her expression fierce. “All the more reason we stand by him. Hagrid deserves better than Skeeter’s lies. If people can’t see past their own prejudice, then that’s their failing, not his.”
Ron didn’t argue, though the troubled crease between his brows lingered. Harry gave a small nod, his loyalty unwavering, but Hermione could see the difference in their reactions: Harry’s instinctive acceptance, Ron’s weary understanding of the wizarding world’s cruelties. It made her heart ache, but it only strengthened her resolve. Hagrid had given her nothing but kindness. No headline, no prejudice, would ever change that. Hermione folded the newspaper sharply, her lips pressed in a thin line. “We need to go to him,” she said, her voice firm, leaving no room for debate. Ron glanced up, startled. “Now?”
“Yes, now,” Hermione replied. “Do you honestly think he’s going to be in the Great Hall after that article? He’ll be hiding, and the last thing he needs is to feel abandoned.”
Harry nodded immediately. “She’s right. Come on.”
The three of them bundled into cloaks and scarves before stepping out into the biting winter air. Snow crunched beneath their boots, the grounds dazzling white beneath a pale sun. Their breath misted before them as they made their way down the slope toward Hagrid’s cabin, its roof laden with thick drifts of snow. Hermione walked quickly, clutching the folded paper under her arm, her cheeks flushed, not only from the cold but from the anger bubbling still within her. Rita Skeeter’s words had been cruel, deliberately twisting truth into poison, and she would not let them crush Hagrid’s spirit. Smoke rose faintly from the chimney, but the cabin itself looked strangely still. When they reached the door, Hermione rapped smartly. “Hagrid? It’s us!”
No reply. She rapped again, louder this time, but still. Silence. Ron’s brow furrowed, and he gave a tentative shove to the door, which creaked slightly under his push. “He’s here,” Ron muttered, glancing at Hermione. “I can hear him moving inside… but he’s not answering.”
Hermione frowned, her frustration growing. “Hagrid, we know you’re in there! Please, don’t ignore us!”
They waited, knocking and calling, but no sound of a reply came. Minutes stretched, the cold seeping through their gloves and scarves. Eventually, with a shared look of quiet resignation, they stepped back.
“He must need space,” Hermione said softly, folding her arms against the chill. “We’ll… give him a little time. But he’ll know we came.”
Ron let out a slow breath, still uneasy. Harry merely nodded, understanding that some battles had to be fought in their own time. Hermione’s jaw tightened. “We can’t force him. But we’ll be here when he’s ready.”
With that, the three of them turned, their footprints leaving temporary trails in the fresh snow, the cabin looming silently behind them.

Later, Hermione slipped into the library, seeking the quiet refuge of parchment and ink. She had hoped for solitude, but as she rounded a corner, she found Draco already there, sitting at one of the long tables, a book unopened before him. He looked up as soon as he noticed her. “Hermione,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent.
She paused, caught off guard. “Draco… what are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same,” he replied, standing and closing the distance between them. His eyes didn’t waver from hers. “I couldn’t stay away. Not after last night.”
Her breath caught. “Last night… what do you mean?”
Draco’s lips curved into a faint, tense smile. “You know. On the dance floor. You were… breathtaking. Not just clever, not just brilliant… radiant. And I couldn’t stop seeing you.”
Heat crept up Hermione’s neck, but she tried to steady herself. “It was just a dress,” she murmured.
“No,” he murmured, shaking his head, his eyes roaming her face as if he were memorising her all over again. “It was you.”
The air between them throbbed with unspoken things. Draco’s hand lifted, hesitating only a fraction before brushing a stray curl from her cheek. His fingers lingered just long enough to make her lips part in surprise.
“You’ll be my wife,” he said, barely above a whisper, and though his tone was steady, his gaze betrayed him—hungry, almost desperate. “And Merlin help me, I already want you more than I should.”
Hermione swallowed hard, the books clutched to her chest forgotten. Her voice faltered. “Draco…” But whatever words she might have found dissolved under the weight of his stare: raw, unguarded, and terrifying in its truth. Hermione’s breath quickened as his fingers grazed her cheek. The touch was light, almost hesitant, yet it set every nerve in her body alight. She should have stepped back, should have broken the spell before it could hold her tighter, but she didn’t. Draco’s hand shifted, cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing just beneath her lip. “You don’t even know, do you?” His voice was hushed, almost rough. “How impossible you made it for me to look at anyone else last night.” Her lips parted, words failing her. He leaned in, not quite touching, but so close she could feel the heat of him, the way his breath mingled with hers. His eyes flicked down to her mouth before locking with hers again, grey burning into brown.
“I wanted to drag you off the dance floor,” he confessed, the hunger in his voice sharpened by restraint. “Away from Krum. Away from all of them. Just to have you to myself.”
Her heart hammered, her pulse loud in her ears. The confession stunned her more than the closeness—raw, unpolished, stripped of his usual careful pride.
“Draco…” she whispered again, but this time it was different—less warning, more plea. His breath hitched, so faint she almost missed it. He tilted his head, bringing his mouth even closer to hers, until the barest shift could have bridged the distance. The warmth of him wrapped around her, dizzying, dangerous.
“You don’t understand what you do to me,” he murmured, the words spilling out like a secret dragged against his will. His thumb traced the curve of her jaw, lingering just beneath her lip.  “Last night… you were more than I could stand. Every laugh, every glance, every time he touched you—” His eyes flickered, shadowed with something raw. “It should have been me.”
Hermione’s breath caught, her chest rising sharply against the books still clutched between them. She wanted to answer, to tell him he was being ridiculous, that Viktor was only a friend, but the words stuck, useless, her heart betraying her with its frantic rhythm. For a heartbeat, he hovered there, eyes locked on her mouth, so close she could almost taste the inevitability of him. His hand slid back into her hair, fingers tangling in a way that was both tender and claiming. Hermione swayed toward him before she could stop herself, as though the gravity between them was stronger than her will. The world had shrunk to this: his hand, his eyes, the unbearable nearness. Nothing else existed. Then, with a shuddering breath, he stilled. She felt the tension in him: the fight, the restraint. His jaw tightened, his fingers flexing once against her hair before slipping away.
“Not yet,” he said, voice taut, as though the words cost him everything. He stepped back half a pace, still close enough that she could feel the echo of his warmth. His gaze softened, though hunger still burned beneath it. “You’ll be mine, Hermione. And when that day comes—Merlin help us both.”
She blinked at him, dazed, her lips still tingling from the kiss that hadn’t happened. The silence that followed was thick, weighted, louder than any declaration. Hermione’s arms tightened around her books, as if their solidity could steady her racing heart. She ought to speak, to push him back into the safe ground of sharp remarks and clever retorts, but no words came. Draco lingered one moment longer, his eyes roaming her face as though committing it to memory, before he finally turned away. His retreat was deliberate, controlled, yet she could see the tension in every line of his shoulders. And as the door swung shut behind him, Hermione realised she had been holding her breath. Only then did she let it out, shaky and uneven, her fingers brushing her cheek where his hand had been, as though trying to prove he had touched her at all.

That night, long after most of the tower had gone quiet, Hermione sat curled by the frosted window. The grounds below were a stretch of silver and shadow beneath the moonlight, the Forbidden Forest a dark wall in the distance. From her vantage, she could see the soft glow of lamplight in Hagrid’s cabin. He hadn’t put it out yet. Hermione leaned forward, breath fogging the cold glass That evening after the Yule Ball, when she and Viktor had slipped into the corridor for a breath of quiet, Dumbledore had appeared. His words, wrapped in riddles as always, had stayed with her: “Curious, how the smallest creatures slip in where they are least welcome. Beatles, for instance. So easy to ignore… until one realises they are listening.” At the time, she had been too flushed, too tangled in the strange exhilaration of the night, to do more than nod. Viktor had found it baffling, but to Hermione, the words had stuck like a burr. Now, as she stared into the snowy dark, she felt that prickle of unease again. Skeeter’s article had been too detailed, too cutting. How had she learned such private things? Even Hagrid’s bloodline wasn’t common knowledge. Hermione frowned, pressing her hand to the cold glass as if the touch could anchor her restless thoughts. Beetles. Listening. Watching where they shouldn’t. She shook her head, impatient with herself. It was only Dumbledore’s way. He often spoke in puzzles, some of which never revealed their meaning until months later, if at all. Still, the words lingered, quiet and insistent, a riddle curling at the edge of her mind. With a sigh, she rose and folded her blanket, forcing herself toward the dormitory stairs. Hagrid was safe tonight, that was enough. But as she slipped between the curtains of her four-poster, the echo of Dumbledore’s voice refused to leave her. Beetles… so easy to ignore. She lay staring into the darkness, the sounds of the common room fading as the fire burned low. Somewhere beneath her ribs, a tightness had formed—a tangle of thoughts she couldn’t quite smooth. Between Viktor’s steady presence, Draco’s piercing looks, and Ron’s awkward silence, her feelings were already a storm of confusion. Now Skeeter’s venom and Dumbledore’s riddle pressed down too, making her mind spin when she most wanted rest. Hermione pulled the blankets higher, closing her eyes. Perhaps she was imagining patterns where there were none. Rita was horrid enough without any mystery attached to her. But even as sleep tugged at her, a stubborn certainty flickered: answers lay hidden somewhere, waiting for her to put the pieces together. And when she finally drifted into uneasy dreams, it was not Viktor or Ron she saw, nor even Draco’s watchful grey eyes, but the shape of a beetle, gleaming and listening in the shadows.

Chapter Text

The village of Hogsmeade glittered beneath its winter cloak, rooftops capped with snow and windows glowing warmly against the pale December sky. Students swarmed the narrow high street, stamping the snow from their boots as they darted in and out of shops. The sweet scent of treacle fudge drifted from Honeydukes, the clatter of joke goods echoed out of Zonko’s, and owls swooped overhead, feathers scattering like stray flakes. But Harry barely noticed the cheer. His eyes kept straying down alleyways and across the white hills beyond the village, his chest tight with anticipation. He knew Sirius was here. He could feel it.
“Harry, you’re walking like you’ve forgotten how legs work,” Ron muttered, clutching a bag of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum. “At least try not to look suspicious.”
Hermione adjusted her scarf, her eyes flicking nervously over the crowd. “He’ll find us. Just keep moving naturally.”
They had barely passed Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop when Ron suddenly jerked to a stop. “Blimey—look!”
Sitting in the shadow of the Post Office was a massive black dog, its fur dusted with snow. It was watching them, unblinking, its eyes bright and knowing. Harry’s heart gave a painful leap. “Sirius.” The dog rose soundlessly, stretched its long legs, and trotted down a side street, glancing back only once. Hermione pressed her mittened hand to her mouth. “That’s him.”
“Come on,” Harry urged, already breaking away from the crowd. They hurried after the dog, slipping past the last of the shops and out onto a narrow, winding path that climbed into the hills above the village. The laughter and bustle of Hogsmeade faded behind them, replaced by the crunch of snow beneath their boots and the low moan of wind sweeping across the bare slopes. The climb was steep, their breath rising in sharp clouds. The dog pressed steadily ahead until, at last, it ducked into the dark mouth of a cave hidden in the rock face. Inside, the air was damp and still, smelling faintly of stone and ash. A small fire burned near the back, throwing just enough light to reveal blankets, a battered kettle, and scraps of food. The dog shook snow from its fur, then with a ripple of magic stretched upward, limbs lengthening, face sharpening into familiar, hollow features.
“Sirius,” Harry said, relief breaking over him like warmth. His godfather managed a grin, though his cheeks were gaunt, his eyes too shadowed. “You made it. Come here. Sit by the fire before you freeze solid.”
They crowded in, drawing close to the flames. Harry sat opposite Sirius, his heart twisting at the sight of him. Thinner than ever, hair matted from wind and cold, yet those storm-grey eyes burned with fierce energy.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Hermione whispered, her voice taut with worry. “If anyone recognises you—”
“No one looks twice at a stray dog,” Sirius interrupted, though his hand twitched near the fire as though he could feel the risk pressing close. “And I couldn’t stay away. Not after Harry wrote me about the Tournament.”
Harry leaned forward, words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Someone put my name in the Goblet. You think so too, don’t you?”
Sirius’s gaze sharpened, fixed on him. “Yes. Someone powerful, someone who wanted you in that Tournament for a reason. Don’t fool yourself, Harry—whoever it was, they want you dead.”
The words seemed to freeze the cave colder than the air outside. Hermione’s breath caught, Ron’s bag of sweets slipped from his hands with a dull thud. Sirius went on, voice low, steady. “I’ve been watching, listening. There are names resurfacing—old names. Karkaroff, for one. You know who he is?”
“The Durmstrang headmaster,” Hermione said quickly.
“Once a Death Eater,” Sirius said grimly. “He saved his skin by betraying the rest. He’ll do anything to keep himself safe. If he’s here, it’s not to chaperone students. Keep your guard up around him.”
Harry swallowed. “And Crouch? He was there at the Wand Weighing, acting like he runs everything.”
Sirius gave a short, humourless laugh. “Barty Crouch would lock up his own family if it made him look strong. Ruthless man. Harry, don’t trust him. If he’s sniffing around this Tournament, there’s something bigger at play.”
Harry drew a shaky breath. “I saw his name. On the Marauder’s Map.”
Sirius frowned. “Where?”
“In Snape’s office.” Harry hesitated, then admitted “And why’s he supposed to be sick, if he’s wandering around at night?”
Ron shrugged, blowing into his hands. “Percy says he’s ill, that’s why he isn’t at the Ministry. Maybe Percy knows more. I could… ask him.”
“Do it,” Sirius said at once. “Carefully. If Crouch is slipping away from his post, you need to know why. Something doesn’t add up.”
For a long moment the only sound was the fire snapping and the wind moaning faintly at the cave mouth. Harry sat frozen, staring into the flames. He had wanted answers, but Sirius’s words wrapped around his chest like iron bands. Someone had wanted him in this Tournament. Someone wanted him dead. Sirius reached out, his hand briefly gripping Harry’s wrist. “Listen to me. You’re strong, but you’re not invincible. Stick with each other. Don’t wander alone. And Harry, remember this, you’ve got me now. You’re not facing this without family.”
Harry’s throat tightened, his reply sticking in his chest. He only nodded, grateful beyond words. At last Sirius pushed himself to his feet, gathering his cloak. “It’s time you went back. Stay close.”
With a ripple, he was Padfoot again, great black shoulders hunched as he padded from the cave. They followed him down the snowy slope, the village lights glittering below like scattered jewels. The closer they drew, the more crowded the air became with laughter and chatter. At the edge of Hogsmeade, the dog paused. For a moment, his dark eyes met Harry’s, fierce and protective, before he bounded silently into the shadows of the hills. Harry stood staring after him until Ron nudged him sharply. “Come on. If anyone asks, we’ve been in Honeydukes the whole time.”
The three of them rejoined the tide of students, their cloaks dusted with snow, their faces pale but set. The warmth of the shops pressed close around them again, but Harry carried with him the memory of Sirius’s grip, Sirius’s warning, Sirius’s promise. He wasn’t alone. Not anymore. The warmth and chatter of Hogsmeade pressed around them, lanterns glinting off snow-dusted rooftops, laughter spilling from the shops. Hermione’s mind was still tangled in Sirius’s warnings, but she kept her pace steady, careful to seem composed. A tall figure detached itself from the shadows of a side street. Pale hair, piercing eyes, and that unmistakable presence made Hermione stop short.
“Hermione,” Lucius said, voice sharp and controlled, carrying an edge of temper beneath the polished calm. The pendant at her throat pulsed faintly. Heat prickled at her chest. She had almost forgotten it was there—and the reminder made her stomach twist. Had she acted recklessly, even in the daytime?
“I… Mr. Malfoy—” she began, but he cut her off with a gloved hand raised, his glare slicing through the afternoon light.
“Do you have any idea what you were doing, wandering past the main square?” he snapped. “Students are meant to stay in Hogsmeade, Hermione. And it’s almost time to return to Hogwarts. Were you thinking at all?”
Hermione’s chest tightened. “I… I wasn’t—”
“You weren’t what?” His voice sharpened, anger flashing in his pale eyes. “You disobeyed simple rules. You left the proper path. That is enough. Enough to draw attention, enough to invite trouble, enough to force me to intervene.”
Without another word, Lucius turned, the sharp scrape of his boots on the cobblestones cutting through the bustling afternoon. “Come,” he commanded, and Hermione obeyed, keeping her steps measured, careful not to falter under his gaze. The streets of Hogsmeade glimmered in the lantern light as they walked back through Hogsmeade, the warmth and chatter of the shops fading behind them. Hermione’s fingers tightened slightly on her scarf, the pendant at her throat pulsing faintly, a constant reminder that he could sense her every move. She swallowed hard, guilt twisting in her chest. Harry and Ron lingered near the square, silent and tense, eyes fixed on her retreating figure. They wanted to call after her, to argue, but Lucius’s glance over his shoulder had frozen them in place. The meaning was unmistakable: they were not to intervene. Lucius’s pace was steady, deliberate, leaving no room for hesitation. Hermione kept close, trying to temper the quickening of her pulse, trying to make herself seem calm, collected, when inside she was a whirl of frustration, guilt, and unease. At last, they reached the door of the Three Broomsticks. Lucius opened it without ceremony, the warm light and murmured conversation washing over them. He led her to a quiet corner, seating her with the precision of someone accustomed to having things done exactly as he desired.
“You will remain here,” he said, voice low, controlled, but sharp enough to make her flinch. “No wandering. No foolish risks. Understood?”
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy,” she murmured. Lucius gave a curt nod, then rose.  Without another word, he crossed to the bar, his long coat sweeping the floor, and ordered two drinks with the clipped efficiency that left no room for argument. Hermione watched him silently, hands folded neatly in her lap, aware of every movement: the tilt of his head, the way his eyes scanned the room, the way he observed the other guests. When he returned, two steaming cups in hand, he set one carefully before her. “Here,” he said, his tone less sharp now but still firm. “Drink. It will do you good to warm yourself.”
Hermione hesitated only a moment before taking the cup, the heat seeping into her fingers. She sipped slowly, eyes on the muted crowd, her mind still flickering back to Sirius, to the cave, to Harry and Ron waiting outside. Lucius settled across from her, eyes cold and sharp, studying her as if weighing each thought. He took a slow sip of his drink, then set it down deliberately.
“You left the village,” he said, voice calm but with an unmistakable edge. “Without telling anyone where you were going. Do you understand how irresponsible that was?”
Hermione lowered her gaze, hands wrapped around the warm cup. “I… I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t think,” Lucius repeated, his tone even but biting. “Intentions do not excuse recklessness. One careless step, Hermione, and… well, let us simply say I will not tolerate it again.”
The pendant at her throat pulsed faintly, and Hermione pressed a hand to it almost without thinking. She had almost forgotten it, but now it reminded her sharply: he could know if she strayed again. Lucius leaned back slightly, the hardness in his expression softening just fractionally.
“You are unharmed,” he said. “That is fortunate. But I will not repeat this lesson for you. Consider yourself warned.”
Hermione let out a quiet breath, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a little. She took a careful sip of her drink, letting the warmth settle her nerves. A pause stretched between them, filled with the quiet murmur of the pub. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, Lucius asked, his tone more measured, almost curious: “The ball… how was it?”
Hermione blinked, surprised, and for a moment she allowed herself to remember. The shimmer of candlelight on the enchanted ceiling, the music swelling around her, Viktor’s hand brushing hers as they danced. A small, genuine smile lifted her lips.
“It… it was beautiful,” she said softly, her voice easing as the memory filled her. “The music, the lights… and the dancing. I—well, I actually enjoyed it.” She hesitated, then added, “Viktor was… kind. I had a few moments where it felt… peaceful, even in the middle of everything.”
Lucius’s gaze lingered, less stern now, though still vigilant. “Good,” he said finally. “It is important that you had that, even briefly. Even if it is only a memory now.”
Hermione sipped again, the warmth of the drink spreading through her. The scolding had passed, replaced by a quiet, watchful calm. She could breathe again, just slightly, recalling the music, the lights, the rare moments of freedom that had seemed to belong only to her. Hermione sipped again, the warmth spreading through her chest, and for a moment she let herself relax. The memory of the ball lingered, comforting, almost like a shield. But the moment was fragile, and her thoughts soon turned elsewhere.
“I… I’m worried about Defence Against the Dark Arts,” she admitted quietly, fingers tightening slightly around her cup. “About… about Professor Moody. The way he demonstrated the Unforgivable Curses… I can’t stop thinking about it. It felt… like nothing we’ve ever learned before. I don’t feel… safe”
Lucius’s eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked up to meet hers. He leaned slightly forward, the firelight catching the edges of his pale features. “And you should not feel safe,” he said, voice calm, precise, but with a clear edge. “Those curses are lethal, unforgiving. No one can deny their danger. That is not a weakness on your part. It is awareness. But awareness must be paired with preparation, or it is useless.”
Hermione swallowed, pressing her hands to the warmth of her cup. “I’ve practised… every counter-curse, every defensive spell I know,” she said, her voice low. “But every time I picture him in class, I feel frozen. I can’t stop imagining… what could happen if I fail, or if I’m not fast enough.”
Lucius’s gaze was unwavering, cold and assessing, as if weighing her very resolve. “Good. You recognise the danger. That is your first advantage. Most students would look away. Most would hope it never touches them. You, however, understand that it can and will touch you. That awareness alone separates those who survive from those who falter.”
Hermione’s fingers tightened around the cup, her knuckles whitening. “But I don’t just feel afraid,” she admitted, her voice low. “I feel… powerless. And every time I think about returning to his lessons, I feel that… panic rising again. I don’t know if I can… act fast enough, or correctly, if it happens outside classes.”
Lucius’s gaze remained unflinching, sharp and assessing, like a predator weighing prey. “Powerless is a choice, Hermione,” he said slowly, each word deliberate, carrying the edge of command. “Fear is inevitable. Paralysis is not. You have intellect, skill, and training. Do not allow hesitation to dictate your actions. Anticipate. Observe. Calculate. Act before the threat lands, or it will be upon you before you can respond.”
“I try,” she whispered, the tremor in her voice betraying her. “I really do, but… it’s not enough. I keep thinking about the screams, the way people would have writhed under the curses, the way the Imperius could make someone… do things they’d never choose. I can’t stop picturing it.”
Lucius leaned forward slightly, the firelight throwing faint shadows across his pale face, eyes narrowed. “Then you will stop imagining and start preparing. That is your responsibility. The moment you allow fear to cloud your mind, you are at a disadvantage. Every second counts. Every reaction matters. You must rehearse responses in your mind, anticipate every movement, every potential action. Only then do you have control. Only then are you dangerous, not a victim.”
Hermione’s breath hitched, and she clutched the cup closer, feeling the heat anchor her thoughts. “So… I have to treat fear itself like a weapon?”
“Exactly,” Lucius said, voice cold but precise. “Channel it. Use it to sharpen your awareness. Let it keep you alert, not frozen. Remember every detail of what you have seen: the motion, the timing, the effect. Analyse it. Then plan. Then act. You will not falter because you allowed yourself to feel; you will falter if you allow feeling to dictate your actions.”
Hermione nodded slowly, letting the warmth of the drink and the steadiness of his voice settle her racing thoughts. The dread of Moody’s lessons still lingered, but now it had a form. A challenge she could meet if she kept her focus sharp. Fear was no longer just a paralysing force; it had a purpose. Lucius’s eyes flicked to the faint glow of her pendant at her throat, a subtle reminder of his watchful presence. “You will enter that classroom alert, deliberate, prepared. That is the only acceptable state. Anything less is weakness, and weakness will be exploited. Do you understand the consequences of failure?”
“Yes,” she said again, firmer this time, the words carrying more weight. “I understand.”
“Good,” he said, settling back with the precision of someone accustomed to control. “Now, let us leave emotion where it belongs; use it to fuel your mind, not to cloud it. You have learned something tonight, Hermione. Remember it. Apply it. Survive it.”
Hermione lowered the cup, her hands trembling slightly despite the warmth seeping through her fingers. The weight of what she had witnessed in Moody’s lesson. The raw power of the curses came crashing back. Her chest tightened, her throat constricted, and a single shudder broke free.
“I… I can’t…” she whispered, the words strangled, and a hot tear slipped down her cheek. Another followed, and soon she was silently crying, shoulders trembling. She had tried to steel herself, to speak of control and strategy, but the fear was too strong. Lucius’s eyes widened ever so slightly, caught off guard, but only for a heartbeat. He cleared his throat, stiffened, and his expression hardened into something sharper, colder. “Stop this,” he said, voice clipped, almost snapping. “Now.”
Hermione flinched at the harshness, but the tears did not cease. She pressed her hands to her face, ashamed, frustrated at herself, at the weakness she felt consuming her. Lucius leaned forward, voice low and dangerous, his pale eyes pinning her. “Do you think crying will protect you? Do you think despair has ever won a duel? Control yourself, Hermione. Immediately. Focus. If you cannot master yourself, you are nothing but prey.”
She shook, hiccuping, but the command forced her to pull her hands away from her face. Her lips quivered as she tried to swallow her sobs, her eyes burning from tears.
“Good,” Lucius continued, voice still severe, though measured, like a whip curling tight around her mind. “Now, listen. Fear is natural. Helplessness is natural. But indulgence in it is lethal. If you allow this- this… weakness to persist, it will cost you. Every second you waste trembling is a second someone could strike. You must rise above it. You must control it. You will not cry again in front of me. You will not allow it to govern your actions.”
Hermione’s chest rose and fell rapidly, but slowly, ever so slowly, the trembling lessened. The tears had not vanished, but her sobs had stilled, replaced by a hot, bitter determination. The harshness of his words, the cold command, had forced her out of the spiral, and though it left her raw, it left her present, alert. Lucius’s gaze softened fractionally, just enough to acknowledge that she had regained some control, but the edge never left his voice. “Now,” he said, tone clipped, final. “Focus. You will enter that classroom aware, deliberate, prepared. Fear may accompany you, but it will not rule you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy,” she whispered, voice trembling but resolute, gripping the cup as if it were an anchor.
“Good,” he said, leaning back slightly. The tension in his posture eased a fraction, but only because she had survived his test of strictness. He would not comfort her. Lucius reached into the inner pocket of his coat and produced a crisp, white handkerchief, holding it out to her with a sharp tilt of his head. “Here,” he said, his voice still measured, but carrying a hint of reluctant acknowledgment. “Use it. Compose yourself.”
Hermione blinked, startled at the small gesture, but accepted it, dabbing at the remaining tears on her cheeks. The heat of her embarrassment and lingering fear slowly eased with the familiar, cold precision of his presence.
“Drink,” he commanded next, placing a hand lightly, but firmly on hers, guiding the cup back to her lips. “Warm yourself. Calm your emotions. Control them. Fear is a tool; despair is a liability. You will not allow it to govern you.”
Hermione obeyed, lifting the cup with careful hands. She sipped slowly, letting the warmth seep into her chest, letting the strictness in his tone anchor her spinning thoughts. With each swallow, the knot of panic loosened fractionally, replaced by a wary clarity. Lucius watched her closely, expression unreadable, until she set the empty cup back on the table. “Good,” he said finally, voice firm but not sharp. “Now we return.”
He rose, coat brushing the floor, and gestured for her to follow. Hermione straightened, smoothing her cloak, still aware of the lingering panic beneath the surface. Outside, the night air bit through her gloves, and her teeth rattled. Lucius’s eyes flicked to her immediately.
“You’re freezing,” he said, voice sharp, watching her closely. Without hesitation, he lifted one side of his coat. “Move closer.”
Hermione hesitated, then slipped under the edge of the coat. Warmth pressed against her shoulders, startling and grounding. Lucius remained stiff, his jaw set, his gaze forward, but the heat from his coat drove back the chill, easing her shivers. Hermione stayed close under the edge of his coat, the warmth spreading slowly through her shoulders, easing the shivers. The wind whipped across the empty streets, biting at their faces, but Lucius’s presence felt like a fixed barrier against it.
“Keep your pace steady,” he instructed, voice low and clipped. “Rushing will only exhaust you.”
She nodded, careful not to stumble, aware of how deliberately he moved, how every step was measured. His coat shielded her just enough, brushing against her arms without ever slackening the tension in his shoulders, the sharp set of his jaw. There was no softness, no indulgence, only the precision of someone used to commanding obedience and protecting it, in his own way. The castle gates loomed ahead, the stone walls faintly glowing under the moonlight. Hermione stepped from under the warmth of Lucius’s coat, shivering slightly as the cold air hit her again. Lucius kept a careful hand at the edge of his coat, straightening it before he led her through the quiet corridors of Hogwarts. As they reached the entrance to the staff area, a sharp, familiar voice cut through the silence.
“Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall began immediately, voice brisk but controlled, “you were due back from Hogsmeade some time ago. Visits to the village are, of course, permitted, but returning this late is most concerning.”
Hermione froze slightly, her hands tightening around the edges of her cloak. “Professor McGonagall—” she began, but Lucius stepped forward, his expression smooth, composed, and unreadable.
“Professor,” he interjected, voice calm yet carrying that unmistakable authority, “there is no cause for concern. Miss Granger was not alone during her time in Hogsmeade. I accompanied her for the entirety of the evening, which accounts for her delayed return.”
McGonagall’s sharp gaze swept from Lucius to Hermione, lingering a moment longer than usual. “I see,” she said, her voice still tight with lingering worry. “You remained entirely under supervision, then, Miss Granger?”
“Yes, Professor,” Hermione said quickly, bowing her head slightly, the tension of the night still clinging to her. Lucius’s jaw remained set, his eyes unwavering. “Miss Granger was entirely safe. No risk was incurred. The delay was unavoidable, given the circumstances.”
McGonagall’s lips pressed together thoughtfully. She nodded slowly, though her eyes retained that flicker of concern. “Very well. I trust, then, that you understand the importance of punctuality in the future. Even under supervision, such delays are not acceptable.”
“Yes, Professor,” Hermione replied, her voice low but firm, feeling the weight of both McGonagall’s scrutiny and Lucius’s silent, unyielding presence. Lucius inclined his head slightly toward Hermione, his eyes still sharp and unreadable. From the inner pocket of his coat, he produced a small, neatly wrapped package.  “Sweets from Honeydukes. “ he explained and placed it gently in her hands. Hermione blinked, surprised, but accepted the gift with a small nod. “Thank you, sir,” she murmured. Lucius’s gaze lingered for a moment, assessing her composure, before he turned and left the castle with the same precise, deliberate step that had marked him all evening. The echo of his boots faded into the corridors, leaving Hermione with the muted warmth of his presence lingering like a shadow. Professor McGonagall gave her a brisk nod. “Come, Miss Granger. Let us return to the Gryffindor Tower. You should rest after the evening’s events.”
Hermione followed silently, her thoughts swirling. The comfort of the castle’s warmth contrasted sharply with the cold, with every step, her mind flickered back to Sirius, to the cave, and the dangers she had glimpsed there. She couldn’t help but wonder—did Lucius know where it was? Did he understand how close she had come to unseen perils? By the time she reached her dormitory, Hermione’s exhaustion tugged at her eyelids. She set the gift aside on her desk and carefully prepared for bed, her mind still alive with the night’s events. As soon as her head touched the pillow, one thought lingered above all others: she would write to Sirius first thing in the morning.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Hermione rose before dawn, the weight of the previous night pressing on her chest. She dressed quickly, careful not to wake anyone, and went straight to her desk. Her quill hovered over the parchment, her mind a whirl of worry.

Padfoot, she began, her hand shaking slightly as she wrote. I have to tell you everything, because I don’t know if I’ve made a mistake you need to be warned about.

Last night, I had the necklace on—the one Lucius gave me. I can’t take it off; it’s enchanted so only someone from the Malfoy family could remove it. And he can trace it—he knows where I am at all times. I forgot about it when I went to Hogsmeade, and… I went farther than I should have. I’m terrified he might know where you’ve been hiding. I shouldn’t have gone; I wasn’t thinking. I just… I hope you’re safe.

She read over the letter once, her stomach twisting. Folding it carefully, she tucked it into an envelope, sealing it with a small, deliberate flourish. With her heart still pounding, she rose and made her way to the Owlery, handing the letter to Hedwig, her mind still swirling with worry. By the time she made her way to the Great Hall, most of the students were already seated, the long tables buzzing with chatter and the clatter of breakfast.  The long tables were buzzing with chatter, but she quickly spotted Harry and Ron seated together. Sliding in beside Harry, she set her bag down and reached for her toast, trying to steady her nerves. Ron trailed slightly behind, having lingered by the table with a few last words to classmates. Her eyes caught a copy of The Daily Prophet lying nearby. She frowned, picking it up, and her breath caught. The headline blared: “Granger and Potter: Hogsmeade Escapade Raises Eyebrows!” The article spun the Hogsmeade visit into a scandal, painting her and Harry as if they had been sneaking around for some secret affair. There was even a photograph of the two of them in Hogsmeade, and in the background, Ron’s figure was unmistakable, though barely acknowledged in the article. Hermione’s hands curled tightly around the paper. “Oh no, not again…” she muttered, voice trembling with frustration. Harry leaned over, concern written across his face. “It’s just Skeeter,” he said quietly.
Ron grumbled from behind them. “Half the school’s gonna read this and believe it…”
Hermione slammed the paper down. “I don’t care what she writes! We need to go to Hagrid. He shouldn’t hide because of this… this bitch!”
Hermione didn’t wait for Harry or Ron to respond. She pushed herself away from the table, grabbed her cloak, and stormed toward the exit of the Great Hall, Harry and Ron hurrying after her. The chatter of students faded behind them as they made their way across the grounds, their boots crunching through the snow toward Hagrid’s hut. When they reached the familiar, slightly crooked door, Hermione’s frustration boiled over. She rapped sharply against the wood, then again, her knuckles stinging from the force.
“Hagrid! Open up!” she called, her voice rising. “You can’t let her lies stop you! Don’t believe that—”
Another loud rap. “I said, open the door! You know we’re your friends, and that bitch of a Skeeter is full of nonsense!”
The door remained closed. Hermione’s hands trembled slightly, half with anger, half with desperation. “Hagrid! Please! Don’t hide! We don’t care what she says!”
Before they could knock again, the door swung open, and to Hermione’s absolute shock, it wasn’t Hagrid who stood there.
“Professor Dumbledore?” Hermione gasped, her mouth opening in surprise, words she hadn’t intended forming anyway. She stumbled over herself. “I—I didn’t mean—”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled calmly behind his half-moon glasses. “Ah, Miss Granger. I thought I’d step in first. Come along, all of you. Hagrid’s could use a bit of encouragement.”
Hermione’s face flushed as she realised she had spoken too freely, but Dumbledore’s serene presence left her no choice but to follow. Harry and Ron exchanged amused glances but fell in step beside her, and together they stepped inside the warm, cosy interior of Hagrid’s hut. The familiar scent of woodsmoke, damp earth, and the faint tang of magical creatures filled the air. Hagrid looked up from a pile of supplies on the workbench, his massive hands resting on a bundle of ropes.
“Hagrid,” Hermione began, her voice strong despite the lingering embarrassment, “you’re our friend. None of this matters—half-giant or not, it doesn’t change who you are. Don’t let what that witch writes make you hide!”
Hagrid’s eyes glistened, and he blinked rapidly, clearly touched. “Yeh… I jus’—I din’ want any trouble,” he muttered, voice thick. Harry stepped forward, resting a hand on Hagrid’s arm. “We’ve got your back, Hagrid. No matter what anyone writes, you’re still our friend.”
Ron, still slightly behind them, nodded emphatically. “Exactly. We don’t care what Skeeter or anyone else says. You’re Hagrid. That’s all that matters.”
Hagrid’s shoulders relaxed, and a faint smile broke through the worry etched on his face. Dumbledore followed them in, his eyes observing quietly but approvingly, letting the friends’ loyalty speak for itself. Hagrid swallowed hard, still blinking against the warmth and the sudden attention. “I—I din’ want ter make any trouble… fer yeh, or fer Hogwarts,” he said, his voice rough but earnest. Hermione stepped closer, her hands clenched at her sides. “Hagrid, listen. None of this changes who you are. You’re our friend, and you’re a brilliant teacher. That’s what matters. Half-giant or not—it doesn’t matter a bit. Don’t hide. Don’t stop teaching because of a few lies in the Prophet.”
Harry nodded firmly. “We’ll help you. We’ll make sure the truth gets out, Hagrid. You’ve done nothing wrong, and everyone who matters knows it.”
Ron, lingering behind, added with conviction, “Skeeter can write what she likes. But we don’t care about that rubbish. You’re our teacher, and you’re our friend. Don’t let her scare you into hiding.”
Hagrid’s massive hands went to his face, rubbing his eyes as if trying to scrub away the doubt. “Yeh… I jus’—I din’ want anyone ter be upset ‘bout me… if they saw me teachin’ an’… an’ thought…” His voice trailed off, and Hermione took a deep breath, refusing to let him falter.
“Don’t think about them, Hagrid!” she snapped, though gently, her voice sharp with frustration and care. “Think about us, think about what you love to teach. You know more about magical creatures than anyone here, and you make them want to learn. That’s what counts.”
Dumbledore stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the exchange quietly. “Indeed,” he said softly, his voice calm but firm. “Hagrid, Hermione, Harry, and Ron speak wisely. One voice of fear cannot and should not dictate your actions here. The students need you, and so does this school.”
Hagrid’s shoulders straightened, a small, reluctant smile forming. “Yeh… alright, I’ll try… I’ll teach. Fer yeh… an’ fer Hogwarts.”
Hermione’s chest lifted with relief, her eyes bright. “That’s all we wanted to hear. We don’t care about Skeeter, Hagrid. You’re Hagrid. That’s enough for us.”
Harry grinned. “Yeah, let’s get back to class. There’s no reason for you to hide anymore.”
Ron finally stepped fully into the circle, giving Hagrid an encouraging nod. “No one’s going to care about what a half-giant you are, mate. You’re Hagrid. And that’s brilliant enough.”
Hagrid let out a deep, rumbling laugh that shook the floorboards slightly. “Right, then… I’ll start up teachin’ again. Let’s hope I can keep up with all a’ yeh lot.”
Dumbledore’s gaze swept over the group, calm and assessing, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Very good,” he said softly, his voice carrying that quiet weight that made even the most confident student pause. “It is often the smallest acts of loyalty and courage that make the greatest difference. Hagrid, you know your value here. Let that guide you more than the whispers of those who misunderstand.”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione left Hagrid’s cabin together, the crisp morning air filling their lungs as they walked back toward the castle. Hermione felt a flicker of relief: Hagrid had heard them, and perhaps, in his own way, he understood that the gossip of the world could not diminish who he was. Once inside the castle, Hermione excused herself from her friends and made her way to the library, needing the familiar quiet to gather her thoughts. The scent of old parchment and polished wood settled around her, easing the edges of her lingering frustration. Hermione had barely settled at a corner table, spreading her books and parchment before her, when a familiar rustle caught her attention. An owl swooped down through the open window, landing deftly on the edge of the table with a soft flap of wings. Its piercing gaze met hers as it dropped a folded envelope at her side. Her heart sank slightly as she recognised the seal: Lucius’ distinctive crest embossed in gold wax. She hesitated only for a moment, fingers trembling as she broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The words leapt from the page with their usual weight, sharp and demanding:

Dear Hermione,

It has come to my attention, for the second time, that your actions have been reported in The Daily Prophet in a manner that invites scandal. This is utterly intolerable.

Do you comprehend the humiliation you have caused? I have had to endure the whispered laughter, the knowing smirks, and the scorn of other pure-blood families—because you cannot restrain yourself. Your reckless behaviour drags the Malfoy name through the mud, and I will not suffer it. I have tolerated your carelessness before, but this—this is an affront I will not ignore.

Effective immediately, you will spend the overwhelming majority of your time with Draco. Your presence in his company is no longer a suggestion. It is an obligation, a duty to the family, and a measure of your obedience. Every moment you spend elsewhere is a mark against him, and through him, against me. You will not give the world further reason to mock or scorn us.

Lucius Malfoy

A flush of anger, frustration, and a reluctant, uneasy excitement stirred within her. The mandate was clear: Draco. She had no choice. And yet… her mind couldn’t help but wonder, to the tension, the closeness, and the unspoken pull she had felt between them. The library felt smaller, quieter somehow, the air thick with anticipation. She knew her next steps and that they would be unavoidable. Hermione stormed out of the library, the crisp edges of Lucius’s letter clutched tightly in her hand. The quiet of the shelves and the scent of parchment were gone behind her, replaced by the bustling corridor and the distant hum of students. She didn’t pause, weaving past clusters of chatting Gryffindors and yawning first-years, her mind already set on finding Draco. She spotted him in the Potions classroom, standing beside Snape. Hermione hesitated for only a moment, reminding herself of Lucius’s words: do not fear. With decisive movement, she grabbed Draco’s wrist and started marching back toward the library.
“Hermione?” Draco asked, startled, trying to pull his hand free. “What.. what are you doing? Why are you—?”
“Rita wrote a scandal about me and Harry,” Hermione interrupted, her voice sharp and urgent. “And now I have to stay with you more, to prevent any more of those lies from spreading. So come on. We’re going to the library, now.”
Draco blinked, taken aback by her boldness, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his intrigue. He didn’t resist, allowing her to lead him down the corridor, the letter still clutched tightly in her other hand. Hermione slid into a seat at one of the long library tables, still clutching Lucius’s letter in one hand. Draco followed quietly, taking the chair across from her, but instead of the sharp edge she usually expected, his expression was softer, attentive.
“Are you… okay?” he asked, voice low, careful.
Hermione exhaled, letting some of the tension drain. “I’m furious,” she admitted. “Skeeter’s article… it’s a lie, as usual. She made it sound like Harry and I were… sneaking around. And Ron’s in the background of the picture. He doesn’t even get a mention!”
Draco’s sharp eyes softened slightly as he reached across the table, hesitating just a moment before giving her shoulder a tentative squeeze. It was careful, respectful of her space, yet grounding, almost the same way his father would steady him when he was unsure. Hermione flinched at first, then let out a shaky breath, the anger she had been holding in all morning breaking through. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but they weren’t just from fear. They were from frustration, from indignation at the lies Skeeter spun.
“I hate it,” Hermione admitted, her voice catching. “I hate that she can make people think we’re… something we’re not. That she can twist everything into a scandal and everyone believes it.”
Draco didn’t speak at first. He simply kept his hand on her shoulder, steady and warm, letting her release the storm of emotion. “You’re allowed to be angry,” he said finally, voice quiet but firm. Hermione’s fingers trembled as she wiped at her eyes, her heart racing. The heat from his hand, the steady presence beside her. It was oddly comforting, a fragile shield against the world’s chaos. Slowly, she leaned a little closer, letting the tension drain, letting herself be human for a moment. Draco leaned back slightly, careful not to crowd her, but he didn’t remove his hand. “I get it,” he said, almost reluctantly, as if admitting it cost him something to acknowledge. “And… you’re right to be angry. She’s… vile.”
Hermione allowed a small, almost imperceptible laugh to escape, the tension in her chest loosening a little. “Vile doesn’t even cover it,” she said, a small, bitter smile tugging at her lips. “I wish people could see the truth, but…” Her voice trailed off as she shook her head, the frustration still simmering beneath the surface. Draco’s gaze lingered on her, keen and unyielding, but not harsh. He was studying her, learning how to be there for her without overstepping. “Then we’ll make sure they do,” he said softly. “I’ll help you. Whatever it takes.”
Hermione’s breath caught at the quiet intensity of his words, and for the first time that morning, she felt a flicker of calm. She let herself lean slightly into his hand, letting the warmth and steadiness anchor her. It was… different. Safe. And maybe, just maybe, it was the start of something she hadn’t expected to find with him. They sat there for a few long moments, the library around them fading into background noise. The article, the scandal, the Daily Prophet; it all seemed distant compared to the tangible presence of Draco beside her, the quiet certainty that he wasn’t going anywhere. Finally, Hermione lifted her gaze to meet his, her voice firmer now. “Thank you,” she said simply. “For… being here.”
Draco’s lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Always,” he replied, and for once, there was no arrogance, no teasing. Just a quiet promise, steady and unwavering. But Hermione didn’t miss the flicker in his eyes: the one that betrayed a far less innocent meaning. Her pulse jumped, her throat tightening. That single word should have reassured her, should have grounded her in the storm that Skeeter had stirred. Instead, it set her adrift, unmoored in something far more dangerous. His hand was still on her shoulder, warm and steady, but then his thumb shifted, brushing deliberately against the edge of her sleeve. The movement was nothing, could be dismissed as an accident, and yet the heat it sparked sent a shiver racing down her arm. Hermione’s fingers clenched around Lucius’s letter until the parchment dug into her palm. “You make it sound like…” Her voice faltered, betraying her. She drew in a breath, tried again, quieter this time. “Like you mean more than just sitting here with me.”
Draco tilted his head, the smirk tugging faintly at his lips, though his gaze never wavered from hers. “Maybe I do.”
The words landed between them like a thrown gauntlet. Her mind screamed to dismiss it, to roll her eyes and call him insufferable, to retreat back behind the neat walls she always built around herself. But her body betrayed her. She didn’t move away. If anything, she leaned a fraction closer, drawn in by the sharp, magnetic pull that had been simmering for weeks. The silence of the library pressed in on them, the shuffle of distant footsteps and the faint scratch of quills only making the space between their breaths feel more fragile, more dangerous. Hermione’s chest rose and fell too quickly, and she hated that he could see it, hated that he would know what he was doing to her. Hermione’s breath caught again, shallow and uneven, as Draco’s gaze held hers like a challenge and a promise all at once. His hand lingered on her shoulder, warm and steady, but the subtle pressure of his thumb tracing the edge of her sleeve made her pulse spike. She tried to focus on the letter in her hand, the crumpled paper a feeble anchor, but her thoughts betrayed her.
“You’re… impossible,” she whispered, though her voice was more breath than words. Her fingers tightened reflexively around the parchment, the paper crinkling, but she didn’t move away. Part of her wanted to flee, wanted the safety of her own carefully measured boundaries, but another part, a reckless, daring part, leaned into him. Draco’s smirk deepened, slow and knowing, his eyes darkening with that unspoken intent that made her knees weak. “Am I?” he asked softly, tilting his head, his voice dropping just low enough to brush against her ears. “Or… are you just enjoying it too much to admit it?”
Hermione’s cheeks flamed, a heat creeping through her she could no longer pretend was only anger or frustration. She wanted to tell him to stop, to act as if nothing was happening, but her throat closed, and her heart betrayed her with its frantic, uneven beating.
“Draco…” she murmured, voice trembling, as if saying his name out loud was a confession in itself. His hand shifted, brushing over the curve of her shoulder in a movement that was light, innocent, if anyone else were to see, but for her, it sparked fire along her skin.
“Hmm,” he murmured in response, leaning just slightly closer, his proximity daring her to meet the edge of his gaze. “Tell me, … do you even know what you’re doing to me?”
Hermione swallowed hard, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet library. She met his eyes, the challenge in them, the teasing warmth, and a shiver rolled through her from the tips of her fingers to the nape of her neck. “I—don’t… ” she breathed, though her body contradicted her words, leaning a fraction closer, drawn to him.
Draco’s lips curved in a slow, deliberate smile. The tension between them was tangible, a magnetic pull that made the library, the students outside, even the world itself feel like a distant murmur. Draco’s hand moved, almost imperceptibly, until it hovered just above hers on the table, heat radiating from him like an unspoken claim. Hermione’s fingers twitched, caught between wanting to pull away and needing to feel the touch that made her so achingly aware of him. She let out a soft, frustrated laugh: half nervous, half breathless. “You are insufferable,” she whispered, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her arousal.
“And yet,” he countered, leaning just a fraction closer “you can’t resist me.”
Hermione’s chest tightened, her heart hammering in a rhythm that felt entirely new. She could feel it now; the pull she had been ignoring, or maybe just hadn’t recognised before. Draco’s presence was magnetic, a quiet gravity that tugged at something deep inside her, and she realised, with a jolt, that she didn’t want it to stop. The warmth from his hand lingered on her shoulder, and a shiver ran down her spine, soft and startling. She swallowed, feeling a delicious tension coil in her stomach, as if the air between them had thickened, charged with something she hadn’t dared to name. Her mind spun, but not with fear or worry, just with him. She felt her pulse quicken, her skin tingling where their arms nearly touched beneath the table. Everything else, the library, the bustle of students outside, the cold winter air, faded until there was only this quiet closeness, only him.Hermione’s fingers flexed at her sides, longing for a connection she wasn’t yet brave enough to reach for, but couldn’t stop thinking about. The steady warmth of him beside her, the way he didn’t pull away, the quiet attentiveness in his gaze. It drew something out of her, something soft and fierce all at once. A slow, heady awareness blossomed in her chest. She was feeling it. She was feeling him. And the truth settled in her like sunlight through frosted glass: she wanted this closeness, craved it, and there was a thrilling, fluttering ache in letting herself admit it. Even silently, even just in her mind. Hermione’s breath hitched, subtle but unmistakable, and for the first time she didn’t pull back. She let herself linger in the warmth, in the quiet intensity, in the soft brush of his presence that left her trembling in ways she hadn’t known she could. Her heart whispered it with every rapid beat, a confession she hadn’t yet spoken aloud: she was drawn to him, in ways that went far beyond friendship. And as she lifted her eyes to meet his, just briefly, just enough, the flicker of something unspoken passed between them.

Chapter Text

The following days slipped into an odd rhythm, shaped by Lucius’s demand and Hermione’s determination to obey it on her own terms. Draco found himself spending hours at her side, in classrooms, corridors, and most often, in the library. It amused him how little she seemed to notice him once her quill was moving, as though the rest of the world could vanish in the scratch of ink on parchment. Hermione sat at her usual corner table, brow furrowed in concentration, one hand pressed against the side of her cheek as she copied down passages from Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean. Her lips moved silently as she read, shaping words only she could hear. Strands of hair slipped from her braid, curling around her face, and every so often she pushed them back impatiently with ink-stained fingers. Draco watched. Not openly, of course. His book lay open in front of him; Advanced Potion-Making, a volume he had read twice over already, but his eyes drifted more often than he admitted. The stubborn set of her jaw when she tackled a difficult line of Arithmancy. The faint crease between her brows when she lost track of time. He had seen her duel, seen her argue, seen her fury, but this quiet determination was something else entirely. He leaned back slightly, pretending to study his notes, and let the thought surface: How does she do this? How does she turn even silence into something that pulls me in?
Hermione shifted suddenly, sensing his gaze perhaps, and glanced up. Draco’s eyes snapped back to his book, the motion too sharp, too quick. He cleared his throat. “You’re going to burn a hole through that parchment if you keep glaring at it,” he said, smooth as ever, though his ears betrayed him by warming. She narrowed her eyes at him, but there was no heat in them. “Unlike some people, I actually care about the assignments.”
“Assignments?” Draco drawled, smirking despite himself. “Hermione, you’re rewriting half the library. You don’t study, you… devour.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched as if fighting a smile. “Better than doing nothing.”
Draco didn’t reply at once. He watched her lower her head again, curls spilling forward as she bent over her parchment. His hand itched to brush them back for her, but he kept it firmly against the page of his book. Instead, he allowed himself the indulgence of a quiet thought, one he would never say aloud: Better than anything I’ve ever known. The library hummed around them: the faint turning of pages, the occasional cough, the scratch of quills. Yet for Draco, the sound that lingered most was the steady rhythm of Hermione’s writing, the certainty of it, grounding and maddening all at once.

In Transfiguration, sunlight streamed through tall windows, catching dust motes as Hermione sketched the precise movements of a transformation. Draco took the desk beside her, careful not to intrude yet close enough that his sleeve brushed hers when he reached for a book. She tried to ignore the warmth radiating from him, the faint, clean scent she associated only with him. Her quill scratched steadily across parchment, though her concentration wavered at each subtle shift of his presence. Draco watched, not speaking, noting every detail; the bite of her lip at a mistake, the release of her breath when a step clicked into place. In Charms it was warmer, the air tinged with the sharp trace of spellwork. Hermione perched at the edge of her chair, wand poised, lips moving silently as she rehearsed a sequence. Draco leaned close enough that their arms brushed now and again, each touch sending an involuntary shiver through her. She kept her eyes on her notes, but her pulse betrayed her. He studied her grip on the wand, the tilt of her head, the strands of hair that slipped loose no matter how often she pushed them back. Arithmancy brought them to a quieter chamber, shelves of heavy tomes rising around them. Side by side, their pencils scratched in near unison. Draco admired the ease in her movements. The neat arch of her script, the steady focus in her gaze. She, in turn, could not ignore the faint heat of him, the brush of his arm when he shifted, the stillness he carried beside her. Each small nearness tightened the air between them, though neither spoke it aloud. In the afternoons, the library became their refuge, a quiet expanse where they could exist in proximity without speaking much. Hermione spread her books across the long wooden table, quill moving across parchment as she copied notes from an open tome. Draco sat beside her, leaning just slightly forward, sometimes shifting a fraction closer to read the diagrams, though never overtly. He noticed everything: the movement of her hands, the tilt of her head, the subtle scent of her hair, the faint warmth in the space where their shoulders nearly touched. Hermione noticed him too, catching glimpses of the way he angled his body toward her, the careful stillness in his expression, the slight curl of his lips when he thought no one was watching. She felt the slow, insistent pull in her chest, the rapid beat of her heart when his arm brushed hers, and she focused harder on her notes to anchor herself. Neither spoke much. Words felt unnecessary in the quiet intimacy of proximity. Every glance, every subtle movement, every shiver when they brushed past each other said more than they could ever put into sentences. The library’s soft hum of pages and quills became a soundtrack to the slow, unspoken rhythm growing between them, a rhythm that neither yet dared to name.

The next morning, Potions felt colder than usual, the stone walls of the dungeon radiating a damp chill that seemed to seep into Hermione’s bones. She adjusted her robes and sat at her usual table, parchment laid neatly beside her cauldron, wand at the ready. Draco slipped in beside her, his movements precise, measured, aware of her but careful not to crowd her. The faint scent he carried brushed against her as he set his notes down, and she felt the tiniest, involuntary flutter in her chest. The classroom was quiet except for the gentle clinking of glass and the occasional scratch of quills, the soft aroma of herbs and potion ingredients lingering in the air. Snape swept between tables, eyes flicking sharply over students, but lingering, just fractionally longer, on Hermione and Draco. He noted the way they moved: precise, careful, controlled. No hesitation, no careless errors. Their focus was intense, almost private, as if they inhabited a world apart from the rest of the class. A corner of his mouth twitched, barely perceptible, but he said nothing. Hermione measured each ingredient meticulously, her brow furrowed slightly as she stirred, her wand moving in subtle, practised motions she’d perfected under Snape’s guidance at the Malfoy Manor. Draco followed her rhythm, his cauldron positioned just close enough for him to glance at hers without seeming intrusive. Every so often, his sleeve brushed hers, faintly, and her fingers tightened instinctively on her wand. She felt her pulse spike and forced herself to focus on the potion, on the delicate sequence of steps, on the chemical reactions that demanded her full attention. Draco’s eyes didn’t leave her. He noted the slight rise of her shoulders when she concentrated, the precise curl of her fingers as she adjusted a measuring spoon, the way her braid slipped over one shoulder and caught the light. He noticed the faint scent of her, something warm, subtly sweet, mingling with the sharp tang of potion fumes. His own hand itched to brush a stray strand from her face, but he kept it still, letting the quiet observation speak instead. Hermione occasionally glanced at him, catching the sharp line of his jaw, the grey intensity of his eyes as they traced the potion’s progress, the way he shifted slightly closer when stirring required more space. Her cheeks warmed. She returned her attention to the cauldron, quill poised to make notes, but the flutter in her chest was persistent, insistent, and entirely distracting. Snape’s gaze swept over them again, subtle and nearly imperceptible, a flicker of something almost approving in his sharp, dark eyes. No one else would notice it. He made a mental note to send Lucius a brief, careful letter later; an acknowledgement of the way the two of them were handling themselves, disciplined, focused, and quietly competent. It would thrill Lucius, though neither Hermione nor Draco would ever know it. By the end of the lesson, Hermione had completed her potion perfectly, the liquid shimmering with the intended hue. She felt a quiet sense of pride, but also an awareness of Draco beside her, of the slight heat radiating from him, of the way his presence had made the morning simultaneously easier and impossible to ignore. Draco cleaned his cauldron with methodical care, glancing at Hermione now and then, noting how she scribbled her final notes with precise, deliberate motions. He felt a low, satisfying pull in his chest. As the students packed away, Snape moved on, and Draco and Hermione tidied their stations in companionable silence. Their fingers brushed once or twice over the glassware or parchment, fleeting touches that left both of them slightly breathless. Hermione felt the warmth linger in her hand, and Draco felt the faint heat of her presence tugging at something he hadn’t yet named.

Draco was already standing just outside the Gryffindor Tower entrance, his cloak drawn neatly around him. She paused for a moment, catching him in the corner of her eye, noting how still he stood, hands folded lightly in front, expression unreadable but attentive.
“Morning,” he said quietly as she approached, the faint trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. Nothing more. No fuss, no teasing. Just presence. Hermione felt a small, unexpected flutter in her chest and nodded, smoothing the front of her robes. They walked together toward the Great Hall, Draco matching his pace to hers. Occasionally, his arm brushed hers, not in haste or force, but in those almost-imperceptible moments where care became instinctive. Hermione caught herself glancing at him, noticing how naturally he moved, how he seemed to anticipate the small obstacles of her path before they happened. At the long table, he slid into the seat beside her. He didn’t crowd her, didn’t speak unless she looked up, but his hand hovered near hers as he placed their breakfast before them. Hermione became aware of how he waited for her to settle, how he seemed to notice the way she reached for things, the slight pause in her movements that hinted at lingering thoughts or fatigue.
“Don’t let tea get cold,” he murmured once, leaning slightly forward as she poured her drink. No teasing, no arrogance, just a quiet care that made her chest tighten in a way she didn’t entirely understand. The rhythm of their mornings carried into their classes. In Care of Magical Creatures, he adjusted the distance between them so she could see the creatures without strain. In Ancient Runes, he subtly passed her the quill she’d dropped, brushing fingers just enough to make contact without startling her. Hermione began to notice the subtle choreography of his attentions, the way he learned her movements, her habits, the pace of her thoughts, and it both unsettled and fascinated her. Draco, for his part, observed her endlessly in these moments: the way she leaned just slightly forward when reading, the faint scent of her hair when she tucked a loose strand behind her ear, the small crease of concentration between her brows. Every tiny detail was a tether, a quiet pull he couldn’t resist, a subtle anchor to the day’s rhythm. They didn’t speak much about it—not yet. Their glances, their fleeting touches, their shared silences were more than words could convey. And in the quiet, Hermione realised that she had begun to rely on his presence, that a morning felt incomplete if he wasn’t there to walk with her, to share the rhythm of steps and meals and small attentions. Draco noticed, too, that he couldn’t imagine the days without her at his side, without the easy, wordless understanding that seemed to grow between them like a slow, persistent current. Even the mundane, ordinary routines, the climb up the tower, the scraping of chairs at the table, the passing of a plate or quill, took on a new weight, a charged intimacy neither could yet name. And slowly, day by day, lesson by lesson, the silence, the presence, and the subtle gestures were building something neither had fully acknowledged: a quiet, steady, inescapable closeness.

The Great Hall buzzed softly with the quiet hum of students gathering for breakfast. Draco had already claimed his usual spot at the Slytherin table, and Hermione fell into step beside him, adjusting her robes as she slid into the bench. He waited for her to settle, eyes flicking briefly over her, the faint curl of his lips betraying nothing but care. Halfway through pouring herself tea, Hermione’s gaze caught Pansy Parkinson’s sharp, mischievous smirk from across the table. Before Hermione could look away, Pansy’s voice cut lightly through the quiet clatter of cutlery.
“Well, well,” she said, loud enough for only a few nearby students to hear, “looks like Draco Malfoy finally has his fiancée under control.”
Hermione froze, teacup halfway to her lips. Draco’s hand, hovering near the edge of the table, clenched briefly before he relaxed it, his jaw tightening just enough for Hermione to notice. He didn’t look at Pansy, didn’t rise to her bait. Instead, his gaze flicked to Hermione, a mixture of irritation and faint exasperation, and then back to his plate. Hermione felt the flush creep to her cheeks, partly from embarrassment, partly from something else she couldn’t name. She wanted to ask, to challenge, to hear him speak, but Draco said nothing. The moment passed, Pansy’s smirk lingering, satisfied with the reaction, and Hermione busied herself with buttering her toast. Later, in the quiet sanctuary of the library, Hermione returned to her usual corner, books piled high around her, quill moving over parchment. Draco settled in beside her, careful to keep a respectful distance, though the faint heat from his presence brushed against her subtly, as always. Hermione couldn’t keep the question to herself any longer. “Draco… this morning… at breakfast. Pansy… what did she mean?”
Draco’s eyes flicked to hers, a faint exhale escaping him before he spoke “Some of them… they’ve been… teasing me.”
Hermione blinked, quill paused mid-stroke. “Teasing? About what?”
His jaw tightened, grey eyes darkening just slightly with frustration. “About… you. About me not being able to control my fiancée.” He forced a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Because of… appearances in the Prophet. Running around with Potter, the articles, everything. I… I had to endure their whispers, their looks… it got under my skin.”
Hermione felt a faint pang of guilt. “I didn’t think they’d actually say anything to you.”
“They didn’t dare, of course,” he said, tapping the table lightly with a restless finger. “But still. It frustrates me. Not you. Just… everything around us.” His gaze softened, and for a brief, almost vulnerable moment, he let her see the tension he carried in silence. Hermione’s hand brushed over his across the table, tentative, almost testing the waters. His fingers twitched ever so slightly at the contact, a small, involuntary acknowledgement, but he didn’t pull away. She swallowed, turning her gaze back to her notes, but the heat of his presence lingered, a tangible weight pressing gently at her awareness.
“I… I wasn’t thinking about that,” she said softly, her voice barely above the scratch of quill on parchment. “I just…”
Draco’s smirk softened, almost imperceptibly. “I know,” he murmured. His hand lingered near hers, the faintest brush over her fingers when he adjusted the teacup in front of him. She noticed how Draco’s eyes lingered on her. Not in a leering way, not like someone leering, but with an intensity that made her aware of every detail: the curl of her braid falling over her shoulder, the way she pressed her lips together when concentrating, the small crease between her brows. Hermione’s hand hovered for a moment over the edge of the table, her gaze flicking up at Draco. Something in the tension of his jaw, the quiet restraint in his posture, made her chest tighten. She swallowed, heart hammering, and then, almost instinctively, she let her fingers brush over his. It was tentative at first, a soft, almost accidental touch along the back of his hand. Draco’s eyes lifted, sharp grey meeting her brown in a sudden, fierce focus. And then, slowly, he let go of the careful control he had been holding onto so tightly. His hand moved over hers, covering it, pressing just enough to anchor her. The faint heat of him spread along her fingers, and she shivered. Hermione’s lips parted slightly. She couldn’t explain why, but she wanted- no, she needed to be closer, to let this moment stretch, to reach through the unspoken and touch the part of him she could feel, not see. Draco’s other hand twitched near his side, then rose almost of its own accord, brushing the edge of her cheek, fingers tracing the line of her jaw with a tenderness that made her stomach twist. He leaned just a fraction closer, enough that the scent of him filled her senses. She could feel the warmth of his body, the faint pulse in his wrist where their hands met. His thumb stroked over her knuckles, slow, deliberate, as if memorising the weight of her fingers. She swallowed again, the shyness of the gesture mixing with a longing she could hardly name. Draco’s eyes softened, flicking from her face to her lips and back, restrained yet aching with desire. He wanted more. He wanted to cup her face, to gather her close, to feel her hair slip between his fingers. But he stayed still, letting the moment hang between them, electric and impossible. Hermione’s pulse raced, her fingers tightening slightly in his as if to anchor herself, to remind herself she was here, present, and that this connection was theirs alone. Neither spoke. Words would have ruined it. All that existed was the warmth, the quiet hunger in Draco’s gaze, the gentle insistence of his hand over hers, the soft brush of fingers along her cheek. It was intimate, almost unbearable in its simplicity, and yet it was exactly what they both needed. Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed for a fraction of a second, leaning slightly toward him, drawn by something she couldn’t name. Draco’s hand flexed against hers, and a low, almost inaudible exhale left him, the closest he would come to admitting just how badly he wanted to close the distance, to press his lips to hers, to gather her in his arms. But he didn’t. Not yet. Instead, he held her hand like it was the most precious thing in the world, let his other hand linger near her cheek, and let her feel the promise in his restraint.

Chapter Text

Hermione found Harry sitting on a stone bench near the edge of the lake, the golden egg resting on his lap. The crisp morning air carried the faint scent of pine from the Forbidden Forest, and the distant chatter of students heading to classes barely reached them.
“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, striding over with a mix of concern and frustration. “What on earth have you been doing? The Tournament is in two days, and you haven’t even tried to open it properly!”
Harry looked up, startled. “I—I didn’t know how…”
“You didn’t know how?” Hermione echoed, incredulous. “Harry, you’ve had the egg for days! You can’t just sit there waiting for the answer to fall into your lap. You have to act!”
Before Harry could respond, a familiar voice interrupted.
“Potter.”
They turned to see Cedric Diggory approaching, his expression serious yet not unkind.
“Cedric?” Harry said, standing up.
“I realise I never really thanked you properly for tipping me off about those dragons,” Cedric began, looking at Harry with a hint of gratitude.
“Forget it,” Harry muttered, feeling awkward, but Cedric continued.
“You know the Prefects’ bathroom on the fifth floor?”
Harry nodded, puzzled.
“It’s not a bad place for a bath,” Cedric said. “Just take your egg and mull things over in the hot water.”
Hermione blinked, taken aback. “A bath?”
“Yeah,” Cedric replied. “It helped me. You might hear something you missed before.”
He gave Harry a brief nod and turned to leave, leaving Harry and Hermione standing in stunned silence.
“Well,” Hermione said after a moment, her voice tinged with disbelief, “that’s… one way to solve a riddle.”
Harry stared at the egg in his hands, the weight of Cedric’s words sinking in. “I’ll try it,” he said quietly. As Cedric walked away, Hermione watched him go, her mind racing. She had hoped Harry would have figured it out by now, but maybe this was the push he needed.

Hermione stalked through the quiet corridors of Hogwarts, her mind still racing from the confrontation with Harry and Cedric. The brisk winter air had done little to settle her thoughts. She decided to retreat to the library, hoping the comfort of dusty tomes and hushed corners might distract her from the chaos of the day. Hermione had been pacing quietly in the library, her mind half on Harry’s golden egg and half on the cold bite of the late afternoon. The castle was almost empty, only the faint rustle of pages or footsteps in distant corridors breaking the silence. A shadow fell across her notes. She looked up to see Draco leaning casually against the doorway, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on her. There was no hesitation in his stance, no playful teasing. Just a quiet, intense focus that made her pulse skip.
“You’re here,” he said softly, taking a step closer. “I knew I’d find you here.”
Hermione’s heart stuttered. Of course he’d find her here; where else did she ever go? And yet, the fact that he had sought her out for her sent warmth spiralling through her. “I—yes, I was trying to figure out…” The words tangled uselessly in her throat, her thoughts scattering. Draco’s eyes flicked to the parchment scattered on the table, then back to her face. “You always dive in so hard,” he murmured, his voice low. “It’s… part of why I can’t stop watching you.”
Her breath caught. He stepped closer, and she could feel the faint warmth radiating off him. Her body leaned in, pulled by something older than reason. I don’t want to move. I don’t want him to stop. His hand brushed against her shoulder. Such a small thing, such a light touch, yet it sent a shiver all the way down her spine. Her fingers twitched, grasping at the edge of the table, as if that could steady her against the storm rising inside her. Then his hand slid lower, grazing her arm, pausing at her wrist. Hermione stared at the contrast of his pale hand against hers, a simple touch that felt unbearably intimate. Tentatively, she let her fingers brush against his. Her breath caught at the electricity of it. If I let go now, I might never forgive myself.
He turned his palm, his thumb tracing her skin with agonising gentleness, and her knees nearly buckled. She wanted to speak, to fill the silence with words—her shield, her armour—but nothing came. There was only the sound of his breathing, and hers, and the pounding of her heart. His other hand lifted, hesitated, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her cheek, warm against her skin. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself feel it fully, the thrill and the terror and the sweetness. No one has ever touched me like this… as if I matter more than anything else.
Her hand rose to his chest, trembling. The steady beat beneath her palm startled her. He’s as nervous as I am. He wants this too.
Their foreheads touched. Hermione’s breath caught, her eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of him washed over her. His nose brushed hers, and the small, accidental intimacy made her pulse race wildly. This is it. If I let him kiss me, nothing will be the same again.
Draco’s lips hovered above hers, so close that she could feel the whisper of his breath. His thumb stroked her cheek as though asking permission. She tilted her chin, heart in her throat, and every rational thought in her mind quieted into a single truth: I want this.
When his lips finally touched hers, it was featherlight, a question, almost nothing. And yet it was everything. Hermione trembled, clutching at him as her world tilted. So soft. So warm.
He drew back half a breath, waiting, searching her face. She opened her eyes, saw the same fear and longing mirrored in his, and in that moment, the choice was hers. She leaned forward. Their lips met again, firmer this time, more certain, and her fingers curled into the fabric of his robes. The kiss deepened, slow and searching, her whole body alive with sensation. Every brush of lips, every touch, every shared breath spoke the words she could not yet say aloud. When at last they broke apart, it was only by a breath. Their foreheads still touched, their noses brushed, and Hermione realised with dizzying clarity that she was trembling from head to toe. Her lips tingled, her heart thundered, and her hands remained curled into the fabric of his robes as if she were afraid he might vanish if she let go. Her mind was a blur. I kissed Draco Malfoy. And I wanted it. I wanted him.
Draco’s eyes opened slowly, his gaze searching her face, vulnerable in a way she had never seen before. The usual sharpness was gone; in its place was raw honesty, unguarded, as though he had stripped himself bare and handed her the truth.
“I—” Hermione began, but her voice faltered. What could she possibly say?
“You don’t have to,” Draco whispered. His thumb brushed her cheek again, steady, grounding her. Her chest rose and fell unevenly. Words failed her, but her heart spoke for her in a whisper, shaky and sincere: “I don’t want this to stop.”
Something flickered in his expression—relief, joy, and something softer still. His forehead pressed against hers again, their breaths mingling in the stillness, and for a moment, the library and the world outside it seemed to disappear. Hermione felt his hand slide gently from her cheek down to her jaw, his touch light but sure. Her heart pounded as she leaned in without thinking, drawn back to him as if the first kiss had only been the beginning. Their lips met again. Slower this time, lingering, tasting. It was no longer tentative but deliberate, each movement measured, savoured, as though they were both afraid to waste a single second. Hermione’s hands lifted to his shoulders, clinging lightly, and Draco’s arm slipped around her waist, pulling her just close enough to make her breath falter. This kiss was deeper, gentler, but it carried a weight that made Hermione’s head spin. She felt herself sinking into it, into him, her world narrowing to the press of lips and the steady strength of his hands holding her as though she were something precious. When they finally drew apart, slower this time, Hermione kept her eyes closed, unwilling to break the fragile magic that hung between them. She could feel his breath against her skin, the warmth of his body still pressed close, and for once she didn’t overthink, didn’t analyse. She simply let herself feel. Draco’s hand lingered at the curve of her waist, his thumb tracing small, absent circles through the fabric of her robes. Hermione’s lips curved into the faintest smile, and when she opened her eyes, she found him watching her with an intensity that made her stomach flutter all over again. No words passed between them. None were needed. The kiss had said what both had been too afraid to admit: that something had changed, and neither of them wanted to go back.

By the time she reached the portrait hole, the sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the castle corridors. She hurried up the stairs and into the warmth of the Gryffindor common room, the familiar scent of wood smoke and old cushions grounding her. The fire crackled cheerily in the hearth, and she spotted Harry already there, pacing in front of the fire, holding the golden egg in his hands. Harry paused, holding the egg carefully. “I… I think I’ve figured something out,” he said, his voice low. From the folds of his robes, he produced a scrap of parchment. “I wrote down the song I heard. Maybe it’s the riddle for the next task.”
Hermione took the parchment eagerly, her eyes scanning the scribbled notes and musical notations. “Good thinking, Harry. If we can decipher this, it might tell us exactly what to do,” she said, spreading the paper out on the low table by the fire. Ron leaned over her shoulder, rubbing his eyes. “Great, another riddle. Just what we needed,” he muttered, though there was no real malice in his tone, only exhaustion. The three of them bent over the parchment, tracing the notes and words, trying to make sense of the cryptic lyrics. Hermione’s quill moved quickly, jotting down interpretations and possible connections, while Harry hummed fragments of the tune under his breath, testing the notes. Ron, less musical but no less determined, pointed out patterns he thought might matter. Hours passed. The fire dwindled to glowing embers, the common room quiet except for the scratching of Hermione’s quill and the occasional muttered thought. They argued gently, suggested, doubted, and crossed out theories, but the riddle remained stubbornly opaque. Hermione glanced up, frowning, then felt her own eyelids grow heavy. She fought against it, willing herself to stay awake, but exhaustion crept in like a tide she couldn’t stop. Harry’s head lolled slightly, his hand still clutching the parchment. “I—think I’m… getting somewhere…” he mumbled, before succumbing to sleep. One by one, Hermione and Ron gave in. The parchment, the notes, the golden egg—all lay forgotten as the trio slumped together on the cushions, exhausted, the riddle unresolved. The fire hissed softly, casting flickering shadows across their faces, as Hogwarts settled into the quiet of the evening, leaving the mystery of the song and the next task waiting for another day. Morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the Gryffindor common room, rousing Hermione from a restless sleep. She blinked, stretching, and glanced at Harry and Ron, still slumped on the cushions, tangled in blankets and breathing softly.  She swung her legs off the couch, her mind already racing. The second task was tomorrow. The lake. Harry would have to spend who knew how long underwater. And they had done nothing to prepare for that. Quietly, she nudged Ron awake. “We need to start thinking about tomorrow,” she whispered. Ron groaned, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “I was thinking about staying asleep forever, thanks.”
“Not an option,” Hermione said firmly. “We need a plan for how Harry can breathe underwater. The task isn’t just about swimming… It’s about surviving down there.”
Harry stirred, blinking as he sat up. “Right… the breathing. I don’t know how long I’ll last down there.”
Hermione paced. “We have to make sure you can. The Bubble-Head Charm is one option. It’s temporary, but it could keep you alive long enough. We also need contingency plans. Maybe pockets of air, maybe a way to surface quickly if something goes wrong. We need to think about everything: pressure, cold, movement, even merpeople.”
Ron sat up straighter, finally alert. “Merpeople? Bloody hell, why do I suddenly feel like I need a wetsuit and a snorkel?”
Hermione ignored his grumbling. “We have time today to plan. Tonight we can try out spells, practice breathing techniques, think through contingencies. If we’re careful, you’ll have every advantage tomorrow.”
Harry nodded, determination creeping into his tired expression. “Okay. Let’s do it. We don’t have a choice.”
They left the common room and headed toward the library, Hermione already listing what they would need to review, spells to practice, and ways to simulate being underwater safely. The lake waited, dark and deep, but for the first time since the Triwizard Tournament began, they felt a little closer to having a chance. Once the evening stroke and they felt like they achieved nothing, they returned to the common room to continue their research. The three of them had barely managed to curl back into the cushions before exhaustion claimed them again. The parchment, the notes, the golden egg: all lay forgotten, and the common room was soon filled only with the soft rhythm of their breathing. Hermione stirred, her eyelids fluttering open to the soft clatter of something moving across the floor. Blinking, she sat up, only to see a small figure darting around the room, muttering furiously as he scrubbed the floor with obsessive energy. “Who—who are you?” Hermione croaked, her voice still thick with sleep. The elf froze mid-scrub, his wide, round eyes snapping toward her. For a long moment, he simply stared, as though trying to place her in some urgent puzzle. Then his gaze dropped to the chain around her neck where the delicate Malfoy family necklace glinting in the light of the fire. Dobby’s face paled, or as pale as an elf could go, and a shiver ran down his slight frame. Before Hermione could react, the elf grabbed a nearby lamp and struck himself with it, letting out a high-pitched squeak of pain. “Dobby… Dobby must punish… Dobby has failed!” he shrieked, swinging the lamp again.
“Stop! Stop it!” Hermione lunged forward instinctively, snatching the lamp from his hands before he could hurt himself further.
The elf froze, eyes wide with surprise. “Mistress—?” he stammered, trembling. “You… you do not… Dobby… must be punished…”
Hermione knelt down, her voice calm but firm. “Listen to me. You don’t have to hurt yourself. I don’t even know you, and I’m asking you to stop. Okay?”
Dobby blinked, utterly stunned, as if the concept had never entered his world before. He sank onto the floor, clutching his knees. “You… you would not punish Dobby for… Dobby serving—Dobby served the Malfoys… Dobby was… Dobby… You are my family, Miss! Dobby woke one of the Malfoys, Miss!”
Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Wait… What do you mean, you served the Malfoys?”
The elf’s ears drooped, his shoulders shaking. “Dobby… Dobby served the Malfoys for many, many years… Dobby was their house-elf… Dobby could not disobey… even when it hurt… even when it was wrong…” His small hands trembled as he hugged his knees closer to his chest.
Hermione softened, inching closer. “It’s okay. Harry freed you, right? No one can make you punish yourself anymore. Not me, not anyone.”
Dobby’s eyes shone with a mixture of awe and relief. “Freed… yes, Miss! Dobby is free! Free… free to serve… good masters, kind masters!”
Hermione carefully rose and glanced toward the sofa, where Harry and Ron were still asleep, tangled under a blanket. “Harry… Ron… wake up,” she whispered, shaking Harry gently. Harry’s green eyes fluttered open, confusion giving way to recognition. “Hermione? What—?”
Harry’s green eyes showed confusion giving way to recognition. Then they widened. “Dobby? Is that you?”
The elf froze mid-motion, blinking at Harry. “Master Harry… sir… awake! Dobby… Dobby is… honoured!”
Harry rubbed his eyes. “You’re here? What are you doing here?”
Dobby’s ears twitched. “Dobby… Dobby always cleans at night, sir, when students asleep…”
Hermione stepped closer. “We need your help, Dobby. Harry needs to learn how to breathe underwater for the task.”
Dobby’s eyes lit up instantly. “Breathe underwater! Yes, yes! Dobby knows! Long ago… Dobby saw people eat gillyweed! Makes lungs… like fish… swim… breathe!”
Harry raised an eyebrow, still half-asleep. “Gillyweed?”
“Yes, sir! Gillyweed! Dobby has seen it! Humans chew… lungs fill with water… can swim deep… safe… yes, very safe!”
Ron, finally stirring, yawned and sat up. “You mean, Harry just eats some weird plant and he can breathe underwater? Seriously?”
Dobby nodded furiously. “Yes, yes … brave wizards swim like merpeople!”
Hermione smiled, relief flooding her. “Thank you, Dobby. You’ve just made this whole ordeal a lot easier.”
Dobby’s small chest puffed with pride. “Dobby is happy to serve… to help brave wizardses!”
Harry blinked at Dobby, thinking fast. “Wait… Dobby, could… could you get some Gillyweed for me? If it’s possible?”
Dobby’s eyes lit up, ears twitching. “Yes, Master Harry! Dobby can! Brave wizard… Dobby help… Gillyweed for Master Harry!”
Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure, Dobby? Is it safe?”
Dobby puffed up his chest. “Safe… yes! Dobby careful… very careful! Dobby will make sure Master Harry… breathe under water!”
Ron rubbed his eyes, still half-asleep. “You mean, he’ll just… get it? Just like that?”
“Yes, Ron! Dobby knows where to find it,” Hermione said, still worried but realising there wasn’t much choice. “We just need to make sure it gets to Harry safely, and… quickly.”
Harry’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Thanks, Dobby. I… I really appreciate this.”
Dobby gave a little hop, nearly tipping over in excitement. “Dobby… proud to serve! Gillyweed… Master Harry will have it!”
Hermione shook her head, smiling despite herself. “All right… then we plan. Harry should be for the task.”
Ron muttered under his breath, “I feel like we’re inviting trouble, big trouble…”
But Harry couldn’t help the small, grateful smile on his face. For the first time, he felt a bit more confident about the second task. If Dobby could deliver the Gillyweed, the rest might actually be possible.

Morning sunlight spilled across the Gryffindor common room, glinting off the scattered blankets and half-empty teacups. The air smelled faintly of toast and parchment, and the low murmur of students preparing for breakfast reached them from the corridors. Hermione stirred first, brushing her hair back as she stretched, her mind already running through the checklist for Harry’s task.
“Harry… Ron…” she murmured, nudging Harry gently. “It’s time. Today’s the task.”
Harry blinked awake, rolling over with a groggy, tense expression. “Right… the lake…” His hand instinctively went to his robe pocket, checking for the golden egg he had clutched the night before. Ron groaned, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “You’d think we’d get a break, but no. Lake, dragons… what’s next, a volcano?”
Hermione ignored him, scanning the room. “Dobby should be here soon with the Gillyweed. We need to make sure Harry’s ready the moment it arrives.”
Almost on cue, a small, frantic rustling came from the fireplace. “Master Harry! Miss Malfoy! Dobby has returned!”
The elf appeared, clutching a small, wet bundle in his arms, eyes darting nervously around the room. “Gillyweed… Dobby brought it! Safe… very safe… for Master Harry!”
Harry’s green eyes lit up. “You got it? Thank you, Dobby!” He reached for the bundle carefully, examining the plant. Hermione hovered nearby, gently guiding him. “Be careful with it, Harry. Don’t make a mistake. This has to work perfectly.”
Dobby bobbed with pride. “Dobby… proud! Master Harry… breathe under water… brave wizard!”
Ron muttered again, more to himself than anyone else, “Brave wizard, right… if he doesn’t drown first…”
Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “Focus, Ron. We need a plan. Harry, we go over everything once more before the judges arrive.”
Harry nodded, holding the Gillyweed carefully. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
The three of them gathered their notes, went through spells, signals, and contingencies, while Dobby hovered anxiously nearby, ready to help in any way he could. Outside, the castle stirred with anticipation, the day of the second task finally here. The castle corridors were nearly empty as Professor McGonagall appeared, her expression taut with urgency.
“Miss Granger. Mr. Weasley. Follow me, immediately,” she said, her tone leaving no room for questions. Hermione and Ron exchanged nervous glances but followed silently. Their stomachs twisted with unease, though they had no idea what awaited them. McGonagall led them straight to Dumbledore’s office. The Headmaster’s calm gaze swept over them, unreadable and solemn. Without preamble, he lifted his wand.
“You will be entering the lake as part of the task,” he said quietly. “You will not be conscious. This spell will protect you, keep you safe beneath the water until the champions reach you.”
Before Hermione could even speak, a warmth spread over her body, soft and encompassing. Her limbs grew heavy, her vision blurred, and a strange calm overtook her. Ron’s wide-eyed glance met hers for only a moment before his body slumped. Their last awareness before slipping into unconsciousness was the sound of Dumbledore’s voice and the faint flicker of the firelight in the office. Then, as if sinking into a dreamless sleep, the world faded, and the water task awaited.

Chapter Text

Draco moved swiftly through the throng of spectators, his cloak brushing against the backs of slower students as he threaded his way toward the stands. Every instinct in him was taut with anticipation, his green eyes darting over every face, every movement, scanning desperately for Hermione before he even reached his usual vantage point. Each cheer and shout from the crowd grated against his nerves, a distant, hollow sound compared to the drum of his pulse. When he arrived at the top of the stands, the wind tugging at his hair, he froze for a moment, taking in the vast expanse of the lake. The sunlight glinted off the rippling surface, sparkling against the splashes made by the Champions, but the gleam of her hair, the sight of her robes, was absent. His gaze darted frantically across the crowd, over the champions in the water, scanning the shoreline and the floating markers. Nothing. She was nowhere. Draco stepped down carefully along the narrow walkways between rows of seats, the polished stone cool beneath his shoes. He leaned over the railings at every opportunity, peering into the lake from different angles, every movement driven by a tense, desperate urgency. The crowd seemed to blur around him, faces and voices merging into a dull, indistinct roar, irrelevant to the gnawing fear twisting in his chest.
“Where is she?” he muttered under his breath, the words tight and sharp, fingers gripping the railing so hard it dug into his palms. He scanned one section of the stands, then another, craning his neck to glimpse over heads, ducking slightly to peer through gaps, leaning forward until the wind tugged at his hair and robes. Every second stretched painfully, each missed glance tightening the coil of panic inside him. Draco’s steps carried him down another row, then another, weaving with precision through the crowd, eyes never resting, heart hammering as he searched. He flitted from side to side, leaning over railings, squinting against the sunlight reflecting off the water, willing his eyes to catch even the faintest hint of her. He ducked under a group of students laughing too loudly, ignoring the jostle of elbows and robes, his focus narrowed to the lake. He scanned every figure in the water, every flash of robes, every curl of hair. Viktor Krum’s broad shoulders and determined stroke passed under his gaze, Cedric and Fleur’s movements too, but none of them were hers. The absence of her presence was almost a physical ache, gnawing at him with every passing second. Step by step, row by row, Draco continued his search, moving like a predator through the stands. Every face he passed was examined with desperate intensity; every movement in the water was measured against the impossible hope that it might be her. Each passing second stretched the tension, ratcheting it higher, leaving him trembling with the sharp, icy taste of fear. And still, the lake offered no answer. Still, Hermione remained unseen, somewhere out of reach, and Draco’s heart twisted with a helpless panic he had never known before. And then, just as Draco’s chest tightened with the sharpest pang of panic, a movement near the water’s edge caught his eye. A flash of dark hair, slick and clinging, breaking the surface before a hand lifted weakly above the ripples. Relief hit him like a physical force, and he lunged forward instinctively, the roar of the crowd fading into background noise. Hermione’s head broke free of the water, coughing and gasping, her robes plastered to her frame. Viktor Krum, calm and efficient, guided her toward the shore, supporting her with broad, unyielding shoulders. Draco’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening almost reflexively. He moved faster than thought, weaving through the cheering spectators, his cloak whipping behind him, every step fuelled by the desperate need to reach her. Reaching the water’s edge, Draco crouched quickly, extending a pair of folded, dry towels he had snatched from a nearby stand. “Here,” he breathed, voice rough with relief and suppressed panic. “Take these.” His hands trembled slightly as he pressed one into her grasp, brushing damp strands of hair from her face, the other held ready for her shoulders. Hermione’s eyes widened at the sight of him, and for a heartbeat, her exhaustion was forgotten. She reached for the towels, letting Draco’s hands linger a moment longer than necessary on hers, feeling the warmth radiate from him. Draco’s gaze locked onto Viktor, sharp and unyielding, the tension in his posture betraying more than he intended. His jaw tightened as though he were holding back words better left unsaid. Hermione, sensing the storm gathering between them, shifted slightly closer to Draco, her fingers brushing his sleeve. She turned her face toward Viktor, her voice soft but steady despite the water still dripping from her hair.
“Thank you, Viktor,” she said, her eyes warm with sincerity. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.” Her tone carried genuine gratitude, but there was a quiet boundary within it, a gentleness that sought to soften what she could not give. Viktor studied her for a moment, his dark eyes searching, but Hermione’s hand remained with Draco’s, their closeness speaking more than words. She drew in a small breath and added, almost apologetically, “You’ve been a true friend to me, but… my heart is already given.”
Viktor inclined his head, the faintest shadow of disappointment crossing his features before he masked it with quiet dignity. Draco’s grey eyes softened immediately, all the fear melting into care as he wrapped one towel around her shoulders and draped the other across her lap. His fingers lingered, brushing over her temple, tracing the line of her jaw, a small, grounding gesture to tether both of them after the chaos of the lake. Hermione blinked, shivering slightly, the cold dampness of the lake replaced by the warmth radiating from Draco. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but steady. “I… I didn’t realise how—”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Draco interrupted softly, his thumb brushing over her cheek, a fleeting, almost imperceptible plea for her to stay close. Her gaze met his, and for a fleeting moment, the chaos of the crowd, the task, and the lake melted away. There was only Draco, watchful, protective, impossibly close, and the knowledge that she mattered to him in ways that words could never capture. He straightened slightly, still holding the towels around her, glancing briefly at Viktor, who had moved back and was now watching with quiet respect. Draco’s glare was sharp, almost regal in its possessiveness, a silent warning that no one else would be near her for long. Draco’s hands lingered on her shoulders a moment longer, brushing stray wet strands from her face. “Better?” he asked, his voice low, careful, though the possessive edge remained beneath the concern. Hermione gave a small nod, finally allowing herself to relax against him, the warmth of the towel and his presence anchoring her. Relief, exhaustion, and a tiny flicker of something more swirled together, leaving them both caught in the fragile, unspoken moment. Draco didn’t release her the instant the towels were around her shoulders. Instead, he lingered, his hands pressing just enough to reassure without smothering, his grey eyes constantly scanning the lake as if the water itself might rise up to claim her again. Hermione shivered slightly, but the cold didn’t matter. The warmth radiating from Draco, the steady beat of his pulse under his robes, grounded her more firmly than any towel ever could.
“Come.” he said finally, his voice low, threaded with command yet tempered by concern. He extended a hand toward hers, and she hesitated only a heartbeat before placing hers in his. The contact was electric, yet familiar, a tether that pulled her upright even as exhaustion still tugged at her limbs. Draco’s stride back toward the castle was purposeful, measured, but every motion carried tension. His eyes flicked over the crowd, searching for any sign that someone might step too close, anyone who dared to claim even an inch of Hermione’s attention. Viktor Krum had stepped back, respecting the space Draco silently demanded, but Draco’s gaze lingered on him nonetheless, grey eyes narrowing in quiet, simmering jealousy. Hermione noticed the subtle shift in his posture, the way his jaw tightened, the slight flare of his nostrils, and for a moment she allowed herself a small, private smile. She’d seen that side of him before; the quiet intensity that spoke of pride and possessiveness. She felt both safe and desired, and it was dizzying in its intensity. Draco’s gaze didn’t leave her face. His grey eyes roamed over every detail: the damp curl of hair clinging to her temple, the faint flush on her cheeks, the way her lips parted slightly as she breathed. His hands itched to reach out again, to brush her hair back, to hold her closer, to press his lips against hers, but he restrained himself, allowing the tension to simmer just beneath the surface, palpable in the slight twitch of his fingers and the taut set of his shoulders. Hermione felt it, the quiet hunger in his gaze, the restrained energy, and she shivered. Not from the cold, but from the undeniable magnetism between them. She leaned back slightly into him, just enough to let him feel her warmth, to let him know she wasn’t moving away.
“Draco—” she began softly, unsure what she wanted to convey. He didn’t let her finish. In one decisive movement, his free hand came up to cradle her face, his thumb brushing against her damp cheek, catching a stray curl that clung to her skin. And then he kissed her. It wasn’t cautious, wasn’t careful; it was the release of everything he’d bitten back for weeks. The jealousy, the fear of losing her, the unbearable pull of wanting her, and not being able to act. His lips claimed hers with a desperate urgency, yet there was tenderness woven into it too, a reverence in the way his hand trembled slightly against her jaw. She clutched at his robes, grounding herself, afraid her knees might give way beneath the intensity of it. When he finally pulled back, breath ragged, his forehead rested against hers, his voice rough and low.
“You don’t… you don’t know what you do to me.”
Her lips parted, still tingling, and her brown eyes met his with a steadiness that startled even her. “I think I’m beginning to,” she whispered. His chest rose sharply at that, and for a moment, Draco Malfoy, the boy who wore arrogance like armour, looked utterly undone. Hermione’s heart hammered wildly, her lips still tingling from the intensity of his kiss. Her mind spun, torn between shock and the undeniable warmth curling through her chest. Draco’s hand lingered at her jaw, his thumb brushing her skin as though he couldn’t bear to let go, his forehead pressed against hers. His breathing was uneven, his usually controlled expression shattered into something raw, vulnerable. Slowly, deliberately, Hermione lifted her hand to his collar, fingers curling into the damp fabric of his robes. She tugged lightly, enough to make him look at her in surprise. Her eyes—warm, steady, unflinching—met his. “Draco,” she whispered, her voice trembling but certain, “I want this too.”
Before he could speak, she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his again. This kiss was different—not desperate, not wild, but steady, sure. It was an answer. A choice. Draco stilled for only a fraction of a second, then melted into her, his hand slipping from her jaw to the curve of her waist, pulling her closer. His lips moved against hers slowly this time, savouring, memorising, as though he never wanted to forget a single second. When they finally parted, Hermione was flushed, shivering faintly under her damp robes. Draco’s sharp gaze caught the tremor, and without a word, he swept his cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it firmly around her. His hand lingered at her back, steadying her as if he was afraid she might slip away.
“You’ll freeze out here,” he muttered, though his voice was softer than usual, almost tender.
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but the weight and warmth of his cloak silenced her. She pulled it tighter around herself and allowed him to guide her away from the lakeshore. They slipped through the castle doors, the noise of the stands fading behind them, replaced by the muffled echo of their footsteps along the stone corridors. Hermione glanced up at him as they descended toward the dungeons, her pulse quickening at the thought of where he was leading her. The entrance to the Slytherin common room appeared in the torchlight, guarded by its serpentine arch. Draco leaned close to murmur the password, his voice low and deliberate, and the stone wall slid open to reveal the dimly lit room beyond. Hermione hesitated at the threshold, her breath catching. She had never been inside before. But Draco’s hand pressed gently at the small of her back, guiding her in. The fire in the vast hearth crackled warmly, casting flickering shadows over the dark green tapestries and polished stone. The room smelled of smoke and pine, and for the first time since emerging from the lake, Hermione felt the lingering chill begin to thaw. Draco led her toward the fire, pulling her down onto one of the leather couches. He kept her tucked beneath his arm, cloak still around her shoulders, as though determined to keep her warm himself. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence between them was filled only by the pop of the fire and the faint echo of water dripping from Hermione’s hair onto the stone floor. Then, finally, Draco tilted his head, his grey eyes catching the firelight. “Better?” he asked quietly. Hermione, still wrapped in his warmth, met his gaze with a small, genuine smile. “Much better.”
Draco reached for his wand with a flick, murmuring a quick Tergeo. The water that clung to Hermione’s curls and robes vanished in an instant, though her cheeks remained flushed from the cold or perhaps from more than that.
“Better?” he asked again, softer this time, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. Hermione gave a small laugh, nerves bubbling beneath her composure. “Much. Though… tea wouldn’t hurt.”
That earned her the faintest smirk from him. “Bossy, even when half-frozen.” But without hesitation, he rose and crossed to a side table, where a silver teapot and green porcelain cups waited as though the common room itself anticipated his needs. He poured quickly, then returned, pressing the cup into her hands. The warmth seeped through her fingers, the fire crackling louder as though it approved. Draco sat close, their shoulders pressed together, his arm draped along the back of the couch until his hand inevitably rested against her shoulder. Hermione sipped, her eyes closing briefly in relief, only to find Draco studying her when she opened them again. Hermione shifted closer, nestling against him without quite meaning to, her head brushing his shoulder. His arm tightened almost imperceptibly, holding her there as though it was the most natural thing in the world. That was all it took. His lips found hers again, slower this time, deeper, as if he wanted to savour every second. The fire painted them in gold and shadow, the common room silent except for their breathing and the crackle of flames. Hermione melted into him, one hand clutching his collar, the other curling at his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm. The kiss deepened, hungry but unhurried, until she was half-dizzy from the closeness, from the heat of him and the way his hand at her waist anchored her firmly against him. It felt stolen, secret, theirs. And then— “Ahem.”
The sound cut through the room like ice water. Hermione wrenched back, cheeks flaming, just as Draco twisted around, a scowl already forming. Severus Snape stood in the archway, black robes billowing faintly, his expression carved from stone. His dark eyes flicked from Hermione, still wrapped in Draco’s cloak, to Draco himself, before narrowing slightly.
“Explain,” Snape drawled, his tone deceptively mild.
Draco straightened, though his arm remained stubbornly around Hermione. “She was freezing after the Task. I brought her here to warm up.” His voice carried a note of defiance, the Malfoy pride bristling even under his Head of House’s gaze. Snape’s lip curled ever so slightly, though whether in disdain or amusement was impossible to tell. His eyes lingered on Draco, then Hermione, then back again. The silence stretched long enough to make Hermione shift uncomfortably. Finally, Snape exhaled through his nose. “Very well.” his gaze sharpened, “I trust you will look after her properly.”
“Yes, sir.” Draco replied smoothly, though there was the faintest glimmer of triumph in his eyes. Snape gave one last, unreadable look at the two of them before sweeping from the room, his robes whispering against the stone. The door sealed behind him, leaving only the crackle of the fire and the echo of Hermione’s racing heartbeat.
Draco smirked faintly, turning back to her. “See? Even he won’t stop me.”
Hermione shook her head, half-exasperated, half-dizzy with relief. “You’re impossible.”
“Mm,” Draco murmured, leaning in again, his lips brushing her temple. “And you’re mine.”
Hermione still felt the echo of Draco’s kiss when the door to the common room creaked open again, not Snape this time, but a group of familiar figures spilling in with laughter and the remnants of the feast clinging to their voices. Theo Nott was the first to notice, pausing mid-step as his sharp eyes landed on Hermione curled against Draco’s side. Blaise Zabini followed his gaze and let out a low whistle, his grin wicked. Pansy, Daphne, and even Millicent drifted in behind them, curiosity sparking instantly.
“Well, well,” Blaise drawled, leaning against the nearest armchair, his smirk widening. “And here I thought you were sneaking off for another lecture from Snape. Instead, we find you keeping Gryffindor royalty warm by the fire?”
Hermione flushed, clutching Draco’s cloak tighter around her shoulders, but Draco didn’t flinch. His arm stayed firm around her waist as he shot Blaise a cool, warning look.
“Careful, Zabini,” he said lazily, though there was steel beneath it. “You’re treading awfully close to disrespect.”
That shut down the sharper edge of Blaise’s teasing at once, though his grin remained. He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Just saying—it suits you. Both of you.” Pansy, who might once have bristled at Hermione’s very presence, only tilted her head, assessing them with narrowed eyes before shrugging. “We all knew it would happen eventually. The way you glared at Krum today, Draco? Subtle as a Bludger to the head.”
Draco shot her a look that dared her to say more, but Hermione surprised him by speaking first. “Better a Bludger than indecisiveness,” she said evenly, her chin lifted. “At least he knows what he wants.”
Theo gave a quiet laugh, sharp and approving. Hermione’s cheeks warmed, but she held his gaze, steady and calm. These weren’t strangers; they were people she’d already learned to navigate in the glittering halls of the Manor, where every word was a game of wit and poise. And here, too, she could hold her own. Daphne offered a small smile, softening the air. “You’ll get no trouble from us. Not with him backing you.” She inclined her head toward Draco, who gave the faintest nod of agreement.
The fire popped, sending sparks into the air. Draco shifted, his hand brushing against Hermione’s as if to ground her, his eyes sweeping the group with cool authority. “Glad we’re clear. She belongs here: don’t forget it.”
No one argued. No one even thought to. In Slytherin, alliances mattered, and Draco Malfoy’s word was final. Blaise sank into an armchair, still smirking but less cutting now. “Fine, fine. Just don’t expect us to leave the whole common room to the two of you. Unless, of course, you’d like us to.”
Hermione ducked her head, hiding a smile, while Draco gave a scoff of mock irritation. But the tension had ebbed. Their acceptance was clear, unspoken but firm. And as the conversation turned toward gossip of the Task and whispered speculation about the Third, Draco leaned closer, his lips brushing Hermione’s ear. “Told you,” he murmured. “No one touches what’s mine.”
Her heart thudded, but she only leaned into him, her clever eyes flicking toward his friends with quiet satisfaction. No one needed to.
The laughter and chatter of Draco’s friends filled the common room, the fire crackling in steady rhythm, but Hermione barely noticed anymore. She had sunk against the cushions of the long emerald-green couch, her damp hair falling in curls against her cheeks, her towel-robe still wrapped tightly around her. Draco shifted beside her with quiet decisiveness, sliding his arm more firmly around her waist before guiding her gently down. She blinked up at him, startled for half a heartbeat, until she found herself stretched comfortably along the couch, her head pillowed in his lap.
“Draco—” she began softly, uncertain, but he cut her off with nothing more than a look: calm, unyielding, protective. His hand brushed her temple as though it had always belonged there, his fingers sinking into her hair with deliberate care. The gesture wasn’t possessive in the sharp way he usually carried himself; it was steady, grounding, almost tender. Hermione exhaled slowly, her body relaxing against the warmth of the fire and the steady rhythm of his touch. The low hum of Slytherin conversation faded into the background, dulled to nothing more than white noise. She felt… safe. Oddly safe. Across the room, Blaise raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Comfortable, are we?”
Draco didn’t even look up, his hand never pausing in its gentle strokes through Hermione’s hair. “Jealous, Zabini?” His voice was cool, but there was a quiet edge of triumph to it. Theo chuckled softly. “Careful, Blaise. You’ll be hexed before you finish that thought.”
Hermione, half-hidden against Draco’s robes, allowed herself the smallest smile. She wasn’t oblivious to the weight of the scene—the way Pansy watched with narrowed eyes, the way Daphne tilted her head in faint approval, the way Blaise’s smirk masked something sharper. But here, with Draco’s hand in her hair and her cheek cushioned against him, she found she didn’t mind their scrutiny. She tilted her head slightly into his touch, her eyes drifting closed, and Draco’s lips curved in the faintest smirk. For all the noise around them, this… this was what he wanted. His, and his alone. And for the first time, Hermione let herself feel it too: belonging.

The fire crackled gently in the Slytherin common room, casting long shadows across the walls and the deep green and silver furnishings. Hermione’s head rested in Draco’s lap, her damp hair splayed across his legs, curling softly with the heat of the hearth. Every so often, Draco’s fingers brushed through her strands, slow, gentle motions that sent tiny shivers along her spine. The rhythm of his touch, the steady warmth of his body beneath her, and the scent of his familiar cologne wrapped around her like a cloak. Her eyes fluttered closed again, and she let herself sink fully into the sensation. The faint weight of his hand on her shoulder, the slow tracing of her hair, the comforting press of his chest against her arm; all of it grounded her in a way nothing else had in months. She felt safe, protected, and… wanted, in a way that made her chest swell and her mind quiet. Draco leaned back into the couch, careful not to disturb her further, but not willing to break the connection either. His gaze softened as he watched her breathe, the faint rise and fall of her shoulders, the delicate flutter of her lashes against her cheeks. His free hand rested lightly on the curve of her waist, fingers tracing small, idle patterns. He was acutely aware of every little movement, every subtle shift, memorising her presence as though it were fragile and precious. Minutes or perhaps hours passed in this quiet cocoon of warmth. The fire hissed softly, embers glowing, and the common room settled into a serene stillness. Hermione’s breathing grew deep and even, her body relaxing completely against him, trusting. Draco’s hand moved up to cup her cheek lightly, thumb stroking gently, a protective, almost reverent gesture. He pressed a brief, lingering kiss to the crown of her head, just above her forehead, and she sighed in contentment, nuzzling slightly into his touch. It was the kind of silence that spoke louder than words, filled with shared warmth and unspoken promises. Draco’s heart thumped steadily against hers, every inch of him alert yet relaxed, completely absorbed in the sensation of having her close, of feeling her soft warmth against him. Then, the faint scrape of footsteps echoed from the stone corridor, and Draco’s hand froze in her hair. Hermione stirred, lifting her eyes slightly, blinking up at him with a soft, sleepy smile.
“Mr. Malfoy,” came the familiar, icy drawl. Severus Snape’s dark figure loomed in the doorway, eyes sharp and calculating. His cloak swept behind him as he took in the scene: Hermione nestled against Draco, firelight flickering across their entwined forms. Draco’s posture remained calm, his green eyes flicking to Snape with quiet authority. “Professor,” he said smoothly, though his voice held a hint of restrained triumph. Snape’s gaze lingered on Hermione for a long moment, then shifted to Draco, narrowing slightly. “Professor McGonagall informed me that Miss Granger was missing from Gryffindor Tower,” he said, voice low and precise. “I have come to escort her back.”
Draco’s lips curved into a subtle smirk, though his hand stayed lightly on Hermione’s head. “Of course.”
Hermione hesitated, just a fraction, and Draco noticed immediately. His smirk softened into something warmer as he reached for her hand, guiding her gently to her feet. “Careful,” he murmured, his fingers brushing hers as he steadied her. “Don’t rush off just yet.”
She gave a small, uncertain smile, letting him hold her for a moment longer, the heat of the fire and the closeness between them making her chest flutter. Draco’s hand lingered at the small of her back as he stepped close, his green eyes locking with hers.
“You should get back to your tower,” he said softly, though there was a weight in his voice, a reluctance to let her go. “But… goodnight, Hermione.”
Before she could respond, he leaned in, pressing a brief, tender kiss to her temple, just above her forehead. Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch, and she nuzzled slightly into his palm, savouring the warmth one last time.
“Goodnight, Draco,” she whispered, voice barely audible. He gave her hand a final squeeze and then stepped back just enough to allow her to follow Snape, who was waiting silently at the door. Hermione glanced over her shoulder once, catching Draco’s smouldering grey gaze, before letting herself be led away, her heart still lingering in the common room long after the door had closed.
Hermione followed silently behind Snape, her steps echoing in the stone corridor.
“Miss Granger,” Snape’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp as ever, “it is well past curfew. You should be in your own common room, in your own bed. Being anywhere else at this hour is irresponsible—and reckless.”
Hermione’s stomach tightened. “I… I’m sorry, Professor,” she murmured, cheeks burning. Snape’s dark eyes bore into her, assessing, measuring. “Sorry is hardly adequate when you disregard rules meant to ensure your safety. You are expected to be where you ought to be, at all times.” Then, almost imperceptibly, his tone shifted, a faint edge of… something softer threading through the strictness. “However… the Slytherin common room is not forbidden to you. Should you require a quiet space or wish to avoid certain… distractions. You may find it accommodating. Take this under advisement.”
Hermione blinked, startled. “Thank you, Professor,” she whispered. Snape’s gaze lingered a moment longer, sharp as ever, before returning to its usual cold precision. “See that it does not happen again. You will go directly to your common room and bed without further incident.”
“Yes, Professor,” Hermione said quickly, relief and lingering warmth from Draco tugging at her heart. With a swish of his cloak, Snape turned, leaving Hermione to slip through the Fat Lady’s portrait and back into Gryffindor Tower, her mind a whirl of caution, curiosity, and the memory of Draco’s lingering touch. Hermione slipped through the Fat Lady’s portrait, the familiar warmth of Gryffindor Tower wrapping around her like a protective blanket. The corridors were quiet, the castle settling into its nightly hush, yet her mind refused to calm. Every step toward her dormitory reminded her of Draco; the feel of his hand guiding her to her feet, the soft brush of his fingers through her hair, the brief, tender kiss he had pressed to her temple. She paused for a moment at the top of the stairs, letting the memory wash over her, a small, secret smile tugging at her lips. Despite Snape’s sharp reprimand, despite the lingering weight of curfew rules, she couldn’t help the warmth in her chest. Draco’s presence lingered in her every nerve, a quiet reassurance that made the strictness of the night feel both distant and sharper all at once. Finally, she climbed the last few steps to the girls’ dormitory. The familiar bustle of her housemates was gone, the room dim and empty, moonlight filtering through the windows. She eased out of her shoes, her fingers still tingling with the memory of Draco’s touch. Snape’s words echoed in her mind, the warning mingling with his subtle permission: the Slytherin common room is not forbidden to you…
Hermione let out a quiet sigh, settling into bed. Her eyes closed, but sleep did not come immediately. Instead, she let herself replay the evening in fragments; the firelight, the soft pressure of Draco’s hand, his green eyes lingering on hers. And for the first time in months, she felt a little lighter, a little braver, and undeniably eager for the next time she could return to that warmth.

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight slanted through the tall windows of the Slytherin dining hall, glinting off polished silverware and casting a warm glow across the long tables. Hermione sat across from Draco, her hands wrapped around her teacup, the steam curling upward in soft spirals. She had grown used to these breakfasts with him—an ordinary ritual that now felt charged with an electric intimacy she hadn’t anticipated.
“You know,” she began, letting her fingers brush the rim of her cup, “I spoke with Professor Snape last night.” Her tone was casual, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. Draco raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in curiosity.
“And?” he prompted, leaning slightly forward, as though every word she spoke was a private gift meant only for him.
“He said… the Slytherin common room isn’t forbidden to me,” she said softly, letting the words linger between them. “If I need a quiet space, or want to avoid certain… distractions, I’m allowed.”
Draco’s grey eyes darkened slightly, a mixture of pride and possessiveness flashing across his face. “Is that so?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was an edge of something more—a warning that he fully intended to protect that permission as if it were a treasure.
Hermione smiled, letting her gaze drift to his lips for a fraction longer than necessary. “Yes,” she whispered. “Which means… if I want, I can come see you. Privately.”
The faint smirk that tugged at Draco’s mouth was all the answer she needed. The rest of breakfast passed in charged silence, each of them stealing glances, hands brushing occasionally, words unspoken but heavy with meaning. By mid-morning, Hermione found herself lingering by the common room entrance, heart fluttering, anticipation building. Draco was already waiting for her, cloak draped casually over his shoulders, grey eyes lighting up as she approached.

Hermione followed Draco through the winding dungeon corridors, her steps echoing softly against the polished stone. They walked through the Slytherin Common Room towards a wing dedicated to the boys. Hermione was stunned as they walked past so many doors. Hermione paused, eyes widening. “They… they all have their own rooms?” she asked, voice incredulous.
Draco’s grey eyes flicked toward her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Of course,” he said smoothly, but there was a sharp edge of pride there. “Privacy is necessary. Everyone has a space to study, to relax… or to avoid someone’s curiosity.”
Hermione’s mouth opened slightly, then closed again. She thought of the cramped, shared dormitories in Gryffindor; the bunks lined in rows, the constant shuffle of roommates, the lack of quiet. Here, in Slytherin, every student had a room of their own, tucked away behind polished wood and carved doors. It felt… indulgent, almost luxurious. She swallowed, a flush of amazement creeping over her cheeks. Draco noticed, grey eyes sharp. “Surprised?” he asked, amusement threading through his tone.
“Stunned,” she admitted, her gaze wandering to the doors lining the corridor. “In Gryffindor, we share everything. There’s no quiet corner, no private space to… think. This…” she gestured vaguely, letting her hand sweep across the walls and doors, “…this is incredible.”
He leaned slightly closer, voice low and teasing. “And now you understand why I value this privilege.”
Hermione’s heartbeat quickened as she followed him to his door. The intricate, serpentine carvings on the wood made her pause again. “It’s… really beautiful,” she whispered. He pushed the door open, stepping aside. The room beyond seemed to hold an air of calm, of deliberate thought and personal space: shelves lined with books, parchments stacked neatly on a wide desk, a soft rug covering part of the stone floor, and a sofa angled near the hearth, cushions arranged just so. Hermione stepped in slowly, her eyes taking it all in. She ran a hand along a row of books, noting the mix of heavy leather tomes and smaller, well-worn volumes. She let her gaze drift to the sofa, then to the firelight flickering across the room, and finally to Draco. “It feels… yours,” she breathed, a hint of awe in her voice. Draco’s lips curved into that faint, knowing smirk. “And now it can feel ours,” he said softly, closing the door behind them. Hermione blinked, momentarily stunned by the intimacy of it all. The idea that they could have this private space together, away from prying eyes, away from the constant shuffle and chatter of Gryffindor, made her chest flutter. She felt small, delighted, and incredibly privileged all at once, knowing that this was theirs alone.
“Come here,” he murmured, tilting his head toward the sofa. Hermione obeyed without hesitation, letting her fingers trail along the armrest, heart hammering as she approached. Draco’s cloak fell from his shoulders, brushing the floor, revealing the familiar lines of his robe. She lowered herself onto the cushions, and he settled beside her, arm sliding naturally around her shoulders. Hermione leaned into him, letting her head rest against his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth radiating from him, grounded her. His fingers threaded through her hair, gentle and deliberate, each stroke sending a shiver down her spine. Hermione lifted her face to meet his gaze, and Draco’s grey eyes softened, the usual sharpness melting into something private, tender, and unspoken. She let her hand brush lightly along his jaw, feeling the tension there, the warmth under his skin. Slowly, she pressed her lips to his, tentative at first, then firmer as he responded, deepening the kiss. His hands cupped her face, sliding down to her shoulders, pulling her impossibly close. Every brush of lips, every grazing touch, every sigh between them seemed magnified in the quiet of the room. Hermione’s fingers tangled in his hair as he tilted her head slightly, lips tracing along hers, down to her jaw, to the curve of her neck. She shivered, pressing closer, and he chuckled softly against her skin, a sound that sent warmth curling straight into her chest.
“Do you feel that?” he murmured, his breath ghosting across her temple. “How… everything else disappears?”
Hermione nodded, her lips brushing his again in agreement, letting the firelight flicker across their faces. She rested one hand against his chest, feeling the steady thrum beneath her fingers. Draco’s other hand moved to the small of her back, pressing her closer, grounding her. Minutes passed in the quiet, broken only by soft kisses and murmured words. Hermione’s hand wandered to the edge of his robe, brushing against the smooth fabric, while Draco’s fingers traced lazy circles along her spine. They laughed softly at little teasing touches, at the way her hair curled against his shoulder, at the small warmth of shared body heat that made everything else fade.
“Careful,” Draco warned playfully, voice low, as she leaned a little too close. “You’ll ruin my control.”
“I don’t think I want you to control anything right now,” Hermione whispered back, tugging him closer with a grin. They kissed again, slower this time, savouring the closeness, the soft pull of lips, the gentle warmth of skin against skin. Hermione pressed against him, hands exploring, tracing the familiar curves of his robes, feeling the taut lines of his shoulders, the steady strength beneath. Draco responded in kind, lips and hands moving with deliberate care, as though memorising every detail. Eventually, they collapsed against the cushions, cheeks flushed, breaths uneven. Hermione rested her head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, tracing small circles along the fabric of his robes. Draco tightened his hold around her, pressing her closer, murmuring soft, possessive words that made her pulse quicken. They lingered like that, tangled together, stealing warmth from each other, until the fire burned low and the room settled into a gentle quiet. Hermione’s eyelids fluttered, heavy with contentment, and she let herself melt into his embrace. Draco pressed a brief kiss to her temple, then whispered, “You’re mine.”
“And you’re mine,” she whispered back, a smile tugging at her lips. The room was filled with the soft crackle of embers, the quiet rhythm of their breathing, and the lingering warmth of shared intimacy. Outside, Hogwarts went on as usual, but inside Draco’s private quarters, time had slowed, leaving only them, the fire, and a bond they both cherished fiercely.  The afternoon sun dipped lower, slanting through the narrow windows of Draco’s quarters. Hermione lay curled against him on the sofa, Draco’s arm draped around her shoulders, holding her close. The warmth of the fire and his steady pulse under her fingers made the room feel like a world apart from the bustling castle outside. She lifted her head to press her lips to his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. “I could stay like this forever,” she murmured, her voice muffled against the fabric of his robe. Draco’s hand threaded through her hair, tilting her face up to capture her lips in a slow, lingering kiss. “I wouldn’t mind either,” he admitted softly, his voice low and intimate, the usual sharpness replaced by something warm, private, and possessive. They shifted slightly on the sofa, Hermione resting her head against his shoulder, Draco’s arm tightening gently around her waist. Every so often, their fingers brushed, hands lingered, or lips met in soft, teasing kisses. The room smelled faintly of parchment and candle wax, but it was the heat between them, the closeness of their bodies, that filled the space. After a long stretch of comfortable silence, Hermione finally stirred, though she didn’t move far from the circle of his arm. “As tempting as it is to stay here all day,” she said softly, “I really do have homework.” Draco chuckled, brushing his lips against her hair. “Of course you do.” He reached for a stack of parchment already on his desk, tugging it closer with a lazy flick of his wand. “Then we’ll do it together. You can’t claim I’m a distraction if I’m working too.”
Hermione arched an eyebrow but smiled, shifting to sit beside him at the desk. The two bent over their books, the quiet punctuated only by the scratching of quills and the occasional murmur as Hermione corrected his translation of a rune or Draco pointed out a quicker potion method. Their knees brushed under the desk, an unspoken tether that made even the most mundane task feel intimate. As twilight deepened, Draco leaned back and called, “Poppy.” With a soft pop, the familiar house-elf appeared, her bat-like ears twitching as she gave a low bow. “Master Draco,” she squeaked, her eyes flicking at once to Hermione. “Miss Hermione.” Her voice warmed with recognition. Hermione’s lips curved into a smile. “Hello, Poppy.” It was oddly comforting to see her here, as though a small piece of the Manor had followed her into the castle.
“Can you bring us dinner?” Draco ordered smoothly, though the edge in his tone softened at Hermione’s side. “For two. Here.”
“Yes, Master,” Poppy said quickly, vanishing again. Moments later, she returned with a tray laden with roasted chicken, bread still warm from the ovens, buttered vegetables, and two goblets of pumpkin juice. She set it neatly on the low table near the sofa before bowing once more.
“Thank you, Poppy,” Hermione said kindly, and the elf beamed at her before disappearing. Draco gave Hermione a sideways smirk. “You’ve spoiled her, you know. She never looks that pleased when it’s just me.”
Hermione nudged him lightly with her shoulder, laughing. “Maybe you should try saying ‘thank you’ once in a while.”
They sat together on the sofa, plates balanced in their laps, firelight flickering across their faces. For a while, they simply ate, the soft clink of cutlery filling the quiet. It felt oddly natural almost like evenings at the Manor, yet gentler, private, theirs alone. They spoke after that; about lessons, about the Tournament, about the quiet luxury of having a space that felt entirely their own. The conversation moved as naturally as the fire crackling in the hearth, sometimes playful, sometimes thoughtful, always threaded with the comfort of belonging. Hermione found herself laughing more than she expected, Draco’s dry wit sparking against her sharper edges, their pauses filled not with awkwardness but with warmth. When the plates had vanished and the fire burned low, Draco rose from the sofa, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve before pulling his cloak over his shoulders. He extended his hand to her with quiet formality, though the softness in his eyes betrayed the gesture for what it was an excuse to hold her again. “It’s nearly curfew,” he murmured. Hermione slipped her hand into his, her fingers fitting against his with a familiarity that startled her. They walked together through the hushed, winding corridors of the castle, footsteps muffled by ancient stone. The torches flickered faintly, their light gilding the edges of his hair, and Hermione caught herself stealing glances at him. At the curve of his mouth, at the way he walked so assuredly, always half-turned toward her as though keeping guard. Neither of them hurried. Every step toward Gryffindor Tower felt like stolen time, the silence between them companionable, weighted with all the words they didn’t need to say. Draco’s thumb brushed idly over the back of her hand as they climbed the last staircase, the touch absentminded yet deliberate, sending a pulse of warmth through her. At the portrait hole, they stopped. The Fat Lady dozed, half-listening, but the world had narrowed to just the two of them. Draco’s gaze lingered on Hermione, grey eyes softened by the low torchlight, unreadable and yet utterly fixed on her.
“Go on,” he said quietly, though his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around hers, betraying his reluctance. Hermione tilted her chin up, closing the small space between them. She pressed her lips to his in a soft, deliberate kiss meant to be brief, but Draco didn’t let it go. His hand lifted to her jaw, holding her there a moment longer, deepening the contact until her breath caught. The world seemed to still around them. The quiet hum of the castle, the firelight glow, her heart racing in rhythm with his. When at last he pulled back, his lips hovered close, his breath warm against her skin. His smirk was there, but gentled, touched with something almost reverent. “Goodnight, Hermione,” he whispered. Her chest tightened, a smile tugging at her lips as she answered, “Goodnight, Draco.”
With a reluctant step, she slipped through the portrait hole. Draco stayed where he was, watching until the door sealed shut, shadows pooling around him. His fingers brushed his lips once, as if to hold on to her kiss a little longer, before he finally turned away.

The weeks slipped past in a blur of lessons, study sessions, and the looming shadow of the Tournament. Yet for Hermione, time no longer seemed measured in days or tasks. Instead, it was measured by the moments she stole with Draco. Their kisses, their laughter, the quiet certainty that each hour together drew them closer. In the library, they found themselves in the same secluded corner again and again, as though it belonged to them alone. Piles of books rose high between them, a flimsy pretence of study. Hermione tried to keep her head bent over her Arithmancy charts, quill moving with steady precision, but she could feel him watching her. Draco had that way about him, never bothering to hide the intensity of his gaze. Finally, she glanced up, exasperated.
“What?” she whispered, narrowing her eyes at him. His mouth curved into a smirk. “Just wondering how anyone can make numbers look so… distracting.”
Hermione’s cheeks flamed, and she ducked her head, pretending to refocus on her parchment. But then his foot brushed against hers beneath the table, a casual nudge that sent her pulse racing. She looked up sharply, ready to scold him, only to find his eyes gleaming with mischief.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered.
Draco leaned forward, his voice low and teasing. “And yet, you’re smiling.”
Before she could retort, his hand slid across the table, fingertips brushing hers. The library was nearly empty, Madam Pince buried in her desk at the far end. Hermione’s resolve faltered. She let her hand turn, their fingers intertwining, and when he leaned in, she met him halfway. The kiss was quick, hidden behind a stack of books, but it left her dizzy all the same. They pulled apart with twin smiles, only to fall into each other again minutes later, parchment forgotten, the air around them charged with secrets.

Even in Gryffindor Tower, when she sat with Harry and Ron by the fire, Hermione felt the echo of him. The crackle of flames, the chatter of her friends, the comfort of her House. It was familiar, grounding. And yet her thoughts strayed again and again to the dungeons. She could still feel Draco’s lips pressed to hers, the warmth of his hands cupping her face, the low timbre of his laugh meant for her alone. She found herself glancing at the portrait hole, half-expecting him to appear, though she knew he never could. That night, as she climbed the stairs to her dormitory, she lingered a moment, pressing her fingers to her mouth. The ghost of his kiss lingered there, sweet and insistent, and she whispered into the quiet, “Goodnight, Draco,” before slipping into bed.

Down in the dungeons, their meetings carried a different weight. The Slytherin common room, with its rippling green light from the lake and its heavy hush, felt more and more like hers as well as his. Draco’s quarters became their refuge. She would step inside to find the fire already lit, the sofa warm, his smirk softening the moment he saw her. Sometimes they didn’t speak at all, curling together as if words might shatter the spell. Hermione leaned against him, his arm wrapped firmly around her waist, his lips finding hers again and again. Each kiss felt new, yet achingly familiar, like discovering a language she had always known but never spoken. She laughed when his hair tickled her cheek. He silenced her with another kiss, and she found herself melting deeper into him. Other nights were slower, gentler. They spread their books across his desk, quills scratching in companionable silence. Hermione stole glances at his handwriting. She grew used to his quiet touches; the way he smoothed a curl from her face, the press of his fingers against hers when they walked, the way his hand lingered at her back as though he needed to feel she was there. And always, there were kisses: soft, lingering, or heated and desperate, but constant, as if neither of them could bear the distance of breath between them for long. Hogwarts buzzed with anticipation for the Third Task, tension thickening with each passing day. Harry grew restless, Ron irritable, professors whispering in corners. But Hermione anchored herself in Draco’s presence. When the world grew sharp and uncertain, she thought of his arms around her, of the firelight on his face, of the words he whispered against her skin: mine. And for those stolen weeks, that was enough. Other days blurred together in gentler ways. In Draco’s quarters, they worked side by side, though more often than not their essays went unfinished. Hermione would curl against him on the sofa, parchment sliding forgotten to the floor as his arms closed around her.
“I used to think this castle was suffocating,” he admitted one evening, his voice a low murmur against her hair.
“And now?” she asked, tilting her face to look at him. Draco pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering there before answering. “Now it doesn’t feel half so dreadful. Not with you here.”
Her heart clenched at the honesty in his tone. She buried her face against his chest, unable to stop her smile. “You’re getting sentimental.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he murmured, and she laughed softly, her lips brushing his jaw. They kissed until the candles burned low, until time itself seemed to melt away. And when he finally walked her back toward Gryffindor Tower, their fingers twined the whole way, his thumb brushing hers in absent circles. At the portrait hole, his lips claimed hers once more, longer this time, unwilling to let go. Hermione felt her knees weaken at the press of him, the warmth of his mouth, the certainty that no one else in the world could kiss her like this. When they broke apart at last, breathless, his forehead rested against hers.
“Goodnight, Hermione,” he whispered.
Her voice was unsteady, caught between a smile and a sigh. “Goodnight, Draco.”
She slipped inside, her heart still racing, the ghost of his kiss lingering like fire on her lips.

The closer the Tournament drew to its final task, the more the castle seemed to hold its breath. Conversations in the corridors fell into hurried whispers; owls arrived with headlines that made even the bravest glance nervously at Harry; and the professors seemed more watchful than ever. For Hermione, the change was sharpest in the evenings. Where the Great Hall once rang with laughter and careless chatter, now there was a brittle edge beneath the noise. She could see it in Harry’s eyes most of all. He tried to appear unfazed, smiling when Ron teased him, but Hermione caught the flicker of unease, the way his gaze often drifted toward the Tournament banners as if they carried some secret warning. Hermione wanted to do everything she could for Harry, but she also found herself leaning more heavily into her own refuge. Draco. Their stolen meetings became the lifeline she hadn’t realised she needed. Each kiss, each brush of his hand against hers, seemed to chase away the tension that clung to her. She wondered if he felt it too. The same urgency, the same unspoken knowledge that their time was fragile. One evening in the library, she shut her book with more force than intended, startling him.
“You’re worrying yourself into madness,” Draco drawled, though his tone softened when his eyes met hers. Hermione exhaled shakily, pressing her fingertips to her temple. “Harry won’t talk about the Task. Ron’s pretending it isn’t happening. And I…” She trailed off, biting her lip.
Draco reached across the table, brushing his thumb along the back of her hand. “And you’re carrying it for them. Like always.” Her throat tightened. He said it without judgment, as if he understood. Perhaps he did. She looked at him then, really looked at the silver of his eyes in the lamplight, the rare softness in his expression. He wasn’t mocking her, or lecturing her, or trying to pull her attention elsewhere. He was simply there. And before she knew it, she had leaned across the table, capturing his mouth with hers. The kiss was slow, lingering, heavy with everything she didn’t say aloud. His hand slid to her cheek, anchoring her, deepening the kiss until she forgot where they were at all. When they parted, breathless, Draco murmured against her lips, “You think too much.”
She laughed, a quiet, trembling sound, and kissed him again just to silence the ache inside her.

Chapter Text

The maze loomed like a living fortress, each hedge stretching high into the star-drenched sky, blacker than shadow. The champions stood at the entrance, their wands glowing faintly, and the crowd’s roar was a hollow echo in Hermione’s ears. She hardly heard the commentary, hardly saw the fluttering banners or the blaze of the torches. Her eyes were fixed only on Harry. He looked impossibly small against the vast, waiting darkness. Four years ago, he had been the boy who’d nervously asked where Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was. Now he was striding into a death-trap designed for champions twice his age. She moved close, her voice low but fierce.
“Harry—you can do this. Remember what we practised, every counter-curse, every charm. Don’t let the maze rush you. Think. You can do it!”
He gave her the barest nod, and for a heartbeat, she glimpsed a glimmer in his eyes; not confidence, not even bravery, but the stubborn determination that always lived in him. It was enough to make her believe. The whistle blew. Harry disappeared into the green jaws of the maze, swallowed by silence.

Waiting was agony. Hermione’s nails dug crescent moons into her palms as she sat rigid, the cheers of the crowd rising and falling around her. Each flare of sparks above the hedges, each shriek of magic exploding unseen within, jolted through her like lightning. She whispered under her breath, spells, prayers, pleas he could never hear. Ron was beside her, restless, his attempts at levity dying quickly into the same strained silence. Minutes blurred. Or hours. Time had no meaning when the maze stood between her and Harry. And then it happened: The hedges shuddered, opening. A blinding flash of light split the air, and two figures tumbled out onto the grass. Harry and Cedric.
For the briefest instant, hope surged in her chest. Both of them made it back. But Cedric was not moving. His body sprawled upon the ground, his face pale in the torchlight. A stillness that no spell could mimic settled over him. Hermione’s scream tore itself from her throat before she knew it. The stands erupted in confusion, in disbelief. Harry’s own voice broke through, hoarse and shattering:
“He’s back. Voldemort’s back.”
The words cut deeper than any curse. Hermione’s breath stilled, her world cracking open. She had read the darkest tomes, studied the fragments of history most feared to name him—but hearing Harry say it, raw with terror and certainty, was like the chill of death itself. She surged forward, desperate to reach him, but the tide of people surged as well; parents calling for their children, teachers hurrying to Cedric’s side, the Minister sputtering denials. And through it all, Harry, trembling, broken, alone.
“Potter. With me.” Moody’s gravelled command sliced through the chaos. His hand clamped around Harry’s shoulder, pulling him away, away from her.
“No—wait—” Hermione tried to follow, but Ron caught her arm, the crowd pressed close, and Harry was gone—swallowed not by hedges this time, but by a man who had taken him where she could not follow. Her heart pounded with helpless fury. She wanted to tear through everyone in her path, to demand answers, to shield Harry from whatever new shadow was closing in. But she stood rooted as Cedric’s body was lifted, as Dumbledore strode forward with terrible calm, as the truth hung over them like a storm that had already broken.
“Cedric!” Amos Diggory broke through the crowd like a man possessed. His cloak flew behind him, his face wild with disbelief. He dropped to his knees beside his son, hands trembling as they hovered over Cedric’s chest, his face, as though by will alone he could rouse him.
“Get up, boy—come on, get up! It’s the Cup, you’ve done it… you’ve won…” His voice cracked, fractured. Then it broke entirely. “No… no, no, no…”
The sound was unbearable. Not a cry, not a shout, but a keening ripped raw from a father’s soul. He clutched Cedric to him, rocking, his grief spilling into the night air for all to hear. It was grief without dignity, without end—so real it seemed to freeze the very air around them. Hermione pressed her hands over her mouth, eyes burning with tears she could not stop. She had read about death. She had studied battle accounts, casualty lists, dark histories where names blurred into numbers. But this—this was a father holding his son, gone in the prime of his life, gone because of a tournament that should never have been allowed, gone because Voldemort had returned. It was the first death she had ever truly witnessed. And it was unbearable. Hermione’s breath still trembled in her chest when she saw them move; Dumbledore striding away from the chaos with sudden urgency, McGonagall and Snape falling in at his sides. Their faces were carved from stone, grave and swift with purpose. They weren’t heading for Cedric, nor for the Minister, nor for the clamouring crowd. They were heading after Harry. Hermione’s heart lurched. Whatever had just happened, whatever Harry had just endured, it wasn’t over yet. She couldn’t stay behind, not when the shadows were closing in again. Without thinking, she slipped from the press of bodies, keeping low, following in the wake of the three professors. Her shoes beat softly against the grass, her robes whispering around her ankles. Every instinct screamed that this was wrong. Students didn’t trail after heads of houses in moments like this, but the stronger voice in her mind was unyielding: Harry needs me.
The castle loomed ahead, its windows flickering with gold against the black sky. They swept inside, their strides relentless, and she darted in after them, half-hidden behind the doorframe. The halls were echoing with the distant uproar from the pitch, but here it was only their footsteps—measured, fast, and heavy with intent.
She caught fragments of their words, low and urgent.
“…took him—”
“…not safe—”
“…we must act now.”
Hermione followed on instinct. Dumbledore’s stride had turned the night brittle and purposeful; McGonagall and Snape moved like two dark, inexorable tides beside him. They were not walking toward Cedric’s body or toward the screaming father; they were going somewhere private, urgent. Harry had been dragged away by Moody — too quickly, too harshly — and something in the way the man had held him made her skin prickle with a warning she could not ignore. They stopped at the door of the Defence Against the Dark Arts office. For a breathless second, Hermione hovered on the threshold, heart battering at her ribs, then they were inside. The room smelled of old books and stronger things; the lamplight threw Moody’s shape up on the far Defence wall and made it monstrous. Harry was there, a thin, shaking thing pressed against the wood. The man in front of him — Moody— leaned close, wild and triumphant. Hermione’s stomach lurched. She had heard terrified fragments already on the pitch; now she heard words she could not un-hear: that Harry had seen something no one should see, that he’d been brought there on purpose, that a terrible name had been spoken in the dark. Dumbledore moved like a blade through the room. Snape and McGonagall were at once beside him, composed and fierce. Hermione pressed herself against the wall; she had to be unseen. The figure before them snarled, raving, his face lit with something like triumph. It was a man she thought she trusted. It was also not. Something rotten slithered under the surface of his voice. Hermione’s ears went hot when Dumbledore spoke, not with the easy, slow kindness he used for students, but hard and direct. The man’s voice curdled, and the spasms of his face began to loosen. She watched as the old, scarred features pulled and shifted; the magical trappings of false age and false-lore began to crumble. The change was grotesque and dreadful. The false eye that had leered at them all year came free with a pop; the wooden leg toppled. The face re-formed not into any stern professor but into someone far more familiar and far more dangerous: gaunt, fever-eyed, a relic of a past the school had been taught to fear. The name landed in the room like a strike. Barty Crouch. Barty Crouch Jr. Hermione felt her breath tear in her throat. Harry had told her about the trial. To see that name kneeling in front of Dumbledore was to have every textbook come alive with malice. He had not simply been a criminal; he had been a Death Eater. He had been thought to be contained. He had been hiding in plain sight. The man laughed, a dry, frantic sound. He boasted, then; he bragged about every subtle cruelty he had engineered. He said he had made sure Harry would face each task. He said he had turned the Cup into more than a prize. He said the Goblet had not chosen subjects by chance. He had chosen Harry, he said, and carried him, piece by terrible piece, to where the Dark Lord could have him. Hermione’s hands trembled so violently that she had to clasp them to her mouth to keep from making noise. The man who had guided them through charms, who had stalked the corridors and told tales of the old wars, had stitched a path for a boy to be delivered into the hands of the thing everyone had called the worst name. She felt sick and furious and stunned all at once. And then there were the details, the ones that made her stomach drop into her shoes. Barty Crouch Jr. confessed, or rather ranted, that he had deliberately engineered the circumstances so Harry would be transported to a deserted place, to the graveyard. He had made the Triwizard Cup a Portkey; the moment Harry touched it, he had been yanked away from the stadium and flung to that dark place. Hermione listened as if someone else had to translate for her brain. A Portkey. A Cup. Harry, at the centre of it. Cedric beside him, bewildered and brave. No plot twist could make it less cruel. Dumbledore’s face was stone. In his voice, there was no drama now, only a terrible calm as he recited the rest of what the night had made true: in that graveyard, a dark ritual had been completed. They had heard the name whispered and then, by foul art and treachery, the Dark Lord had been returned to a body. Hermione’s mind tried to assemble the image and failed. Dumbledore told them, quietly, the essentials: Peter Pettigrew, the small, traitorous servant whose hand had once done far worse than betray a childhood friend, had been there. There had been a ceremony of blood and bone and ancient magics, and in the middle of it all, Harry had been used, his blood taken and worked into the potion that gave a new foothold to the old evil. Cedric had been killed, as an instant, ugly punctuation to the ritual. Voldemort rose in a new and terrible form, standing where many had once buried him, and he had directed the murder by his command. That phrase — the Dark Lord had been returned — settled into Hermione’s head with the weight of a bell. She felt the room drop away. It was not rumour anymore. It was not the fevered whisper of old men. It had happened. There was no way to put that night back together into the innocent shape it had been. She watched Harry, and he looked like someone weather had hollowed out: small and raw and trembling but holding himself up by a thread of courage she had always admired. He had been at the centre of it. He had borne more than any child should. Barty Crouch Jr. tried to explain his motive; he wanted a reward, and he believed in a cause. His words slid by Hermione like poison. She could not forgive the detail that he had worn another man’s face for an entire year — that he had pretended to be a protector while guiding Harry into danger. The betrayal sat under her ribs like a hard stone. Dumbledore ordered him bound. Snape moved with a horrible, clean efficiency. McGonagall’s lip trembled, though she tried to hide it. For a moment, there was no one else in the room but the small, bright thing that was Harry’s breathing and the sound of chains taking a murderer into containment. When the immediate chaos eased, Dumbledore pulled Harry aside. His voice was low and urgent; Hermione crept closer, though there was no need now — she had seen, she had heard. She wanted to be beside Harry when he spoke, to place her hand on his sleeve as she had done on the pitch, to be the small harbour for him. She moved to the doorway and slipped into the dim corridor behind them.

The Hospital Wing was cloaked in shadows, its lamps dimmed, its silence heavy. Madam Pomfrey had retreated at last, muttering about rest, leaving only Harry, Hermione, and Ron in the farthest bed. But Ron had fallen asleep in the chair beside Harry, chin lolling on his chest. Hermione stayed awake, her heart raw and restless. Harry lay propped against the pillows, pale, his hair damp against his forehead. His hands were trembling even though he clenched them in the blankets. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Then, softly, he broke the silence.
“Hermione… I need you to know. Everything.”
Her chest tightened. “Harry, you don’t have to—”
“I do,” he interrupted, his voice hoarse but steady. “You’re the one I can trust. I saw… I saw everything. I can’t keep it inside. Not from you.”
Hermione reached for his hand, clasping it between both of hers. “Then tell me,” she whispered. “All of it.”
Harry shut his eyes, and when he opened them again, the haunted look there made her breath falter.
“The Cup… it wasn’t just a prize. It was a Portkey. The moment Cedric and I touched it together, it dragged us away—out of the maze, out of the pitch—and dropped us in a graveyard. Old stone, a church ruin, and graves everywhere. It smelled… wrong, like the air had rotted.”
Hermione shivered.
“Then—” Harry’s throat caught, but he forced himself on. “A man was waiting. Pettigrew. Wormtail. He killed Cedric. Just… just like that. A flash of green, and Cedric was gone. No duel, no warning. He was dead before he hit the ground.”
Hermione pressed her hand over her mouth, tears stinging her eyes.
“They tied me to a gravestone,” Harry continued. “And then… they started a ritual. Wormtail had something. This bundle, this thing that looked like a shrivelled, dying creature. It was Voldemort. His body… what was left of it. They used bones from the grave, flesh from Wormtail, and blood from me. They took my blood, Hermione.” His voice cracked. “That’s how he came back. With my blood.”
Hermione felt the world tilt, nausea churning in her stomach.
“And then he was there,” Harry whispered, his voice falling to a trembling hush. “Whole again. Tall, pale, with those red eyes… He held his wand, and he called them. The Death Eaters. They Apparated all around us. Dozens. Their masks, their robes. And when he called their names, they lowered their hoods.”
Hermione’s grip on his hand tightened. “Who, Harry?”
Harry looked at her, anguish in his eyes. “I have to tell you. Because you need to know. Lucius Malfoy was there. He stood right beside Voldemort.” Hermione’s breath caught; her stomach turned to stone. Harry’s voice broke. “I didn’t want to say it, but you need the truth, Hermione. I know you live with them. I know you… I know you have to walk into their house. But Lucius was there. He bowed to Voldemort. He swore loyalty.”
Tears slid hot down her face, but she nodded, urging him to go on. Harry’s gaze burned into hers. “There were others; Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, Macnair, Mulciber, Rookwood. And he spoke of the Lestranges in Azkaban, like they were already free. He promised them all a new world, where wizards would rule, where Mudbloods…” His voice faltered, but Hermione squeezed his hand fiercely until he continued. “—where Mudbloods would be crushed.”
She bowed her head, her hair falling like a curtain to hide her face. Harry’s words came faster now, like a flood loosed from a dam. “He made them kneel, one by one. And then he called me forward. He wanted me to fight him. He gave me back my wand, he wanted to prove to them he could kill me. He wanted to show them he was invincible.”
Hermione’s nails bit into his hand.
“I duelled him. I couldn’t run—there were too many. He cast the Killing Curse. I tried to block it. Our spells connected. And then… our wands did something. A golden light between them. And… I saw them, Hermione. Shadows, shapes. My mum, my dad… Cedric. They came out of his wand.” Harry’s voice cracked. “They spoke to me. They told me to hold on. And I ran when they gave me the chance. I grabbed Cedric’s body and the Cup… and then I was back here.”
By the time he finished, Hermione’s tears were falling freely. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to the back of his hand.
“You’re alive,” she whispered fiercely. “That’s what matters. You faced him, and you came back. You’re not alone, Harry. I swear to you, you’ll never be alone.”
Harry’s breath shook, his eyes wet but calmer now. He looked at her, and there was trust there, deep and unbreakable. “I told you because I knew you’d believe me. Even if no one else does. I couldn’t stand it if you didn’t.”
Hermione squeezed his hand, her resolve turning to steel. “I believe you. Always. And whatever happens next, I’m with you. Until the very end.”

Hermione moved cautiously through the quiet corridors of Hogwarts, her thoughts still tangled in Harry’s story. The events of the graveyard weighed on her like stones in her chest, and every shadow seemed to whisper threats she could barely name. Her hands tightened around her wand; instinct had her ready for anything. A faint, high-pitched buzzing caught her attention. She froze. It was faint, almost imperceptible; too deliberate to be a normal beetle. Hermione’s mind raced. Beetles… small, easy to miss… Her memory flicked to Dumbledore’s riddle, from before the Yule Ball:
“Two dancers stepping from the music into silence. Fitting, I think, for this castle… Curious, how the smallest creatures slip in where they are least welcome. Beatles, for instance. So easy to ignore… until one realises they are listening.”
At the time, she had barely understood, thinking only of the dance itself. But now, in the chill of the moonlit corridor, the meaning crystallised. Someone had been listening. Someone small. Too deliberate. Too invasive. Her eyes scanned the stones around her. And there it was — a tiny glimmer of movement near the ledge of a window, the unmistakable shape of a beetle crawling along the mortar. Its antennae twitched unnaturally, not random movements but deliberate, calculating motions. Hermione’s stomach tightened. She had seen Rita Skeeter at work many times, recognised the peculiar rhythm of her magic: the slight shimmer in the air as she prepared to eavesdrop, the way she hovered just beyond direct sight, taking in every detail without anyone noticing. This wasn’t just any beetle. It was the one that always knew too much, the one whose articles had twisted truths into venomous lies. Rita Skeeter.
Hermione drew a slow, steadying breath. She couldn’t panic. She needed a plan. She dug into her bag, pulling out a glass jar she had begun carrying on occasions she suspected someone was spying. She had been thinking ahead, just in case. She whispered the summoning charm, “Accio!” The beetle hesitated, as though sensing the danger, and then shot toward her wand, skimming the stone and landing into her open palm. Hermione worked quickly. The jar was open in one hand, her wand in the other. She tapped the beetle into the jar and sealed it with a snap of her wand. She murmured a series of silencing and restraining charms and listened as it thrashed inside, wings flailing, a tiny, furious buzz filling the glass. Hermione pressed her forehead against her hand, catching her breath. “I know what you are,” she whispered fiercely. “I know who you are. And this time, you won’t touch anyone else with your lies.”
For a moment, she just held the jar, watching the creature’s frantic movements, remembering every article it had written, every rumour it had spread, every way it had sown doubt and pain. It had caused misery for her friends, for Harry, for countless others. And now it was trapped. She thought of Dumbledore’s riddle again, the warning hidden in his words. The smallest creatures slip in where they are least welcome. She had ignored it then, distracted by dances and the excitement of the Yule Ball. But now she understood completely. Some threats are tiny, invisible, even amusing at first glance. But they can be dangerous; deadly in their own way. Hermione carefully tucked the jar deep into her bag, hidden under books and robes. She would decide later how best to use it, how to leverage this small victory. For now, she felt a grim satisfaction settle over her: one enemy silenced, at least for a little while, and one step closer to protecting the people she loved. With a steadying breath, she adjusted her robes and went back to the Gryffindor tower. She would need privacy while talking to Dumbledore.  

Hermione moved swiftly through the silent corridors of Hogwarts, her heart still hammering from Harry’s account of the graveyard. Every name he had spoken, every detail of Voldemort’s resurrection, weighed on her chest. She had to see Dumbledore. She needed answers; answers about her parents, about her bloodline, and about everything she had only begun to suspect. The Headmaster’s office rose like a beacon at the top of the spiral staircase. She whispered the password, and the heavy door swung open at once. Inside, Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his hands folded, eyes calm yet grave. Fawkes stirred gently on his perch, golden feathers glimmering in the firelight.
“Hermione,” he said softly. “I imagined you would come.”
“I need to know everything,” Hermione said, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. “About my parents, about my family, why I wasn’t with them… why I was hidden.”
Dumbledore leaned back, fingers steepled, his gaze unwavering. “Then you shall know it all. But you must listen carefully, Hermione. This story is difficult, and the truth is heavy.”
Hermione perched on the edge of a chair, hands clenched in her lap.
“Your parents were Death Eaters,” Dumbledore began. “They believed in blood purity and aligned themselves with Voldemort. The day before they were killed on a mission, I made a decision to protect you. That night, I came for you. You were an infant, unaware of the dangers surrounding you, unaware of the world your parents were entrenched in.”
Hermione’s stomach twisted, but she didn’t speak. She needed to hear it all.
“I took you from your home,” Dumbledore continued, “the night before your parents left for what would be their final mission. They did not know I had come. You were too precious to risk losing, and I could not allow the Malfoys, or anyone else who would use your bloodline, to claim you while you were so vulnerable. I brought you to a Muggle family whose own child had recently died. I… adapted their memories, gently, so they would accept you as their own. You grew up with them, hidden and protected, unaware of the life from which you had been taken.”
Hermione’s hands trembled. Dumbledore’s eyes softened. “For your protection, I had hoped the Malfoys would never find you. You were safe in their care, loved as a child of theirs, shielded from those who would have sought to manipulate or harm you. You were given a chance to grow, to learn, to become strong before ever being exposed to the world your parents inhabited.”
Hermione swallowed hard. She could still remember her first encounter with Lucius, the glowing ring, the tea, the questions, the careful but probing interest he had taken in her. Dumbledore’s voice drew her back to the present. “You must understand, Hermione, that your blood is both a gift and a responsibility. Your parents were Death Eaters, but they died before you could comprehend the choices they made. I took you from their home the night before their final mission to protect you from the very world they were part of. You were given a chance to grow with love, and with the freedom to develop strength, courage, and wisdom before you faced the reality of your heritage.”
Dumbledore’s eyes softened, meeting hers with a weight she could feel pressing into her chest. “You must understand, Hermione, that your blood is not only powerful—it is significant. The Malfoys wanted you because of what your heritage represents: the Dumbledores are a line known for extraordinary magical ability. They recognised the potential in you before you even knew it yourself.”
Hermione blinked. “So… that’s why Lucius wanted me?”
“Yes,” Dumbledore said gently. “Not for what you had done, but for what you might one day be capable of. The Dumbledores have always carried a kind of magic stronger than most—our thoughts, our spells, even the subtle ways we shape events are deeper and more resonant than the average wizard. That is why you had to be hidden. That is why the Malfoys could never claim you fully in infancy. They would have tried to exploit what they barely understood, and the consequences would have been grave.”
Hermione pressed her hands together, swallowing. Memories of Malfoy Manor, of whispered expectations, and now Draco—her Draco—flooded her mind. A warmth mixed with tension at the thought of him, her heart betraying her amidst the weight of her bloodline.
“You must also know,” Dumbledore continued, “that your magic carries nuances we have not yet seen fully manifest. One day, you will have the choice to awaken it in ways that will define your role in the world. And when that time comes, it will be clear why you were protected and hidden for so long.”
Hermione’s gaze flicked to him, her mind already racing. “And… Voldemort? He doesn’t know yet?”
“No,” Dumbledore said softly. “He only knows the power of the Dumbledores. That is why any child of our line is a potential threat, a potential asset. But he does not yet know what lies specifically within you. That knowledge is yours to master before it can be sought by others.”
Hermione took a deep breath. Her pulse quickened, thinking of Draco beside her, of the life she could yet lead, and of the dangers that loomed on the horizon. She had been protected, guided, and hidden… and now, she understood why every choice, every secret, had mattered. Hermione’s hands twisted in her lap, her pulse quickening. “Do I… do I have to go back to the Manor?” she asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.
Before Dumbledore could reply, the office door creaked open. A tall, dark figure stepped inside: Severus Snape. His black eyes swept the room, lingering briefly on Hermione. The faintest flicker of calculation crossed his expression, and Hermione felt the weight of his gaze. Dumbledore inclined his head ever so slightly toward Snape, his eyes glimmering with a quiet, almost imperceptible command. Speak freely, they seemed to say. Snape drew in a slow breath, his gaze still fixed on Hermione for a heartbeat longer. Then he turned fully toward Dumbledore, voice low but carrying across the office. “I have returned from the Dark Lord,” he said.
Dumbledore inclined his head. “Very well, Severus. Tell us what you have seen”
Snape’s expression hardened. “Voldemort is back,” he said. “He has regained strength and gathered followers. But he wishes for this return to remain secret—for now. The wizarding world knows nothing, and it is his advantage. He does not yet want confrontation; he seeks to rebuild from the shadows.”
Snape looked at Hermione. “Hermione must return to the Manor.” His dark eyes met hers briefly, cold but purposeful. “Lucius Malfoy is one of Voldemort’s right hands, his chief operative in the wizarding world. Monitoring him is crucial. Hermione’s presence… observed carefully, will give the Order the intelligence it needs. You will act as our eyes and ears inside the house of a supporter of the Dark Lord himself.” Hermione’s pulse hammered in her chest. The Manor, Draco, Lucius… the stakes of what Dumbledore and Snape were asking hit her like a thunderbolt. Dumbledore’s calm voice broke through her fear. “Hermione, given this knowledge, would you be willing to spy for the Order of the Phoenix? To gather information, watch, and report?”
Hermione’s lips parted, shock and a hint of fear flashing across her face. “The… Order of the Phoenix? What is that?”
“It is a secret group of witches and wizards,” Dumbledore explained, “dedicated to resisting Voldemort and protecting the wizarding world from him and his followers. We act in shadows, carefully, with strategy and cunning. Those in the Order rely on intelligence as much as magic.”
Hermione’s mind raced. Draco, the Manor, Lucius, the necklace… the role they were asking her to play. Her stomach twisted, but beneath it, a spark of determination ignited.
“I… I’ll do it,” she said finally, voice firm. “I’ll help the Order. I… I have to go back to the Manor.”
Dumbledore inclined his head, his expression calm but grave. “Then you know what must be done. Be subtle, be patient, and trust in your judgment. Your life, Hermione, and the knowledge you gather, may prove crucial in the days to come.”
Snape said nothing, only watching her sharply, the faintest acknowledgement of her resolve flickering in his dark eyes. Hermione’s fingers brushed the necklace at her collarbone, and she felt the full weight of the mission awaiting her. Hermione left Dumbledore’s office with her mind whirling, the echo of Snape’s words and the weight of her new mission pressing on her chest. The corridors of Hogwarts felt unusually silent, the stone walls cold under her fingertips. She clutched the necklace at her throat, feeling the faint hum of magic that made it traceable to Lucius. Every step toward her departure was heavy with anticipation and fear.

Back in her room, Hermione moved with deliberate precision. Her wand lay neatly beside her books, robes folded just so, each item in its place — yet her mind was far from order. Thoughts raced to the Manor, to Draco, to Lucius, and the delicate role she would now play as a spy for the Order. Every glance, every word, every gesture she made there could carry meaning; every conversation might be critical intelligence. She paused before the mirror, tracing the line of the necklace that marked her as part of the Malfoy household. Lucius will notice if I misstep… she thought, swallowing hard. Her fingers hovered over the clasp, wishing she could somehow make it invisible, untraceable. She knew better, it had been placed for a reason, and she would have to move carefully around it. Her eyes flicked to the bag at her side. Inside, the small, trapped beetle buzzed faintly. Rita Skeeter, silenced at last. Hermione allowed herself a grim satisfaction. One enemy neutralised, at least for a little while, and one step closer to protecting the people she loved. She thought of Dumbledore’s riddle from months ago — the smallest creatures slip in where they are least welcome — and felt a flicker of quiet triumph. By the time she slung her bag over her shoulder and adjusted her robes, the sun had begun to dip behind the mountains surrounding Hogwarts. Each step toward the Manor would be careful, quiet, precise. A walk along a tightrope over a pit of vipers. She paused once to glance back at the castle, her home and sanctuary, and drew in a deep breath. I have to do this. For the Order. For Hogwarts. For the people I care about. With resolve hardening in her chest, Hermione set off toward the Manor, carrying the weight of her new mission, moving through a world of power, ambition, and shadows. And deep in her bag, the small, trapped beetle reminded her: even the smallest threats could be turned into weapons, if handled wisely. Just one more day until they would return home.

Chapter Text

The Gryffindor common room was unusually quiet, the fire flickering across the walls as Hermione sat on the edge of an armchair, her bag resting on her lap. Her wand was close at hand, but her attention was fixed on the small glass jar nestled inside. A faint rattle came from it, but it was contained, powerless. She had done it. Rita Skeeter, reporter extraordinaire and chronic troublemaker, was trapped. In her beetle form, restrained by Hermione’s spells, she could no longer spy, distort, or manipulate. Hermione allowed herself a quiet, grim satisfaction. One enemy silenced — at least for now. Harry and Ron approached cautiously, noticing the unusual intensity in her expression.
“You alright?” Harry asked softly.
Hermione gave a small nod, her eyes on the jar. “I’ve… taken care of someone,” she said, deliberately vague. “It was necessary. Things needed to be controlled before they got out of hand.”
Ron raised an eyebrow. “Someone dangerous?”
“Yes,” Hermione admitted, choosing her words carefully. “Someone clever, invasive… someone who always gets the story she wants, no matter who it hurts.”
Harry’s gaze shifted to the jar. “You mean… you caught her?”’
Hermione’s lips pressed together. “Yes. She’s… restrained. And she won’t be writing anything about Hogwarts again, at least for a while. It had to be done.”
Ron let out a low whistle. “Blimey… you really thought of everything, didn’t you?”
Hermione allowed herself a tiny smile, then exhaled. “I had to. Even the smallest creatures can slip in where they’re least welcome… and they can cause the biggest problems if ignored. That’s why I caught her. That’s why I had to be careful.”
Harry nodded slowly, understanding the subtlety of what she’d done. “Good thinking, Hermione. We trust you.”
Hermione glanced down at the beetle again, a flicker of Dumbledore’s riddle from months ago coming back to her: Two dancers stepping from the music into silence… the smallest creatures slip in where they are least welcome… until one realises they are listening. She pressed a hand lightly over the jar. One step closer to protecting her friends. One enemy temporarily silenced. And now, more than ever, careful thinking would be their greatest weapon.

As the Hogwarts Express glided into King’s Cross, Hermione stepped off the train, bags in hand. The bustling station filled with the sounds of families greeting and reuniting, and a sudden pang hit Hermione. She rushed over to Harry and Ron and wrapped them both tight in a hug.
“Please, be careful.” She whispered into Harry’s ear. “Now that Voldemort has returned… he might come after you.”
Harry drew back slightly, his expression serious. “You be careful too, Hermione. Be cautious with the Malfoys. I saw Lucius at the graveyard… it worries me, thinking about you with them.”
She sighed, glancing towards Draco and the Malfoys waiting nearby. “Dumbledore and I agreed it’s best if I go back. The rest of the world doesn’t believe that he returned. If I don’t go, it’ll raise suspicion. Besides, I’m still underage, and they’re technically my family now.”
Harry’s face softened, reluctantly accepting her words. “Just write when you can, okay?”
Hermione nodded, giving him one last hug before joining the Malfoys, who waited with carefully composed faces. Draco was already beside them, watching her approach. Narcissa greeted her with a thin smile as they began to walk towards the exit.
“Had a pleasant school year, Hermione?” Narcissa asked, casting a polite glance her way.
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.” Hermione replied, slipping into the composed demeanour she’d learned at the Malfoy Manor. Draco’s eyes met hers for a brief second, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and Hermione felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She gave him a small, knowing smile in return, the kind that spoke of shared secrets and private promises. No words were needed; the memory of their stolen kisses, the warmth of his hand on hers, and the quiet understanding between them said everything. As they reached the carriage waiting outside, Narcissa’s polite inquiries faded into the background. Hermione’s focus was on Draco, whose presence felt like a quiet reassurance in a world suddenly shadowed by Voldemort’s return. Even as the Manor loomed ahead, a place of scrutiny and tension, she felt the grounding force of their bond, the secret comfort that had carried her since that fateful second task. During the ride back, their hands brushed again under the edge of the carriage seat. A small squeeze from Draco made her heart flutter, and she rested her head just slightly against his shoulder, savouring the fleeting moments of intimacy that were theirs alone.

The carriage doors closed behind her, and Hermione’s stomach twisted. Every step she took into the Manor made her pulse quicken. She barely had a moment to settle before a sharp, commanding voice rang out.
“Hermione!”
She looked up to see Lucius Malfoy standing at the top of the grand staircase, his expression rigid and imperious. Without a word, he gestured for her to follow. Hermione obeyed silently, heart hammering, her footsteps echoing in the grand hall. He led her immediately into his study, the heavy oak door closing with a definitive thud behind them. The room smelled of polished wood and burning fire, the flickering light casting long shadows across the high ceilings. Lucius’s eyes fixed on her, icy and calculating.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice low and controlled, but sharp as a whip, “what has Potter told you?”
Hermione’s throat went dry. She hesitated, unsure how much to reveal, panic coiling in her chest.
The reaction was immediate. Lucius’s hand shot forward, gripping her chin and tilting her face so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. The intensity of his gaze pinned her in place. “Do not hesitate,” he hissed, voice like ice.  He leaned closer, shadows falling across his face. “You should know something else,” he continued, his tone deliberate and menacing. “Your parents… were Death Eaters. High-ranking ones, not as high as I or Bellatrix, but high enough that their names carried weight. You come from blood that should have been mine to manage, mine to command…” Hermione’s stomach churned, panic and shock gripping her. Her fingers instinctively brushed the necklace at her collarbone, a constant reminder that she was being watched, tracked, and measured. He tightened his hold briefly, tilting her face so she could not look away. “You belong to this family now, whether you wish it or not. This year, I expect the most from you. Narcissa will tell you more about it.”
Her stomach churned, panic and dread coiling inside her, but she forced herself to stay still, to appear calm.  Lucius’s eyes bore into hers, cold and unwavering, before he released her face. “Never forget whose blood runs in you, nor who holds power over it,” he said softly, yet every word dripped with menace. “Your life is no longer yours alone. Remember that.”
Hermione drew a trembling breath, trying to steady her racing heart. She retreated from the study and took a deep breath after the door shut.

Life resumed with its usual rhythm. Narcissa announced a tea party planned within the next few days, something Hermione had come to expect as part of their social routine. In the meantime, she found herself spending time with Draco, studying or practising spells they had covered over the school year.  The day of the tea party was finally here. Narcissa knocked on Hermione’s bedroom door, her voice sharp and commanding. “Hermione, you need to take a shower. I want you to be at your best.”
Startled, Hermione opened the door to find Narcissa standing there, arms crossed, a look of determination on her face. “I’ve laid out a dress for you. You must look presentable.” She instructed, her tone brooking no argument.
“Yes, Mother.” Hermione replied, trying to suppress her unease. She hurried to the bathroom, grateful for the moment of solitude. The hot water washed away her worries, if only for a few minutes. As she emerged, Narcissa was waiting with a stunning gown in hand.
“This is the dress you’ll wear.” She declared, holding it up for Hermione to see. The deep emerald green fabric shimmered, and Hermione slipped it on, glancing at Narcissa, who nodded approvingly.
“Now, let’s do your hair.” Narcissa continued, guiding Hermione to a chair in front of the vanity. She deftly arranged Hermione’s hair into elegant curls. With a flourish, she added an emerald green bow at the back. Her eyes flicked to the necklace Hermione couldn’t remove- the Malfoys’ ‘M’ gleaming prominently against her bare skin. Once satisfied, Narcissa stepped back and retrieved a pair of emerald green heels from the closet. “You’ll need these.”
Hermione hesitated, eying the towering shoes. “But-“
“Put them on.” Narcissa demanded. Hermione complied, and Narcissa nodded approvingly. “You look lovely. Come along.”
As they descended the staircase, Hermione felt her anxiety surge. The weight of expectations pressed down on her. She hadn’t been at the Manor for three days. Narcissa strode purposefully toward the front door, Hermione by her side, greeting each guest politely. As the tea party unfolded, the elegant conservatory filled with the low hum of conversation. The mothers spoke in hushed tones, casting approving glances at their daughters, each girl poised in her carefully chosen dress. Hermione was the only one with her hands folded neatly in her lap, acutely aware of the silent expectations from Narcissa to sit still and pretty, listening without comment as her future was casually discussed. Narcissa poured a fresh round of tea and leaned slightly forward.
“Now, regarding the matter of their First,” she began, her tone serious. “I believe the choice should be made carefully. We cannot afford impulsive matches.”
The other mothers nodded, a few murmuring in agreement. They spoke as though selecting a girl’s First was no different from choosing a suitable dress or the right shade of pearls. Hermione’s expression remained neutral, but her fingers tightened around the handle of her teacup. Each woman seemed to weigh their daughters’ innocence against the family’s social standing, viewing the choice as a calculated step toward securing advantageous connections, status, and tradition.
“Narcissa,” Pansy’s mother began, and Hermione saw Pansy shift in her seat “is Lucius available now? I heard he rejected every request he received these past years.”
Narcissa sipped her tea before responding. “Lucius prefers not to be the First for other girls.”
Hermione watched Pansy and noticed how she looked sad upon hearing that. Hermione quickly took her cup in her hand, trying to act as if she didn’t notice. The conversation continued, the mothers casually tossing names around, weighing their daughters against the advantages each match would bring. Hermione could hear the soft whispers exchanged among the girls, but she remained perfectly still. Narcissa smiled at her from time to time in approval. Deep inside, Hermione longed to shout, to express her frustration at being reduced to a mere consideration in their conversation. Yet she knew better than to voice her dissent. As the mothers debated, Hermione’s gaze drifted out the window, taking in the beauty of the garden. But she didn’t linger long, quickly redirecting her focus on what was being said. As the tea party began to wind down, Hermione felt a mix of relief and dread. The women had made their decisions, all except for Narcissa, who remained silent about Hermione’s First. As they rose to leave, Hermione lingered at Narcisa’s side, guiding the ladies and their daughters out. Once they all exited, Narcissa turned to her. “Don’t worry, dear. We’re making these choices with your best interest in mind.”

Hermione was still asleep as the doors to her room swung open. The clicking of Narcissa’s heels echoed in the silence, followed by the rustling sound of the curtains being drawn back, flooding the room with light.
"Good morning, Hermione." Narcissa said softly as she sat down on the edge of the bed, gently stroking Hermione’s hair. "Today we have a busy day. We have invited five gentlemen, and they will be here in an hour."
Hermione blinked up at her, noticing the warmth of Narcissa’s blue eyes. She stretched before sitting up, feeling a mix of anticipation and dread. Narcissa helped her prepare; she wore the same dress from the tea party. Together, they walked to the tea room, where Lucius awaited them, accompanied by a man around his age.
“Good morning.” Lucius said with a smile as he stood to greet them. “May I introduce you to Marshall Fawley?”
“Good morning” Mr. Fawley replied with a friendly smile.
“Good morning, Mr. Fawley.” Hermione said, giving him a slight bow. Her gaze flitted around the room, taking in the tea setting: two elegant sofas facing each other, with a polished table between them adorned with an array of delicacies for high tea.
“Hermione, dear, would you mind sitting with Mr. Fawley?” Narcissa asked gently as she took her place beside Lucius. Hermione nodded, feeling a wave of uncertainty wash over her. She sat down, stealing a glance at Narcissa, unsure of what to do.
“Mr. Fawley is one of our candidates for your First,” Narcissa explained as she began to serve tea. “The Malfoy family has a tradition of meeting the candidates first to see who you take a liking to.”
Hermione felt a flicker of relief; at least she had some measure of control over the situation. Unlike the tea party the day before, where the women dictated their daughters’ futures, this time, she had a say.
“Hermione,” Mr. Fawley began, his expression earnest, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard you are quite the bright witch.”
Hermione glanced at Narcissa, who nodded encouragingly. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Fawley.” She replied, offering a small smile, despite her awkwardness. Mr. Fawley kept the conversation flowing, asking her about her life at Hogwarts, her favourite subjects, and the places she enjoyed the most. She found herself relaxing a little as they chatted. However, the moment was interrupted when Narcissa and Lucius excused themselves, leaving Hermione alone with Mr. Fawley. As the conversation continued, Hermione found herself having a pleasant time until an unexpected silence fell. She looked at Mr. Fawley, confusion etched on her face.
“Hermione,” he sighed, his tone suddenly heavy. “I don’t think I want to pursue this any further.” He looked at her, fatigue evident in his expression. “It’s not you- no worries. It’s just that your aura makes me feel uncomfortable, and I’m not strong enough to withstand it. I apologise.”
Hermione stared at him, mouth agape. She had thought they were connecting well, but now doubt crept in. What was wrong with her aura? She watched as Mr. Fawley stood and left the room, casting one last smile over his shoulder before the door closed behind him. Moments later, Narcissa re-entered.
“Hermione, are you alright?” she asked, concern lacing her voice. “Mr. Fawley mentioned his discomfort. No need to worry, love.” She said warmly. “You have a very warm aura. Most wizards and witches lack that warmth, which only means you have a very kind heart.”
Hermione sat in silence, reflecting on the unexpected turn of events, when Lucius walked in with Mr. Parkinson.
“I’ve already introduced you to my friend,” Lucius said with a smile, gesturing towards Mr. Parkinson, who seated himself next to Hermione without a word.
“Lucius, I honestly don’t know why I’m even here.” Mr. Parkinson stated coldly, though he accepted the tea Narcissa offered him with a tight-lipped smile.
“You know, the Malfoy tradition is a bit different,” Lucius said lazily “We allow the girl to decide. However, the final decision will always be left to her mother. Or in this case, Narcissa.”
Mr. Parkinson’s gaze turned to Hermione. “I heard you and Pansy don’t get along.”
“It’s because, for the first two years, they thought I was a Muggle, Mr. Parkinson.” Hermione replied sharply. “Maybe if your kind weren’t so judgmental, we could have gotten along.”
She took a sip of her tea, stifling a smile at the way both Lucius and Mr. Parkinson inhaled sharply, clearly displeased by her retort. Narcissa’s hand instinctively rested on Lucius’s leg, a silent plea for him to remain calm.
“Sometimes people have a shaky start but can become the best of friends.” Mr. Parkinson countered, though his voice trembled slightly.
“Maybe Pansy and I don’t want to be friends.” Hermione replied defiantly, almost spilling her tea as Narcissa slammed her hand down on the table.
“Enough, Hermione. He is our guest. Where are your manners?” Narcissa warned, her expression one of stern disapproval.
“My apologies, Mr. Parkinson.” Hermione said, her tone subdued.
“I’ll accept your apology once you and Pansy become friends.” Mr. Parkinson retorted before standing up. “Thank you for the tea, Narcissa. I’m returning to work.”
Hermione watched as he exited quickly, followed by Lucius, who would see him out. Narcissa approached Hermione, her expression a mixture of frustration and concern.
“What is going on inside your head?!” Narcissa shouted, but Hermione stood her ground.
“He was rude to me, mother!” Hermione shouted back, rising to her feet. “He just walked in, said nothing, and then acted as though he had no reason to be here! Pansy has been bullying me for two years!”
“You can express your preferences about who you would like as your First,” Narcissa stepped closer, her voice lowering. “But the final decision is mine.” She glared at Hermione, her intensity unwavering. “If you continue this behaviour with our guests, what will the world think of us? You’re playing with our reputation. I can let the other candidates go home if you prefer. I can still choose them for you.”
Hermione held Narcissa’s gaze, knowing Narcissa was right. It would be better if she could at least choose someone herself.
“I’m sorry.” Hermione whispered, her resolve crumbling.
“You’d better be.” Narcissa replied curtly.
“Corban, we haven’t started the day off well,” Lucius said as he returned. “Please accept my apologies in advance.”
“Morning,” Corban replied flatly.
“Ah, good morning, Mr. Yaxley.” Narcissa said, smiling as she stood. Hermione followed suit, greeting him politely. Mr. Yaxley was rather emotionless, his demeanour cold and distant as he conversed with Narcissa and Lucius. After a while, the two excused themselves, leaving Hermione alone with Yaxley.
“Finally, they’re gone.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t keep my eyes off you.”
Hermione looked up at him, a sense of unease washing over her as he reached out, brushing his finger against her cheek.
“Such lovely, soft skin.” Her murmured, his voice low and unsettling. Hermione quickly rose from the sofa, stepping away from him.
“Please, don’t touch me, Mr. Yaxley.” She managed to say, her heart racing. The intensity of his gaze made her feel cornered.
“Playing hard to get, are we?” he said, rising to his feet and advancing toward her. “I wonder what they’re trying to hide beneath that dress.” He reached for her again.
“NO!” Hermione screamed, her voice echoing through the room. The door burst open immediately. Lucius took the sight in, Yaxley holding Hermione’s arm as his other hand held the skirt.
“OUT!” Lucius shouted at Yaxley, his fury palpable. “HOW DARE YOU?”
Narcissa hurried to Hermione’s side, instinctively shielding her.
“Lucius, calm down.” Yaxley attempted to placate him.
“I SAID YOU SHOULD GET OUT!” Lucius roared, the intensity of his voice causing the Manor to tremble. He opened the door wide, revealing the gravel path outside. Yaxley wasted no time fleeing, and Lucius slammed the door shut behind him.
“Cissy, I’ve had enough for today. You will choose. She has been a brat, and I do not tolerate any further damage to my reputation.”
“I understand, Lucius, but you should calm down.” Narcissa replied, moving closer and taking his hand. He immediately softened, looking at her with affection.
“I’m sorry you had to see me like that, Cissy.” He murmured, almost apologetically. Hermione noticed the exit in the room and contemplated slipping away to give them some space.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Lucius sneered, his eyes narrowing to ice. “Do you think your disrespectful behaviour will go unpunished?”
Hermione froze, heart hammering.
“You will remain here,” he said sharply, “and you will train. Duel me, parry, block, cast. Every spell precise, every movement perfect. You falter even once, and there will be consequences. Do you understand?”
Hermione swallowed hard. “Y-yes, sir,” she whispered.
Lucius’s dark eyes swept over her, calculating, furious. “Do you even understand what it means to falter? To disappoint me?” he snapped, voice like ice cutting through her chest. “Do you think your rudeness, your insolence in front of the others, can go unpunished? That the Malfoys’ reputation can withstand your foolishness?”
Before Hermione could answer, his wand lashed forward. A jet of red light streaked toward her, scorching the stone behind her. She barely twisted away, raising her wand in a practised parry that sent the spell ricocheting with a sharp crack.
“Again!” he barked, advancing. “Perfection! Precision! Every movement you make reflects on this family!”
Spells came faster, sharper, each one demanding not only reflex but grace, posture, and poise. Hermione twisted, ducked, and countered, feeling the sting of scorching hexes and the bite of cold, whirling curses that slammed into walls or bounced against her shields.
“Do you see?” Lucius hissed, a cruel smile flickering. “A single falter. A single misstep. And the world notices. Your every flaw is magnified! You are the standard. You will not disgrace me again!”
He sent another hex arcing through the air, this one hit her shoulder with a crack, forcing a cry from her throat. Hermione rolled to the side, barely managing to levitate a vase into his path as a distraction, the shards scattering harmlessly. But he laughed, a cold, sharp sound.
“Clever,” he said, voice low, eyes glittering with malice. “But you are weak. You think small, move slow. You must anticipate, respond before I even act!”
Another series of curses came at her from different angles, making her leap, twist, and cast shields, each one draining a fraction of her strength. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, sweat stung her eyes, her muscles screamed, and yet she refused to let herself falter again.
“You are mine to shape,” Lucius said, pacing around her as spells continued to fly. “Every glance, every posture, every gesture must be perfect. The Malfoys are a beacon. You — you are the pinnacle. And yet,” his wand flared, a jet of green sizzling past her ear, “you have embarrassed me in front of others. Is this how you honour your blood? By defiance?”
Hermione’s heart pounded, but she met his gaze briefly, wand steady. She blocked a curse aimed to trip her and sent a precise hex ricocheting past him. Lucius’s lips thinned, his eyes narrowing.
“Focus!” he snapped. “Hunger, exhaustion, shame. Let it sharpen you. Every attack, every lesson, every humiliation is for your improvement. Fail again, and the consequences will extend beyond pain. You understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione gasped, her arms trembling but her wand still ready.
Lucius’s eyes softened only for a heartbeat, just enough for her to see the pride wrapped in anger, then the storm returned. He sent a final flurry of hexes, pushing her to her limits, testing her endurance, control, and cunning. Every dodge and block was a negotiation, every counter a careful calculation. Finally, he lowered his wand, circling her slowly, his gaze sharp and unreadable. “Remember this. You are being watched. You are being judged. Your every action carries weight. Do not forget that the world sees, and I see. Fail not in the smallest measure. Obey, excel, survive. That is your path here.”
Hermione’s breath came in ragged gasps. Sweat soaked her robes, muscles trembling. Hermione sank to her knees, panting, drained of both energy and willpower. The lesson had been seared into her bones. In Malfoy Manor, every action was a test, and failure carried consequences harsher than she had ever imagined. Hermione sank into the armchair, her body trembling from exhaustion. Sweat clung to her robes, her arms and legs felt leaden, and the lingering sting of Lucius’s grip on her face burned more than any duelling wound. She pressed her hands to her temples, trying to steady her racing heart. She exhaled slowly, forcing her thoughts toward the task ahead. Dumbledore’s instructions, Harry’s warnings, the Order’s mission; they were all threads she had to hold carefully while pretending to live the life expected of her in the Manor. The punishment had left her physically weak, but it had sharpened her focus: she would endure, she would observe, and she would survive. Draco’s presence nearby was unobtrusive, a familiar shadow she didn’t need to acknowledge aloud. She had already come to rely on him quietly. She rose from the chair, straightening her robes and adjusting her wand in its holster. She opened the door of Draco’s room softly, letting it swing almost silently on its hinges. Draco was sitting on the edge of the bed, his posture relaxed but alert, one hand absently holding a book. The corners of his mouth lifted in a faint, knowing smile when he noticed her.
“You look exhausted,” he said softly, marking his page and setting the book aside.
“I am,” she admitted. Her arms were sore, her muscles still trembling from Lucius’s cruel duel, but she forced herself to sit upright. “I just… need a moment.”
Draco’s eyes softened, and he gestured toward the bed. “Then take a moment. Sit, or lie down if you want.”
Hermione allowed herself a small, tired smile and eased down beside him. She curled up slightly, resting her head lightly against his shoulder. Draco’s arm found her almost immediately, wrapping around her with careful tenderness. She felt the warmth of him seep into her, a quiet anchor in the midst of the tense, dangerous world she navigated daily.
“You’re incredible,” he murmured, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head. “Even after today… you still come to me, you still try to hold yourself together.”
Hermione let out a shaky laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly. “I..” she began, but changed her mind mid-sentence “Just for a moment, I feel like I can be myself. With you”
Draco’s fingers ran lightly through her hair, teasing away the tangles from her day. “I’ve noticed,” he said quietly, “how much you hold back, how much you carry. You’re always careful, always observing… But you don’t have to do that here. Not with me.”
She closed her eyes, letting the words sink in. The world outside Draco’s room was full of threats: Lucius’s sharp gaze, the subtle surveillance, Voldemort’s shadow creeping ever closer, but here, she could simply be Hermione. Vulnerable, tired, and safe, if only for a few hours. Minutes passed in comfortable silence, broken only by the soft crackle of the fireplace and the occasional sound of a distant footstep in the Manor. When she stirred slightly, Draco shifted, guiding her gently so that she could lie fully against him. His arm curled around her waist, pulling her closer, and she pressed herself into him, finding solace in the steady warmth of his body. Draco pressed another soft kiss to her temple, and she leaned into him further, closing her eyes. “No one can touch us here. No one can see. Just… you and me, even if it’s just for a little while.”
As the night deepened, Hermione shifted slightly so she could spoon against him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, the subtle, protective warmth he offered. They lay together in quiet harmony, neither speaking for a long while, letting the comfort of proximity, touch, and trust fill the spaces left empty by fear and duty. Eventually, her breathing slowed, her body unclenching, and she let sleep press over her. Draco’s hand remained lightly on her waist, his thumb tracing gentle, absent-minded patterns on her robes. She wasn’t alone; Draco was by her side. And that was all she needed. She let herself go to a deep, restful sleep.

Chapter Text

Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Hermione stirred, blinking against the light, and realised Draco was still asleep beside her, one arm draped lazily over her waist. She lay there for a few moments, savouring the quiet, before the responsibilities of the morning pressed in. Draco shifted, stretching, and his eyes opened. “Morning,” he murmured, voice husky with sleep.
“Morning,” Hermione replied softly, careful not to break the peace. He glanced at the small stack of books on the nightstand. “Planning to get a head start on some reading?”
Hermione nodded, a small, determined smile tugging at her lips. “Just a little… before the day begins.”
Draco stretched lazily, then leaned back against the pillows, letting her settle beside him. Hermione opened her book, and for a few quiet moments, they read together. Draco, occasionally glancing over the top of his own book to smile at her, and Hermione letting herself relax into the rhythm of the morning. The room was still, warm, and calm, a brief bubble of peace before the demands of the Manor. Eventually, Draco glanced at the door, a faint sigh escaping his lips. “Breakfast is starting downstairs… Should we go?”
Hermione shook her head. “I… think I’ll skip it,” she said, closing her book with a soft thud.
Draco raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. He leaned down, brushing a gentle kiss across her temple. “Alright… suit yourself. I’ll be back later.”
She nodded, watching him leave, the door clicking shut behind him. Silence returned, heavier now, filled with anticipation. The moment the door clicked shut, Hermione took a deep breath, letting the quiet of the room sharpen her senses. She knelt beside the jar, eyes narrowing at the twitching beetle. “Rita Skeeter,” she began, her voice calm but firm, “I know exactly who you are. You’ve been sneaking around, twisting stories, and invading people’s privacy. That ends now.”
The beetle writhed slightly, but Hermione didn’t flinch. She drew a thin line of magic around the jar, ensuring there would be no escape.
“I’m giving you one chance,” she said, her tone measured. “No more articles about me. No more lies about Harry. If you follow these rules, you’ll be free to go. No harm will come to you. You can continue your life as a reporter, but you will respect the boundaries I set.”
Hermione leaned closer, her sharp eyes catching the faint shimmer of fear in the tiny creature. “Step out of line even once,” she continued, “and I will report you to the Ministry. You’re an unregistered Animagus. I can ensure you face serious consequences. Do you understand?”
The beetle fell still for a moment, the threat sinking in. Hermione didn’t need words of agreement; she knew Rita had understood perfectly. Carefully, Hermione whispered the final enchantment, undoing the restraints that bound her. Carefully, Hermione whispered the final enchantment, and the beetle shimmered, growing, twisting, and finally settling back into its human form. Rita Skeeter blinked rapidly, dazed, her sharp features returning, her wand clutched tightly in one hand.
Hermione stood, her gaze steady. “Now, tell me: do you understand? No articles about me, no lies about Harry, and no sneaking. Ever. If you step out of line even once, I will report you to the Ministry as an unregistered Animagus. That is not a threat. That is a promise.”
Rita’s lips parted, eyes wide, the bravado she usually carried replaced with something like fear. She swallowed. “Y-yes… I understand,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“Good,” Hermione said, nodding once. “Now, I’m giving you your freedom. Go. And do not return.”
She moved to the window, pushing it open. A faint breeze fluttered in, carrying the scents of the early morning garden below. Rita stepped forward hesitantly, disappearing before Hermione could think twice.

More than a week had passed since Hermione’s return to Malfoy Manor, yet each day seemed heavier than the last. Narcissa had begun teaching healing spells to Draco and Hermione, guiding them patiently through the delicate intricacies of magical restoration. They practised on withered plants, coaxing drooping leaves back to life, the gentle rhythm of their lessons a stark contrast to the simmering tension that hung over the Manor. For a brief moment, Hermione could almost forget the dangers waiting beyond its walls. But the calm was shattered the next day. Lucius burst into the study, robes swirling like a storm cloud, his face unusually flustered, a rare break from his usual composed, icy demeanour.
“The Dark Lord has summoned us,” he announced, voice urgent, commanding attention. Narcissa’s eyes flicked toward Draco and Hermione, her concern barely masked beneath her composed exterior. “What does he want?” she whispered, almost to herself.
“I don’t know,” Lucius admitted, a shadow passing across his face. “But we must go—now.”
Hermione felt a tight knot coil in her stomach. The weight of the summons pressed on her chest as they moved through the echoing halls, their footsteps swallowed by the vast silence of the Manor. Each step toward the Apparition point was measured, every instinct screaming at her to be alert.
“Remember,” Lucius said, pausing and fixing them with a sharp gaze, “when we arrive, look to the floor. Follow my lead. Obey every command.”
Hermione nodded, forcing herself to swallow the rising panic, and the world shifted around them in a blur as they Disapparated. They arrived in a dim corridor, cold and heavy, the shadows thick and pressing. Lucius led them up a winding staircase to imposing double doors. When the doors swung open, Hermione froze. The chamber beyond seemed alive, the air pulsing with an unseen, oppressive power. Lucius and Narcissa bowed deeply, and instinctively, Hermione and Draco followed. At the far end of the room, the Dark Lord stood, a figure wreathed in shadows.
“Lucius,” he said smoothly, his voice chilling in its calmness, “you have brought the children.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Lucius replied, rigid, his posture perfect. Narcissa mirrored him. Hermione and Draco kept their gazes to the floor, feeling the full weight of Voldemort’s attention without daring to meet it.
“This is my son, Draco,” Lucius said, “and this is Hermione.”
At the sound of her name, Hermione felt a shiver crawl up her spine. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, willing herself not to betray the flutter of panic and curiosity rising in her chest. Voldemort stepped closer, the dark robes swirling like smoke.
“Fear can be a powerful ally, Hermione. It will serve you well in the times to come.” His fingers brushed against her chin, tilting her face upward. Despite her effort to look away, the commanding force of his presence forced her to meet his gaze. A chill ran through her; something buried deep stirred within her, memories she couldn’t yet name pressing at the edges of her mind.
“You carry a spark of power, one that intrigues me,” he whispered. Hermione’s breath caught. She tried to measure her fear, to steady it, to remind herself that she had survived far worse in secret, yet the weight of his scrutiny pressed down like a physical force.
“What do you mean?” she whispered, barely audible.
Lucius’s sharp hiss of her name silenced her before she could speak further. Draco stiffened beside her, a silent reminder of the unspoken rules: speak only when spoken to.
Voldemort’s voice remained smooth, darkly instructive. “With the right guidance, you could become far more than you imagine.” The words left Hermione unsettled, a strange mix of fear and fascination coiling inside her chest. She felt Lucius’s hand tighten slightly against her arm, a reminder of the thin line she walked. Still, a small flame of defiance kindled in her chest. She would not give herself fully to fear. Not yet. Finally, Voldemort gave a satisfied nod at her silence. Lucius stepped forward, his grip on Hermione’s arm was iron as he led her and Draco down the shadowed corridor. Her heart still hammered from Voldemort’s words, but before she could collect herself, a sharp, searing slap landed across her cheek.
“You dare speak before being spoken to, in front of him?” Lucius hissed, his voice low and dangerous. Hermione’s cheek stung, her ears ringing, but she forced herself to bow her head. “I… I am sorry, father,” she whispered.
Draco’s jaw clenched beside her, silent and taut. He did not intervene. He knew better. Lucius’s glare alone was enough to remind them of the rules. The corridor opened into a dim chamber where other Death Eater children had already gathered: Pansy, Blaise, and a few others. Their eyes were bright, alert, shifting nervously or fidgeting as they awaited the return of their parents. Excitement and apprehension mingled in the air, but they paid Hermione little attention. Lucius’s shadow darkened the doorway one last time. He muttered something sharp under his breath, a warning Hermione barely caught, then turned and strode back toward Voldemort. As the door thudded closed, Hermione exhaled silently. She pressed herself against the wall, sliding along its cold surface. Through the thick stone, muffled voices of adults still lingering in the main hall seeped through: Lucius, Narcissa, and the others, conferring with Voldemort. Hermione pressed herself against the cold wall, every muscle taut, her ear straining to catch the muffled conversation through the thick stone. The adults’ words were faint, broken, and mysterious, but the urgency in their voices was unmistakable.
“…must not fail… chosen one… important…”
“…he cannot be allowed… the others…”
“…everything depends… we must ensure…”
Fragments, incomplete and cryptic. Hermione could not piece together the full meaning, but each syllable carried danger. One slip, one careless movement, and Lucius might notice, or Voldemort could sense something amiss. The other children fidgeted around her, shifting from foot to foot, whispering low excitement to one another, entirely unaware of her careful surveillance. Hermione remained pressed into the shadows, silent, blending perfectly into the background. Draco’s eyes flicked to her repeatedly. His brow furrowed. “Hermione… are you all right?” he murmured, voice barely audible over the others’ murmurs.
“I’m fine,” she whispered back, keeping her tone calm, though her pulse raced. She could not let him or anyone else suspect she was listening.  Draco’s jaw tightened. He knew she had been tense since Lucius’s slap, and her continued silence only deepened his worry. He remained close, subtly shielding her, his presence a reminder of the tightrope they both walked. Hermione forced herself to focus. The fragments she caught were like shards of a dark puzzle: urgent, secretive, and ominous. She committed them to memory, careful to remain still, careful that none of the children noticed her subtle movements. Hermione pressed herself against the cold wall, every muscle taut, memorizing the fragments of conversation. Draco’s eyes flicked to her again, worry hidden behind his usual composure. She whispered back that she was fine, though her pulse raced. A shadow fell across the doorway. Lucius’s presence alone was enough. He did not need to shout, did not need to scold. A single, sharp word cut through the room: “Come.”
Hermione followed Draco silently, her mind still running over the fragments she had gathered. Her body moved obediently, but her thoughts were alive with danger and knowledge. How can I get this to Dumbledore? she wondered.

After the encounter with Voldemort, Hermione took the opportunity the following day at their healing lesson to ask Narcissa questions.
“Mother, why were we summoned yesterday?” she asked boldly, knowing Narcissa’s kindness. Narcissa’s expression turned serious, her gaze flickering away for a moment. “He wanted to discuss your First, dear.” She replied, her tone deliberately vague. “That’s all.”
“But I know you’re hiding something else,” Draco pressed “What else did he say?”
Narcissa hesitated, her lips pursed as she weighed her words. “You don’t need to worry about that now. Focus on what is required of you.” She said, her voice firm yet gentle. Before Hermione could respond, the door swung open, and Lucius entered, his expression taut.
“Cissy, we need to talk.” He demanded, a sharp edge to his voice. Narcissa looked at her husband but followed him silently. Lucius closed the door behind her, leaving Darco and Hermione alone in the room.
“What do you think is so urgent?” Draco asked, his brow furrowed.
“I have no idea.” Hermione replied. After a quick exchange with Draco, they both got off their seats and walked closer to the door, listening closely.
“I can’t do it, Cissy. This isn’t what I want.” Lucius’s voice echoed faintly.
“But you must!” Narcissa insisted, “Who else will?”
“It’s not right! I won’t be bound to that role.” Lucius retorted sharply. Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine as she exchanged worried glances with Draco.
“I don’t like this,” Draco whispered, his expression tense. “What if the Dark Lord finds out he won’t comply?”
“I don’t know,” Hermione replied, anxiety gnawing at her. As they continued to strain their ears, they heard Narcissa’s voice rise again.
“Lucius! Be reasonable!” she exclaimed, her tone tinged with frustration.  Abruptly, the conversation ended like that and they heard the sharp click of Narcissa’s heels approach the door. Panic surged through them, and Hermione and Draco hurried back to their seats, feigning an air of concentration as if they had been practicing all along. When Narcissa swung the door open and slammed it shut behind her, Hermione jumped in surprise. The tension between Lucius and Narcissa seemed to escalate with each passing day. It was now two days since they had last exchanged a word at breakfast, their silence hanging heavily in the air. After breakfast, Lucius announced it was time to return to the Dark Lord. Draco stiffened beside her, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on them. They didn’t dare to ask a question and followed Lucius’s lead silently. The heavy double doors swung open, revealing the Dark Lords’s lair. Hermione’s heart pounded as she entered the room.
“Lucius,” Voldemort said “You have returned.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Lucius replied, bowing to his master. Narcissa followed suit, her face pale as she stood beside her husband. Hermione and Draco instinctively bowed as well, anxiety gnawing at their insides as they kept their gazes fixed on the floor.
“Tell me,” Voldemort continued, his piercing gaze shifting to Narcissa. “Who will it be?”
Narcissa glanced at Lucius, her voice steady despite the gravity of the situation. “I decided Lucius should be her First, my Lord.”
Lucius shifted uncomfortably, his jaw tightening “Narcissa-“ he began, but Voldemort silenced him with a look.
“Is there a problem, Lucius?” Voldemort asked, his tone sharp.
Lucius clenched his fists, the tension in is body palpable. “It’s not my wish to take such a role,” he stated firmly “I have declined such offers for years.”
Voldemort’s gaze hardened. “You would deny this girl the experience she requires? You, of all people, who stand firmly on tradition? You understand the significance of a proper First. She deserves guidance, and you are the one to provide it.”
Lucius bowed his head in reluctant acceptance, though the tension in his posture spoke volumes. “Of course, my Lord.” He replied, his voice low. Voldemort walked closer to Draco and Hermione.
“Get it done soon, Lucius” Voldemort commanded. Hermione eyes widened in shock, looking at Voldemort directly. She instantly regretted it as she met  Lucius’s gaze, which was filled with disdain. Voldemort, however, seemed amused by her reaction.
“She’s in Gryffindor, am I correct?” Voldemort inquired, cradling her face in his cold hands “So stubborn and daring.”
“My Lord,” Lucius began, his tone submissive. “I apologise for her behaviour. She will be punished at home”
Voldemort raised his hand to silence him “Instead of punishment, try to draw out her power.”
Hermione quickly locked eyes with him, feeling a knot of tension tighten in her stomach as a strange spark ignited where his fingers touched her skin. Abruptly, Voldemort released her, stepping back to regard her with a mix of curiosity and predatory interest. As Voldemort turned away, Lucius glanced at Hermione and Draco before leading them out of the lair. Once they returned to the relative safety of the Manor, the oppressive weight of Voldemort’s presence began to lift, though the memory of his gaze lingered in Hermione’s mind like smoke. Draco moved closer to her, hand brushing against hers in quiet reassurance. She shivered, part fear, part exhilaration, and part a strange, lingering spark from where Voldemort’s fingers had grazed her skin. Lucius’s stern gaze fixed on her once more, his mind racing with the implications of the encounter. His anger had subsided into calculation, but a new concern had taken root; What exactly had Voldemort sensed in her? The unusual spark, the subtle energy emanating from her core… it was unlike anything Lucius had ever witnessed. Hermione pressed a hand to her chest, remembering Dumbledore’s words from months ago: “You carry a spark within you, Hermione. It is unique to those of the Dumbledore line. It can protect, amplify, and even shield the ones you love, if wielded rightly. Its strength is rare, and that is why your safety was paramount from the very beginning.” The memory made her stomach twist. Voldemort didn’t yet know the true nature of her power, but he could feel the potential. Lucius, perhaps, was beginning to suspect something, though whether he understood it fully was another question. She glanced at Lucius, who had retreated to his study to ponder and plan, and back at Draco. She felt the weight of her power, the responsibility Dumbledore had spoken of, pressing against her ribs like a silent drumbeat: a force Voldemort was sensing, and a force she would have to learn to control. Hermione sank onto Draco’s bed, letting out a shaky breath as Draco moved closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. She leaned into his touch without hesitation, closing her eyes and letting the world outside fade away completely. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering just long enough to warm her skin, then another to her temple. Draco’s hands traced gently down her back, holding her close as if he could shield her from everything with his arms alone. Hermione tilted her face up, and he captured her lips in a slow, tender kiss. She felt the softness of him, the careful, deliberate way he moved, as if afraid to break the fragile peace between them. She kissed him back, lingering, letting the small rush of warmth and reassurance fill the tight coil of fear and tension in her chest. They moved together slowly, inching until Hermione rested fully against him, spooning into his side. Draco’s arm curled around her, his hand tracing small, comforting patterns along her waist. She pressed closer, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath her cheek, letting herself relax in a way she hadn’t in months.
“I love you,” she murmured quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.
Draco’s lips curved into a soft smile against her hair. “I love you too,” he said. “More than I can ever say. You’re… everything to me.” They spent the rest of the evening in quiet intimacy. Kisses on cheeks, soft murmured reassurances, playful nudges, and whispered laughter filled the space around them. The gentle cocoon they had created shattered when the door creaked open. Lucius stepped into the room, his presence immediately filling the space with cold authority. Hermione and Draco both froze, her heartbeat hammering in her ears, his arm instinctively tightening around her.
“I see,” Lucius said slowly, a faint, calculating smile on his lips. “So, you two have… grown quite attached.” His gaze lingered on Hermione, sharp and piercing. “It is good… that you feel loyalty and affection. Strength and connection are important, after all.”
Before Hermione could catch her breath, Lucius’s sharp voice cut through the lingering warmth. “Come with me,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. Draco stiffened, his fists clenching at his sides, but he knew better than to move. Hermione cast him a brief, worried glance, silently reassuring him that she’d survive. Then she followed Lucius, each step weighted with tension. The corridor to the training chamber felt impossibly long. Draco remained behind, frozen in the doorway of the room they had shared moments ago, his heart hammering, powerless to intervene. Lucius’s presence was a looming shadow; Hermione’s only choice to obey. Inside the chamber, Lucius’s eyes glinted with cold calculation. “You will fight,” he said simply. “Narcissa and I will push you. I want to see your strength, your limits… your power.”
Hermione’s stomach twisted, but she squared her shoulders. Every strike from Lucius was precise and relentless; Narcissa moved with controlled grace, anticipating Hermione’s every defence. Every block, every dodge, every drained breath pushed her closer to the edge of her abilities. Time blurred. Hermione’s arms shook, her lungs burned, her legs threatened to give out. The room seemed to shrink around her; the only constant was the pressure bearing down from Lucius and Narcissa. But deep inside, a spark she had barely understood began to glow brighter, responding to the unyielding strain. Hermione’s muscles screamed as she blocked another precise strike from Lucius. Narcissa moved like a shadow, forcing her to shift and dodge with near-impossible speed. Sweat clung to her skin, hair plastered to her forehead, her lungs burning with every ragged breath. A sudden, sharp strike grazed her side, knocking her off balance. She stumbled, a hot spike of pain shooting through her ribs, and she fell to the floor with a harsh gasp. The world seemed to tilt around her. Tears pricked at her eyes; not from defeat, but from the sheer exhaustion and relentless pressure.
“You are not finished,” Lucius said, his voice calm, cold, and unyielding. He stepped closer, his presence heavy, his eyes assessing her like a master sculptor judging his work. “Rise. Push yourself. Show me what I know lies within you.”
Hermione’s hands pressed to the floor, trembling as she tried to push herself upright. Her vision blurred, the room tilting in a dizzying whirl of shadow and firelight. Narcissa’s movements were graceful but merciless, guiding Hermione back into the fight, forcing her to defend, to strike, to keep moving. Pain radiated through her body. Her arm throbbed from a miscalculated block, a scrape along her leg burned from hitting the floor, and every inch of her was screaming in protest. Yet Lucius’s voice, calm and commanding, refused to let her give in. “Do not falter. Push yourself,.. You can do more.”
Hermione’s tears fell freely now, streaking through the sweat and grime, but she forced herself to her feet. Her knuckles were raw, her legs weak, every breath ragged, but she raised her wand and focused, summoning every ounce of energy she could. Another strike, another block. Narcissa pressed her further, ensuring she did not pause, did not falter. And in that moment of complete physical and mental surrender, something inside Hermione ignited. A brilliant, uncontrolled surge of magic burst from her, the force shaking the room, throwing Lucius and Narcissa back just enough for her to collapse to her knees. Lucius stepped forward, expression unreadable, observing the raw energy she had unleashed. “Yes,” he murmured, voice low, almost reverent. “So it is… exactly as I suspected. This power, Hermione… it is formidable. And it will only grow if you continue to push yourself.” Hermione pressed her hands to her knees, head bowed, chest heaving, tears mixing with sweat “You will rise again,” Lucius commanded softly, yet with undeniable authority. “And you will continue. Until I know the full extent of your strength.” Through blurred vision, trembling arms, and a body that felt like lead, Hermione obeyed. She forced herself upright, wand in hand, determination sparking through the fear. Exhausted, battered, and on the edge of collapse, she threw herself back into the fight. Not for pride, not for vengeance, but because Lucius demanded it. And as her magic flared uncontrollably once more, she felt a terrifying exhilaration, the raw force within her finally responding, untamed and brilliant, hinting at just how powerful she truly could be. The fight had pushed Hermione beyond the limits of her body and mind. Every muscle ached, every breath was ragged, and her vision blurred with sweat and tears. Narcissa pressed her forward, Lucius’s sharp commands echoing in her ears. She tried to summon just one more spell, tried to push herself upright, but her body betrayed her. Suddenly, her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor, the world tilting around her. Darkness crept in at the edges of her vision. She gasped once, twice, and then everything went black. Lucius’s eyes narrowed, but his expression was almost… calculating. He bent and lifted her effortlessly in his arms, her limp form pressed against him. Narcissa moved quickly behind him, wand raised, her calm precision a stark contrast to Lucius’s intensity. Within moments, they had carried her back to Draco’s room. Lucius laid her gently on the bed, Draco already there, his eyes wide with worry as he took in her pale, exhausted form. Narcissa moved around her with quiet efficiency, sweeping her wand in fluid, precise motions. A warm, golden light enveloped Hermione’s body, knitting bruises, easing aches, and cleansing sweat and grime. Hermione’s skin softened, and the tension in her muscles gradually eased under the gentle magic. Her breathing evened, but she remained unconscious, still resting in the sanctuary of the bed. Draco’s hand hovered near hers, hesitant to touch, afraid he might disturb her. He leaned closer, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face, his heart pounding with worry and helplessness. “Hermione…” he whispered, voice barely audible. The room was silent except for her shallow, even breathing. Draco curled slightly beside her, careful not to touch too much, but wanting to be near. After a long while, exhaustion claimed him too, and he drifted into sleep, keeping a quiet vigil over her, heart aching but relieved she was alive.

The first light of dawn filtered through the heavy curtains, painting the room in soft golden hues. Hermione’s eyelids fluttered open, heavy with sleep, her body still trembling from the previous day’s exertion. For a heartbeat, she didn’t remember where she was. Then the faint scent of Draco’s cologne and the warmth of his body pressed against hers brought it all back. Draco stirred beside her, his dark hair falling into his eyes, brows furrowed even in sleep. He shifted slightly, instinctively curling around her as if he could shield her from the entire world. Hermione’s lips curved in a small, tired smile, and she reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. The gesture was simple, yet intimate. The morning air was still, almost reverent, holding its breath as if the room itself recognised the quiet gravity of the moment. Hermione’s heart swelled with warmth and tenderness.  Slowly, she shifted, and Draco’s eyes opened, dark pools of concern melting into soft relief. “Hermione…” His voice was low, husky, carrying the weight of sleepless nights and unspoken fears. “You’re awake.”
“I… I am,” she murmured, voice still thick with lingering fatigue. She lifted a trembling hand to his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingers. “I’m… okay now.”
Draco’s lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile, and he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “You scared me,” he admitted softly. “I couldn’t do anything… I just had to watch.” They lay together in silence for a long moment, the world outside suspended. Hermione could feel the steady rhythm of Draco’s heartbeat beneath her cheek, grounding her. The room, with its golden morning light and quiet warmth, became a sanctuary. By seven sharp, they were dressed and seated at the long, polished table. The air smelled of fresh-baked bread and rich, steaming tea, but Hermione barely noticed. Her thoughts were still heavy with the previous day’s events, the lingering exhaustion, and the memory of the power she had unleashed. Lucius entered the room with his usual commanding presence, his robes flowing behind him like a dark banner. He paused at the head of the table, eyes sweeping over Hermione and Draco, noting their closeness with a subtle satisfaction.
“I must say,” he began, his voice smooth yet carrying an unmistakable edge of authority, “it pleases me to see that you two have formed such a bond.” His gaze lingered on Hermione for just a moment longer, sharp and calculating, before shifting to Draco. “Strength lies not only in magic, but in loyalty and trust. The affection you show each other… it is commendable.”
Hermione’s fingers brushed lightly against Draco’s under the table. He gave a small, reassuring squeeze in return, his eyes meeting hers with a mixture of warmth and quiet pride. The words from Lucius were heavy with meaning, but this time, they carried a different weight—a recognition of something genuine, not just control. As the meal drew to a close, Lucius had one more thing to say:  “Today, we travel to the Ministry. There are matters that require our attention, and I will not have any missteps.”  Lucius, still standing at the head of the table, finally nodded, signalling the end of the formalities. Hermione and Draco rose together, their fingers brushing, and they hurried to get ready. The green flames of the Floo Network roared to life in the Malfoy Manor hearth, casting flickering shadows across the polished floor. Hermione and Draco stepped forward, wands tucked carefully into their robes, the sense of anticipation coiling tight in their stomachs.
“Remember your manners,” Lucius instructed, his voice smooth, dangerous, and entirely without warmth.  Hermione and Draco stepped out of the green flames of the Floo Network and into the grand atrium of the Ministry. Sunlight poured through the soaring windows, glinting off polished marble floors that stretched farther than she could see. The air hummed with the steady rhythm of bureaucracy: quills scratching, papers shuffling, footsteps clattering. Wizards and witches moved with purposeful precision, their robes whispering like silk against the floors. A sudden, piercing shout cut through the din. A newsman, perched atop a crate near the entrance, waved a freshly printed Daily Prophet high in the air.
“Extra! Extra! Daily Prophet exposes Dumbledore’s failures! Chaos at Hogwarts! Read all about it!”
Hermione froze. The words, shouted like a clarion call, hammered against her thoughts. She could not step closer. Lucius’s presence behind her was a constant, icy weight, his cane tapping faintly against the marble, each strike echoing like a heartbeat of warning. Yet the fragments of the headline were enough. Her mind raced: What is being said of Hogwarts? Of Harry? Of Dumbledore?
She pressed herself closer to Draco, feeling the warmth of his arm against hers, his quiet presence a tether in the storm of noise. Even without the paper in her hands, she absorbed the information — the angles, the bias, the fear being spread. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, she reminded herself, a small spark of determination igniting. Every piece of knowledge could be weaponised, every fragment a key to understanding the dangerous currents swirling around them. Lucius’s cane tapped again, sharper this time, against the marble. Hermione flinched slightly, her pulse quickening, and she forced herself to stand taller, keeping her composure.  Lucius led them through the labyrinthine corridors of the Ministry, each step measured, cane tapping lightly against the marble. The sound echoed through the hallways like a metronome of authority, keeping Hermione alert and careful with every movement. Officials and passersby instinctively made way, their eyes darting toward him with a mixture of respect and unease. Hermione’s pulse quickened with each tap — a reminder that disobedience or distraction could carry immediate consequences. Finally, they arrived at a polished wooden door, heavy and imposing. Lucius gestured sharply toward two high-backed chairs in front of his desk. “Sit,” he commanded, voice smooth but cold, leaving no room for hesitation. His cane tapped against the floor once, sharply, punctuating the order. Hermione lowered herself into the chair, Draco beside her, both of them keenly aware of every movement. Lucius immediately turned to his desk, spreading papers, documents, and ledgers with precise efficiency. Quills scratched furiously across parchment, ink flowing in deliberate, perfect lines. Hermione’s eyes darted to the desk, catching a glimpse of a ledger that made her pulse quicken. The neat, precise handwriting listed names she recognised only faintly from whispers: prisoners, their crimes, and the locations of their cells in Azkaban. Notes in the margins hinted at careful planning:
“…Bellatrix Lestrange — high security… monitoring required… transfer feasible…”
“…Rosier, Mulciber… evaluate guards… potential extraction…”
She shifted slightly in her chair, leaning forward under the pretence of smoothing her robes, angling just enough to glimpse the next page. More names, cryptic annotations, and coded notes filled the margins. Her breath caught. Even fragments of this information were dangerous, yet they burned in her mind. Her breath caught, and Hermione leaned slightly closer, daring to glimpse the next page under the guise of adjusting her robes. Lucius’s head snapped up. His eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto hers with a precision that made her chest tighten. The faint curve of his lips was not warmth — it was a warning.
“Hermione,” he said, voice low, smooth, but edged with unmistakable menace. One word, yet it carried the weight of all the consequences she could imagine. She froze instantly, heart hammering, and drew herself back, pressing into her chair as if she could make herself smaller. Lucius’s gaze did not waver. He leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes fixed on her like a predator. “Curiosity has a cost,” he added, each word deliberate, controlled. “Do not test it.”
Hermione swallowed, bowing her head slightly, every nerve taut. She had seen more than she should, glimpsed threads of dark plans that were not meant for her eyes, yet the fragments seared into her memory. The office was quiet, the only sounds the soft scratch of quill on parchment and Hermione’s steadying breath. Draco sat close, alert, his hand brushing against hers under the table. Lucius surveyed them briefly, noting their flawless composure. Exemplars, he thought. The perfect image of discipline. A firm knock echoed against the polished wood. “Enter,” Lucius commanded. The door swung open to reveal Cornelius Fudge, his stout figure filling the doorway. His expression was unusually bright, a satisfied glint in his eyes. As Fudge entered, both she and Draco rose from their chairs, straightening immediately, hands folded neatly in front of them. The movement was precise, controlled: a silent demonstration of respect and discipline.
“Cornelius,” Lucius greeted smoothly, rising from his chair. “Do come in.”
Fudge stepped forward, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Good news, Lucius,” he said, voice brisk, almost triumphant. “It seems Dumbledore has lost all his positions at the Ministry. Completely removed. Apparently… he claims he only wanted his image on the Chocolate Frog cards.” His tone carried a mixture of amusement and self-satisfaction, as if the world had finally tilted in his favour. Lucius’s lips curved faintly, the ghost of a smile masking his calculation. “Indeed,” he said smoothly. “The great Albus Dumbledore, concerned only with cards.”
Fudge chuckled lightly. “Well, I must admit… it’s a relief. Dumbledore out of the way makes things far easier at the Ministry. Now we can focus on the real work.”
Lucius inclined his head slightly, steepling his fingers on the desk. “Indeed, Cornelius. The Ministry can now operate without distractions. Efficiency and loyalty are far more valuable than sentimentality.” Lucius’s gaze flicked toward Hermione and Draco, sharp and unyielding. “Cornelius,” he said smoothly, “shall we continue this discussion in your office?”
Fudge inclined his head, stepping forward. “Of course, Lucius.”
Lucius allowed a slow, deliberate smile to curve at the corners of his mouth, but it did not reach his eyes. He led Fudge toward the door, his movements precise and controlled, leaving Hermione and Draco standing perfectly still in the quiet of the office.
“Stay here,” he said, voice low but commanding. “Do not touch anything. Not a single parchment, not a single ledger. If I return to find even the smallest deviation…” He let the threat hang in the air, heavy and unspoken. “You will regret it. Hermione and Draco nodded immediately, their posture rigid, hands folded in front of them. Lucius’s eyes lingered for a moment longer, cold and assessing. As the door clicked shut behind Lucius and Fudge, Hermione’s eyes flicked to the desk. Parchments, ledgers, and scattered notes lay just within reach. Her heart hammered, but she forced herself to remain still, leaning subtly to catch a glimpse of the nearest page. Draco sank carefully into a nearby chair, keeping his posture straight and alert. He noticed Hermione lingering a fraction too long over the papers and, in a quiet, controlled whisper, said, “Enough.”
Hermione drew a deep, steadying breath and sank fully back into her seat, folding her hands neatly in her lap. A few minutes passed in tense silence. The faint scratch of quill from the next room was the only sound, until a sharp knock echoed against the polished wood. The door opened and Blaise’s father stepped inside, his tall frame filling the doorway. His gaze swept over the room, lingering briefly on the two students. “I trust I am not intruding?” he asked smoothly, though there was an edge to his tone, careful and assessing. Hermione and Draco straightened instinctively, sitting perfectly still, hands folded neatly in their laps. He stepped fully into the room, robes impeccable, and gave a small nod of acknowledgement. Blaise’s father’s gaze lingered for a moment before he spoke again. “And where is Lucius, may I ask?”
Draco inclined his head slightly, voice measured. “He is in discussion with Minister Fudge, sir.”A faint, approving smile touched Blaise’s father’s lips. “I see. Very well. I shall wait for his return.” He paused, surveying the room before settling into a subtle, more relaxed posture. “In the meantime… perhaps a few words about school, if you don’t mind.”
Hermione blinked once, then inclined her head politely. “Of course, sir.”
He nodded and began speaking in a calm, deliberate tone, asking about their studies, their classes, and the work required of fifth-year students. His words were gentle, yet his eyes missed nothing, assessing their composure, their discipline, and the way they carried themselves under observation. Minutes passed in careful discussion of their lessons, homework, and the occasional detour into minor school matters. Hermione and Draco spoke politely, measured, attentive, keeping their composure perfectly intact. Finally, the office door opened quietly. Lucius returned, his expression unreadable. Blaise’s father rose smoothly, offering a small nod of acknowledgment. In his hand, he carried a sealed envelope.
“For you,” he said quietly, extending it to Lucius. “Important information. Though you would want to see it immediately.”
Lucius took the envelope without a word, his eyes briefly meeting Blaise’s father’s in a flicker of acknowledgement. “Thank you,” he said, voice smooth and controlled. His gaze then swept the room, lingering on Hermione and Draco, and a faint, cold curve of his lips suggested both approval and warning. The office settled into tense silence once more, the weight of secrets and authority pressing down on the young students as Lucius carefully opened the envelope. Lucius’s fingers broke the seal on the envelope with deliberate precision, his eyes scanning the contents quickly. Blaise’s father watched him silently for a moment, then inclined his head.
Blaise’s father nodded once, expression neutral, and gave a small, formal bow. “I will leave you to your work, then.” He turned and left the office with the same quiet authority he had entered, the door closing softly behind him. Lucius straightened, folding the envelope in his hand, before turning toward the two students. “Come. We have matters to attend to,” he said, voice smooth but firm. Hermione and Draco rose immediately, moving with careful, disciplined precision.  Lucius guided Hermione and Draco through the silent corridors, each step measured and precise. When they reached Umbridge’s office, he paused, eyes sharp and assessing.
“You will stand quietly,” he said, voice low and controlled. “Do not speak unless spoken to. Any deviation will be noted.”
Hermione and Draco nodded, their posture impeccable, faces calm masks of obedience. Lucius pressed the door open, stepping inside with deliberate grace. Umbridge looked up sharply, her pink robes immaculate, expression fluttering between irritation and curiosity.
“Dolores,” he said smoothly, “I thought it prudent for you to meet my children.” He let the words hang, neutral in tone, but heavy with unspoken weight. Her gaze swept over Hermione and Draco, lingering longer than etiquette demanded. She noted their posture, their composure, the subtle alertness in their movements. Lucius’s eyes met hers briefly, steady and unreadable.
“And, of course,” he continued, voice even, “you may be interested to know that Dumbledore has been completely removed from all positions at the Ministry. Apparently, he now claims he was concerned only with having his image on Chocolate Frog cards.” His lips curved faintly, the ghost of a smile masking his calculation. Lucius guided Hermione and Draco through the silent corridors, each step precise, measured. When they reached Umbridge’s office, he paused, eyes sharp and assessing.
“You will stand quietly,” he said, voice low and controlled. “Do not speak unless spoken to. Any deviation will be noted.”
Hermione and Draco nodded, their posture impeccable, faces calm masks of obedience. Lucius pressed the door open, stepping inside with deliberate grace. Umbridge looked up sharply, pink robes immaculate, but her expression softened slightly at the sight of him. A mixture of respect, recognition, and careful calculation.
“Lucius,” she said smoothly, inclining her head, “a pleasant surprise.”
“Dolores,” he replied, voice even, courteous but carrying the weight of his presence. “I thought it appropriate for you to meet my children.” He gestured briefly toward Hermione and Draco. Her gaze swept over them, noting their posture, composure, and the alertness beneath the surface. “I see,” she said lightly, though her eyes lingered longer than politeness demanded. Lucius allowed a small, measured smile. “Indeed. And, of course, I expect that you are aware of recent developments at the Ministry. Dumbledore has been completely removed from all his positions. He claims he only desired his image on Chocolate Frog cards.”
Umbridge’s lips curved subtly, a mixture of acknowledgement and hidden satisfaction. “I had heard as much,” she said, her tone careful. “A relief, I should think.”
He stepped back slightly, the subtle weight of his presence filling the room. Hermione and Draco remained perfectly still, hands folded, every muscle alert, yet outwardly calm; obedient, disciplined, and aware of the unspoken currents swirling around them.
Lucius inclined his head once more. “That will be all for now.” His tone left no room for argument. Without another word, he turned and left the office, closing the door softly behind him. The silence that followed was taut, almost tangible. Hermione and Draco exchanged no words, but both felt the subtle shift in the room. Umbridge’s gaze remained fixed on them, curiosity and calculation mingling in the sharpness of her eyes, while the echo of their father’s authority lingered long after he had departed. Back in his office, Lucius settled at his desk, Hermione and Draco standing quietly nearby. The faint scratch of quill on parchment filled the room as he reviewed papers, his movements precise and deliberate. Every now and then, his sharp eyes flicked to the children, ensuring their posture remained impeccable. Minutes passed in this careful silence. Finally, he reached for his pocket watch, flipping it open with practised ease. A subtle frown crossed his face. “It is time,” he said smoothly, closing the watch and rising from his chair. Hermione and Draco immediately adjusted their posture, hands folded neatly in front of them, waiting silently.
“Come,” Lucius said, his tone controlled and authoritative. “We are returning home.” He swept past them, cloak trailing behind him, and led the way out of the office. The children followed without a sound, their movements measured, every step reflecting the discipline their father demanded.

Chapter Text

The heavy doors of Malfoy Manor closed behind them, shutting out the world. Draco strode beside his father, tense but composed. Lucius’s sharp eyes swept over him, and with a curt nod, he dismissed him.
“Draco, you may go. Attend to your own matters,” Lucius said, his voice absolute. Draco’s jaw tightened, but he obeyed without protest, disappearing down the corridor. Hermione remained, her pulse quickening as Lucius turned to her. “You, Hermione… come with me.”
Inside the study, the door closed behind them with a weight that seemed to mark a boundary. Lucius turned, his face smooth, unreadable, yet his eyes were sharp. He lifted a hand, cupping her cheek—a gesture that once would have brought only fear. Hermione flinched instinctively, drawing back.
“You cannot fear my hands,” he said, voice low but firm. “You must feel… comfortable around me. Trust… is required.”
Hermione’s breath caught. Trust? With him? The very idea felt foreign, almost impossible. Her mind raced through years of discipline, of pain, of lessons learned through fear. Could she unlearn that? Could she allow herself to exist in his presence without flinching? Lucius seemed to sense her hesitation. He stepped back, deliberately, his posture easing into something less commanding, though the sharpness in his gaze never vanished. He moved toward the sofa, settling into the dark leather cushions with careful precision. “Sit,” he commanded, gesturing to the seat beside him. “I will not force you, but you will sit. Perhaps… read. A book, if you wish.”
Hermione hesitated, weighing every possible reaction. Slowly, she crossed the room, keeping a careful distance. Each step felt measured, deliberate, as if she were navigating a delicate trap. She lowered herself onto the sofa, leaving space between them, and her fingers hovered briefly over the spine of a book. The rustle of pages became a tether, grounding her. Lucius remained still at first, simply observing. Then, imperceptibly, he shifted a little closer, narrowing the space without forcing it. Hermione felt it and stiffened slightly but kept her gaze on the text, letting herself breathe with measured control. He made no sudden moves, only a slight tilt of his body toward her, a quiet presence that was firm but not threatening. Minutes passed. Hermione’s fingers traced the lines of the page, her mind slowly absorbing the words. She felt the warmth of his proximity without panic, noticing the subtle steadiness of his breathing, the calm weight of him beside her. Lucius moved a fraction closer again, just enough that her shoulder brushed his. She flinched for an instant, then let the sensation pass, her mind forcing itself to interpret it as neutral, safe. He did not speak, did not pressure. He simply adjusted, closing the small gap with deliberate slowness. Hermione’s hand lifted, turning the pages, and she realised she could do so without feeling cornered. She looked up briefly, meeting his eyes, and saw no malice, only attentiveness, and a strange, cautious patience. Lucius’s gaze lingered on her, sharp but unreadable. “Hermione,” he said quietly, yet there was a firm weight behind the word. “Sit on my lap,” he said, the words smooth, insistent. Hermione’s chest tightened, hesitation written across her face.
“I… I—” she began, but his hand lifted, firm and guiding. He did not rush her, yet there was no choice in the gentleness of his command. With a careful motion, he guided her onto his lap, settling her against the armrest of the sofa so that her back was supported, her posture upright but relaxed in the frame of the grand furniture. Lucius reached down, removing her heels with deliberate care, setting them aside so her feet could rest on the plush cushions of the sofa. His arm came around her, steady and protective, his thumb brushing softly along her side, a quiet, grounding rhythm. The firelight painted the curve of his face and the delicate line of her profile, illuminating the intimacy of the moment in a way that felt almost ceremonial.
“You will stay,” he said softly, “until you feel no fear. Understand?” Hermione nodded, her heart pounding. It was unnerving, and her fingers returned to the book she held, the words grounding her as the warmth of the room and the solidity of his presence slowly seeped into her. At first, her breathing was measured, cautious, but the subtle rhythm of his thumb, the firm yet gentle clasp of his arm, and the protective weight beside her coaxed her into calm. Page by page, line by line, the tension in her shoulders eased. Her eyes flicked occasionally to the flames dancing across the hearth, then back to the text, and gradually the sharp edges of fear softened into a careful serenity. Lucius remained silent, his gaze sometimes on her, sometimes on the fire, as if marking the slow transformation he had orchestrated. Eventually, she allowed herself to sink deeper into the sofa, her back fully resting against the armrest, her body warmed by the fire and the presence beside her. The grand study, the roaring hearth, the golden glow of the flames; all of it lent an air of solemnity and safety. And in that space, Hermione finally felt the first tentative trace of trust. She shifted slightly, finding a more comfortable position, and noticed with a cautious surprise that the tight knot in her chest had loosened. Lucius did not speak again immediately; he merely remained there, a solid anchor beneath her, his hand still resting lightly on her shoulder, allowing her the space to exist in proximity without fear. Time stretched. Hermione turned her head slightly, resting it against his chest. The steady beat of his heart beneath her ear was grounding, almost hypnotic. Lucius did not move, did not comment, only allowed her to adjust, to settle, to understand that she could exist near him without flinching. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and deliberate. “You see? There is nothing here to fear. Only steadiness. Only presence. Let yourself feel it.”
Hermione’s eyes fluttered shut again. She exhaled slowly, realizing, with quiet astonishment, that she could breathe here. That she could relax, even while sitting on the lap of a man who had once been the source of her deepest fears.
Morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the study, casting a golden glow over the polished wood and leather-bound books. A small breakfast table had been set near the hearth, arranged just for Hermione and Lucius. Thick napkins, delicate porcelain, and steaming tea promised a formality that was softened by the quiet warmth of the fire. Hermione awoke on the sofa, the thick woollen throw Lucius had draped over her the night before still wrapped around her shoulders. She rose carefully, smoothing her robes, and approached the table. Lucius was already at his desk a few paces away, quill in hand, a stack of parchments spread before him. A Daily Prophet lay open beside the paperwork. His movements were precise and methodical, yet his gaze flicked to her as she approached.
“Good morning,” he said, without looking up immediately. “I have set the table for you. Sit. Be comfortable.”
Hermione moved to the small chair at the breakfast table. Lucius rose briefly, draping the blanket over the back of her chair to ensure she remained warm. Then he returned to his work, the faint scratch of quill against parchment the only sound beside the fire. She sipped her tea, feeling the heat seep through her fingers and into her chest, a quiet comfort. For a moment, she allowed herself to simply exist in the room, unhurried, undisturbed. He finally looked up, folding his hands over the papers. “Did you sleep well?” His voice was calm, deliberate, and somehow careful not to startle her.
Hermione nodded. “Yes… the blanket helped.”
“Good,” he replied, returning his attention to the parchments, though his eyes lingered on her peripherally. “Comfort is necessary. You must learn to exist in this space without fear. That is the first step.”
The breakfast passed in quiet companionship. Lucius worked at his desk, making occasional notes, flipping the Daily Prophet, while Hermione sipped her tea and nibbled at the bread and preserves. The simple act of being together, yet apart, was a lesson in trust itself. Hermione set down her teacup, eyes lingering on the folded Daily Prophet beside Lucius’s papers. Curiosity gnawed at her. She cleared her throat gently. “Father… may I read the newspaper?” she asked, careful to keep her tone respectful, controlled. Lucius raised a brow, quill paused in mid-air. “The Daily Prophet?” His voice was cautious, suspicious. “And why, pray, would you need to read it?”
Hermione hesitated, then forced a small, earnest nod. “To… keep informed. About the world, current events… that sort of thing. One must understand what is happening outside these walls.”
Lucius’s gaze sharpened, as if weighing her reasoning. There was a long pause, the only sound the faint scratching of his quill and the crackle of the fire. Finally, he inclined his head almost imperceptibly. Hermione’s chest lifted slightly, and she carefully unfolded the newspaper, spreading it across the small breakfast table. She felt a thrill of quiet triumph, while Lucius returned to his work, glancing at her occasionally to ensure she remained controlled, measured, disciplined. She began to read, her eyes scanning the headlines and articles. The words hinted at Dumbledore, Harry, and events in the wider wizarding world, though she had to read between the lines. The act of reading, framed as “keeping informed,” allowed her a subtle sense of freedom. A small assertion of agency within the carefully ordered environment of the manor. Lucius looked up after a while, voice calm but firm. “Do you understand what you are reading?”
Hermione met his gaze briefly, careful not to betray her curiosity. “Yes… it seems clear enough. One must always consider the source and the purpose behind the writing.”
Lucius’s sharp eyes softened just slightly. He nodded, and the barest curl of a smile touched his lips. A rare acknowledgement of her discernment, a small, silent approval that made Hermione’s chest lift with cautious pride. He returned to his desk, though his gaze lingered on her for a heartbeat longer than necessary, a subtle signal that he noticed her effort and understood her reasoning. Once he put down his quill, Lucius’s sharp eyes lingered on her, and then, with deliberate calm, he rose from his desk. He folded the Daily Prophet neatly and set it aside. Without a word, he extended his hand toward her, his posture commanding yet steady.
“Come,” he said quietly, “up.”
Hermione hesitated for a heartbeat, then took his hand. His grip was firm but gentle, guiding her across the polished floor. The firelight caught the glint of his silver cufflinks as he led her toward the sofa, the warmth of the throw draped across the cushions waiting for her. He seated himself and gestured for her to settle onto his lap. Hermione obeyed, positioning herself carefully so her back rested against his chest and the armrest, the familiar rhythm of his presence grounding her. Lucius reached to the side and retrieved the book she had been reading yesterday, offering it to her.
“Read,” he said, his voice low, calm, and commanding in that way that allowed no argument. Hermione took the book, the soft weight of it grounding her, and sank back slightly into him. His arm came around her, steady and protective, the subtle pressure enough to remind her of his presence without confining her. The warmth of the fire, the throw over her legs, and the solid steadiness of Lucius beneath her created a space that was at once intimate and safe. As she turned the pages, her mind focused on the words, but she felt his gaze resting on her occasionally. Not in judgment, but in quiet attentiveness. The trust they were building was fragile, yet tangible. She could exist here, on his lap, reading, while he remained a firm, unwavering presence beside her. Hermione exhaled slowly, letting her body relax further against him. She held the book carefully, letting her fingers trace the edges of the pages, yet her awareness remained alert, attuned to every movement he might make.L Lucius’s hand shifted lightly, coming up to cup her cheek. His touch was deliberate, slow, and controlled—almost a question. He held her gaze, studying her reaction, observing if she flinched this time. Hermione’s chest tightened for a moment, a reflex she could not entirely suppress. But she forced herself to remain still, steadying her breathing, feeling the firmness of his hand and the weight of his calm presence. The tension in her shoulders eased fractionally as she realised she no longer recoiled instinctively. A faint, almost imperceptible smile curved Lucius’s lips. He did not move his hand, simply held it there for a moment longer, allowing her to register her own composure. Then, without a word, he lowered his arm and rested it gently along her side, his thumb brushing softly against her arm in a quiet, grounding rhythm.
“You see?” he said quietly, his voice low but deliberate. “No harm comes from my touch.”
Then, without a word, Lucius shifted slightly. His hand that had cupped her cheek moved down, settling gently on her thigh. The other hand came to rest lightly on the small of her back, the touch firm yet careful, deliberate in its steadiness. He leaned in just enough that his presence enveloped her, a subtle pressure at her side, a careful closeness that invited trust and something deeper. Hermione’s fingers lingered on the book, but her eyes kept drifting to his hands, the slow, purposeful way he held her. She no longer flinched; instead, she felt a strange, quiet anticipation, the tension in her chest softening under the intimacy of his touch. Lucius’s thumb traced light, deliberate circles along her side, and she realised she was no longer merely tolerating it, she was leaning in, adjusting herself slightly, letting the comfort grow. He noticed and shifted subtly, one hand moving higher along her back, encouraging her to settle fully into him, while the other hand cupped her thigh more confidently, guiding it so she could sit completely against him. She shifted slightly, leaning into him, testing the comfort, and found that the closer she pressed, the steadier she felt. His hand on her back moved minutely, tracing the line of her spine with a careful, deliberate pressure, while the one on her thigh remained firm, warm, and unyielding. The contact was not forceful; it was a controlled insistence, a reminder that she could exist here and be safe—yet it carried a tension that made her pulse quicken. Hermione’s eyes flicked up to his, and for a moment, she saw a glimmer of something rare in him: approval, attentiveness, even a faint warmth behind the usual sharpness. She swallowed, her throat dry, and let herself breathe into the sensation, allowing the book to rest open on her lap. Her head tilted slightly, brushing against his chest, and she felt the subtle rhythm of his heartbeat, steady and deliberate beneath her ear. He leaned closer, just enough for the faintest warmth of his chest to brush against her hair, and his fingers traced a delicate path along her shoulder, lifting a strand of hair behind her ear. Hermione’s pulse quickened, but she did not flinch; instead, she let herself stay, her head tilting slightly to accommodate him, the book resting lightly on her lap.
“You are… calm,” he murmured, his voice low, deliberate, almost a whisper against her ear. “Calm, and yet… aware. That is good.”
Hermione exhaled softly, letting the sound mingle with the crackle of the fire. She felt a subtle shiver run down her spine—not from fear, but from the controlled intimacy of his touch, the deliberate warmth and pressure that both steadied and stirred her. Slowly, she allowed one hand to rest lightly on his arm, testing the connection, and he made no sudden movements, only shifted slightly to support her, his own fingers brushing along hers in a grounding, intimate rhythm. Lucius’s thumb traced lazy circles along her side again, and he adjusted her position slightly, tilting her gently against him so that her back was fully pressed to his chest, the throw draped over their legs. Hermione’s head rested lightly against his shoulder now, and she realised with a quiet astonishment how natural it felt to sink into him, to allow the closeness without fear, without resistance.
His voice was almost a breath against her ear. “I know… I am your First,” he murmured, his words deliberate, careful. “And I want you to… enjoy it. Truly. You must trust me, Hermione. Trust me, not fear me.”
He tilted his head slightly, letting her feel the closeness of his presence without crowding her, letting the warmth seep in around her, steady and reassuring. “Every movement, every touch, is for your comfort. Allow yourself to feel it… to understand it.”
Hermione exhaled slowly, letting the tension in her shoulders melt fractionally as she leaned a little closer, her cheek pressing lightly against his chest. She felt the steady rhythm of his breathing beneath her, the gentle but firm hold of his hands, and for the first time, she allowed herself to consider that she could actually enjoy the sensation of being held by him. Secure, close, and trusted. Her fingers brushed again against his arm, lingering just slightly, testing the connection. Lucius responded by tightening his hold a fraction, the pressure neither forceful nor intrusive, simply a steady, insistent reminder of his presence and of the trust she could place in him. He leaned closer, tilting his head slightly, his lips brushing against hers in a gentle, deliberate kiss. Hermione froze for a heartbeat, surprised by the intimacy, then slowly began to respond, pressing lightly against him. Lucius’s hand moved to cradle the side of her face, guiding the motion without forcing it, letting her explore the closeness at her own pace. When she hesitated, he whispered softly, his voice low and deliberate, “Let yourself feel it, Hermione. Slowly… gently. Match me, follow the rhythm, and allow yourself to respond.”
Hermione’s pulse quickened, but she obeyed, tilting her head, letting the kiss deepen gradually. He guided her subtly, teaching her how to move in harmony, how to match the pressure and pace without rushing, creating a careful, shared intimacy. Her hands moved lightly over his shoulders, and she felt the warmth and steadiness of him beneath her, the connection intensifying in a controlled, deliberate way. The book lay forgotten on her lap. The firelight danced across the room, flickering over the curve of their bodies as they explored the closeness, the intimacy, and the quiet trust between them. Hermione’s movements became more confident, following the rhythm Lucius set. Each gentle pressure of his lips, each subtle tilt of his head, guided her without haste, teaching her how to respond while still remaining fully in control of herself. She could feel the warmth of his body beneath her, the steady strength of his arms, the deliberate patience in every touch. His hand on her back shifted slightly, tracing small, grounding circles along her spine, while the other remained firm on her thigh, encouraging her to sink closer. Hermione’s fingers threaded lightly through his hair, marvelling at the intimacy of the connection—the closeness, the trust, the shared understanding without words. When she faltered, unsure of how to match him, Lucius whispered softly, his lips brushing hers again. “Slowly, Hermione. Feel the movement. Let it flow naturally… and let yourself respond.”
Her heart raced, but she obeyed, leaning into him, letting the kiss deepen in a slow, deliberate way. She explored the softness of his lips, the subtle warmth, the deliberate patience behind each motion. Every careful shift of his body, every guiding hand, made her feel safe even as the intimacy intensified. They paused briefly, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling, and Hermione felt a quiet thrill in the closeness. Lucius’s eyes met hers, sharp yet gentle, approving and patient. “You are learning… and you are trusting,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate. “That is all I ask. Trust and presence—nothing more, nothing rushed.” Hermione exhaled, leaning fully into him, letting herself feel the security, the warmth, and the growing intensity of the moment. The firelight flickered across them, the room silent except for the quiet rhythm of their breathing, as trust, closeness, and desire intertwined in a delicate, deliberate balance. Lucius pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead against hers. His gaze was intense, deliberate, but softened by something almost imperceptibly tender. “You are learning to trust me,” he murmured, voice low, deliberate. “And tomorrow… you will allow me to guide you further. You will experience your First.” Hermione’s breath caught at the words. A flush crept across her cheeks. Hermione’s mind raced, a jumble of anticipation and worry twisting together. Tomorrow… he will be my first. What if I fail? What if I don’t know what to do? What if it hurts? She glanced up at him, her cheeks still warm from the flush of their closeness, and found his gaze steady, attentive, patient.
“I-“ she began hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I’ve never… I mean, I don’t know what—what I’m supposed to do. What if I… I’m not… good at this?”
He didn’t flinch, didn’t recoil, only let his hand slide a fraction more firmly along her back, a grounding reassurance. “Hermione,” he murmured, his tone deliberate and calm, “you need not know everything beforehand. You will learn in time. I will guide you. Every movement, every touch… will be careful, deliberate, and for your comfort. You will not be alone, and you will not be harmed.”
Lucius’s fingers traced gentle, deliberate patterns along her back and thigh, reinforcing the trust between them.
“It is natural to feel worry, Hermione,” he said softly, almost a whisper. “But tomorrow, you will discover that trust and intimacy can exist without fear. You only need to let yourself experience it… with me.”
She swallowed, the knot of tension in her chest loosening fractionally under the weight of his words and the warmth of his presence. He’s not going to rush me. He’ll teach me. He’ll… take care of me. The thought both terrified and fascinated her.
Finally, Lucius rose, smooth and deliberate, folding the Daily Prophet and setting it aside on the desk. He extended his hand to her. “Come,” he said quietly. “Narcissa will see to you now. You will remain with her while I attend to my work. You understand?”
Hermione rose, taking his hand, feeling the reassuring firmness of his grip. “Yes, father” she murmured, a faint trace of hesitation lingering in her voice. He led her across the room with the same careful, controlled steadiness. l. Once at the door, he paused, letting her hand linger in his for just a moment longer, giving her a final, grounding reminder of his presence. “Go to Narcissa,” he instructed. “She will guide you through the morning. I will return to you this evening.”
Hermione nodded again, taking a small, steadying breath. As she walked toward Narcissa, she felt the warmth of his touch still lingering on her skin, the echo of the trust they were building carrying her forward through the rest of the morning. Hermione entered the sitting room, where Narcissa awaited, the soft morning light illuminating her elegant features. Narcissa’s eyes softened immediately as she looked at Hermione, and she reached out, gathering her in a gentle, maternal embrace. “There you are, my dear,” she murmured, her voice warm and soothing. Narcissa poured a cup of tea, the delicate steam curling toward Hermione’s face. “You mustn’t let your mind dwell too heavily on worry,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. Hermione nodded, wrapping her hands around the warmth of the cup. “Yes, mother” she said quietly. Narcissa settled into her own chair, observing Hermione with a calm, attentive gaze. “I know your mind is full of questions, my dear,” she said softly. “About him… about tomorrow.”
Hermione’s fingers tightened slightly around the cup, and she looked down at the tea, hesitating. “I… I don’t know what to expect. I’ve never… I mean, I’ve never been…” Her voice faltered, trailing off. Narcissa reached out, placing a gentle hand over Hermione’s. “Shh,” she murmured. “It is natural to feel nervous. To wonder if you will be ready, if it will hurt, if you will know what to do. But you are not alone in this. Lucius will guide you, and you have strength within yourself that you may not yet realise.”
Narcissa’s eyes softened, her gaze steady and warm. “I know Lucius, Hermione,” she said gently, her voice carrying quiet authority and care. “That is why I chose him for you. He is deliberate, patient, and… careful. He will guide you, and he will ensure that you are safe and respected every step of the way.”
Hermione’s fingers loosened slightly around the cup, the warmth of Narcissa’s words seeping into her chest. “You… you really think I can trust him?” she asked quietly, her voice still tinged with doubt.
“I do,” Narcissa said firmly, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “He will never harm you, and he will never rush you. What is to come is not a matter of performance or expectation—it is a matter of trust, of allowing yourself to experience something new under his guidance. That is why he is the one I chose for you. You are ready, Hermione… more than you know.”
Hermione exhaled slowly, letting the tension in her shoulders ease as she absorbed Narcissa’s words. The flutter of nerves remained, but it was tempered now by reassurance, by the maternal steadiness in Narcissa’s voice. For the first time, she allowed herself to imagine the morning, the day ahead, and even tomorrow… not as something to fear, but as something she could meet with courage, and with guidance. After their conversation, Narcissa smiled warmly. “Very well, my dear. Come with me—we have some work in the greenhouse. Fresh air and careful attention to the plants will steady your mind.”
Hermione followed, the tension in her chest easing as they moved through the grand corridors of Malfoy Manor. The greenhouse was bright with sunlight, the scent of soil and greenery filling the air. Draco was already there, tending to a row of delicate plants, and he glanced up briefly, offering a small, awkward smile.
“Morning,” he muttered, returning to his task. Hermione dipped her fingers into the soil, helping to repot some of the more fragile specimens under Narcissa’s gentle guidance. The work was calm and methodical, her hands busy while her mind wandered back to the morning with Lucius. Each plant she nurtured, each leaf she adjusted, seemed to mirror the careful attention she had experienced earlier; the deliberate patience, the trust, the focus. Narcissa moved beside her, pointing out a vine that needed support. “Gentle, Hermione. Firm but gentle. It must grow straight, strong, but you must not force it.”
Hours passed in the warmth of the greenhouse. Sunlight filtered through the glass panels, glinting off the leaves and casting patterns across the floor. Hermione’s hands were tired, her clothes smudged with soil, but her mind felt steadier, more focused, more grounded. The morning’s anticipation mingled with the calm rhythm of the day, each moment a preparation for what was to come. The glass doors of the greenhouse creaked open, and Hermione looked up to see Lucius standing in the doorway.
“Hermione,” he said, his voice low but deliberate. “It is time. We are to return to the manor.”
She nodded, brushing soil from her hands and apron. Lucius stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “Shall we?” he asked, offering his hand. Hermione took it, feeling the reassuring firmness of his grip. Together, they walked back through the greenhouse, the sunlight glinting off the glass panels, the scent of plants and earth mingling with the lingering warmth of the day. Each step felt deliberate, measured, and somehow grounding, a quiet reminder of the trust that had been building between them since morning. As they reached the manor, Lucius’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, a subtle acknowledgement of her composure and the care with which she moved. “Come,” he said simply. “The study awaits, and there is more for you to learn and to feel before the day is done.”
Hermione followed, her pulse quickening with anticipation, the quiet trust and warmth of his presence guiding her back to the place where their lessons in patience, intimacy, and closeness would continue.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered gently through the tall windows of Malfoy Manor, and Hermione sat quietly in the sitting room, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. Today… today would be the day. The thought made her chest tighten with unease. Am I ready? What if I falter? What if I can’t…?
Narcissa entered softly, her presence immediately soothing. “Hermione, enough of this fretting,” she said gently, though with an edge of firmness. “It is natural to feel nervous, but today is about ceremony, tradition, and preparation. Come with me. You will bathe, and then we will dress you properly.”
Hermione hesitated, but the calm authority in Narcissa’s tone left little room for refusal. “Yes… mother,” she murmured quietly, rising to follow her. The bath was warm and fragrant, filled with herbs and oils designed to relax the body and clear the mind. Narcissa moved around her with effortless grace, helping her with the finer details, ensuring Hermione’s hair was washed, her skin soothed, her mind calm. “Breathe, Hermione,” she said softly. “This is as much about preparing your body as it is your spirit. You must enter this day with clarity, with trust, and with composure.”
Once Hermione was clean, Narcissa led her to a chamber where a special dress awaited; a traditional gown for the occasion, crafted to honour wizarding customs. “This dress is not merely decoration,” Narcissa explained as she helped Hermione into it. “It signifies respect, readiness, and the proper decorum for what is to come. Every step of today is ceremonial, Hermione. You must honour it.”
Narcissa brushed a stray strand of hair from her face and smiled warmly. “You are ready. Your composure, your presence… it is enough. Trust in yourself.”
Hermione exhaled slowly, letting Narcissa’s reassurance settle in. Though nerves fluttered in her chest, she felt the grounding effect of her mentor’s guidance. Today would be daunting, yes, but with Narcissa’s calm and Lucius’s careful presence awaiting her, she was beginning to believe she could face it. Hermione adjusted the folds of her gown one last time, her fingers trembling slightly despite Narcissa’s reassuring hand on her shoulder. The warm scent of herbs from the bath still lingered in her hair, mingling with the faint chill of the morning air drifting through the corridors.
“You are ready, Hermione,” Narcissa said softly, giving her hand a final, grounding squeeze. Hermione nodded, drawing a deep, steadying breath. She moved through the corridors of Malfoy Manor with measured steps, each echoing softly off the polished floors. Her heart beat in quiet anticipation, her mind replaying Lucius’s deliberate care from the day before. He will guide me… he will be patient… I can trust him, she reminded herself, the thought both calming and electrifying. When she reached her bedroom, the door slightly ajar, she paused. The room was bathed in soft afternoon light, familiar and private, the perfect space for the next step in their trust. Lucius stood near the window, his posture deliberate, eyes locking with hers the moment she entered.
“Hermione,” he said, his voice low and measured. “Come here.”
She stepped forward cautiously, every movement careful and deliberate. He extended a hand, and she took it, letting him guide her toward the bed.
“Sit,” he instructed softly, and she lowered herself onto his lap, her back resting against his chest. The familiar warmth of his presence enveloped her, grounding her. Lucius draped the throw across their legs, his hands settling gently along her sides and shoulders. Hermione exhaled slowly, letting the weight of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the security of his presence calm the nerves coiling in her chest. I can trust him, she thought, letting herself sink into the intimacy of the moment, anticipation mingling with nervous excitement. Lucius’s fingers brushed lightly along her side and up to her shoulders, tracing deliberate circles. “Breathe,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “Trust yourself. Trust me. You are ready.”
Hermione nodded, letting his words settle into her mind. The bedroom, the warmth, the quiet intimacy; it all combined to make her feel safe, poised on the edge of something daunting, yet profoundly intimate. Hermione shifted slightly, pressing her back more fully against Lucius’s chest, letting the weight of him steady her. His hands rested lightly on her shoulders and sides, warm and deliberate, a silent promise of care and control. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling the faint scent of him, and let her fingers rest on her lap, feeling the steady rhythm of his presence through her.
“You are calm,” Lucius murmured, his voice soft but firm. “That is good. Let yourself feel it… the steadiness. The security. You do not need to rush, Hermione. Every movement, every moment, is for your comfort.”
Hermione’s chest tightened, a flutter of nerves mingling with a quiet thrill. “I… I’m ready,” she whispered, though even as she said it, she felt the small tremor of anticipation. “But… I’m nervous. What if I—what if I… do something wrong?”
Lucius tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing a faint whisper against her hair. “There is no wrong here. Only trust, only attention, only care. I will guide you. You only need to be present. Let yourself feel, let yourself exist… and I will be here.”
She exhaled slowly, letting the tension in her shoulders ease fractionally. Her fingers lifted, brushing against his arm, testing the connection. Lucius responded by tightening his hold just slightly, a gentle pressure along her sides, grounding her. The warmth of his hands, the deliberate closeness of his body, made the nervous flutter in her chest shift into something quieter, steadier.
“Breathe with me,” he whispered, leaning close enough that she could feel his breath against her ear. “In… and out”
Hermione followed his guidance, her own breathing slowing, her heart settling into a rhythm that mirrored his. Each moment, each gentle, deliberate touch, reinforced the fragile trust they had begun to build. She realised with a quiet astonishment that she no longer felt fear at his closeness—only an intense awareness of him, and of herself in this space, safe and allowed to feel. Lucius’s gaze softened, just enough for Hermione to feel the warmth behind it. Slowly, he leaned in, giving her a moment to pull back if she wished. She didn’t. Their lips met in a careful, tentative kiss. Soft, deliberate, and unhurried. Hermione’s heart fluttered at the closeness, the gentle pressure, the quiet intensity of the moment. She let herself feel it fully, the nervous tension in her chest mingling with a strange thrill, a growing anticipation. His hand lifted to cup her cheek again, thumb brushing lightly, as if asking permission without words. Hermione leaned slightly into the touch, allowing herself to be present in the intimacy, her breathing slowly matching the rhythm of his. When he pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead against hers, Lucius’s voice was low and deliberate. “Do you feel… safe?” he asked, watching her carefully.
“Yes,” Hermione whispered, a faint tremor in her voice. “I… I trust you.”
A small, approving smile curved his lips. “Good. Then come with me,” he murmured, offering his hand. “Let us continue, where you can fully relax.”
Hermione took his hand, feeling the reassuring warmth and firmness of his grip. He guided her slowly across the room, each step deliberate, giving her time to steady her breath and her racing thoughts. The soft afternoon light fell across the floor, casting patterns that seemed almost to slow time, allowing her to exist fully in the moment with him. When they reached the bed, Lucius paused, letting her take in the space, the familiar comfort of the room, and the quiet intimacy of their closeness. Lucius guided her gently to the edge of the bed, and they sat down together, close enough that Hermione could feel the warmth of his body, but with space enough for her to adjust comfortably. For a moment, they simply breathed, the quiet of the room punctuated by the soft rustle of the sheets and the slow rhythm of their hearts. Then his lips met hers again. Hermione’s hands lifted to rest lightly on his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath her fingertips, while his hands traced gentle patterns along her sides and shoulders, firm and grounding. The kiss deepened gradually, unhurried, deliberate. Hermione’s nervous anticipation mingled with a growing sense of intimacy, her breath catching as she allowed herself to be fully present in the moment. Lucius tilted his head slightly, letting her lead as much as she felt comfortable, guiding her with quiet attentiveness, a steadying hand at her back and along her arm. Hermione exhaled softly, leaning into him, her fingers tracing the lines of his coat, the careful warmth of his touch steadying her. Lucius pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, eyes locking with hers in a silent conversation. “You are doing very well,” he murmured, voice low and deliberate. “Trust yourself. Trust us. You may allow yourself to feel.”
Hermione nodded, her lips curving slightly into a small, tentative smile, the first clear sign that she was letting herself be fully present in the closeness they shared. She waited tensely and somewhat anxiously to see what he would do next. He moved closer to her, kissed her neck again, and let his hand slide over one of her breasts.  Although she was afraid, her body began to respond to his caresses. He pushed her head back into the pillow and kissed her neck. Then his lips slid down her neck, her cheek, and found her mouth. He opened his mouth and slipped his tongue between her lips. Carefully, she relaxed her mouth, allowing him to gently use his tongue to open her mouth further. He pulled back, one hand resting on her shoulders, and traced small circles around her collarbone with his thumb. He smiled at her briefly and her eyes met his. He listened intently as her breathing quickened. He kissed her again, gently unbuttoning her dress with one hand. He paused for a moment and looked at her. Carefully, he exposed a small patch of skin and began to kiss it. Slowly but surely, the dress came up to her chest. He kissed her on the lips again while his free hand caressed her breast. He leaned forward as he pushed the dress further down, exposing her perfect young breasts with swollen nipples. He kissed her shoulders and felt her shiver. His tongue slid along her neck, her breast, and circled her nipple, which hardened as he gently sucked on it. She gasped for breath but did not pull away. He sucked on the other breast and sought her lips again. When he looked into her eyes, her pupils were large and gleaming in the light of the fire. He sat up straight. Lucius’s lips lingered against hers for a final moment before he drew back, his gaze steady, unreadable yet softened by the intimacy of the moment. With a measured motion, he slipped his fingers to the fastenings of his robes and loosened them, letting the heavy fabric fall gracefully from his shoulders. He set it aside with deliberate precision, leaving only his fitted waistcoat and the crisp white shirt beneath. Hermione’s eyes followed the movement almost involuntarily, her breath catching when he unbuttoned the waistcoat as well, placing it neatly over the back of a chair. The layers removed, he seemed somehow less distant, more present. As he rolled his sleeves back, the pale skin of his forearm was revealed… and there, stark against the light, the Dark Mark came into view. Hermione froze, her chest tightening at the sight. The serpent and skull etched into his skin seemed to shift with the play of shadow and firelight, a reminder of the darkness that clung to his name. Her lips parted, words trembling on the edge of her tongue. “That mark…”
Lucius’s movements stilled. For a moment, silence weighed heavy in the room. Then he lowered his sleeve with deliberate calm, covering the mark once more as his eyes locked onto hers. His tone, when he spoke, was firm but not unkind. “Do not dwell on it,” he said quietly, though the edge in his voice left little room for argument. “It is not for tonight. It does not concern you here. Focus only on us.”
He reached out, his hand finding hers, grounding her once more. The steadiness in his touch contrasted the unsettling glimpse she had just seen, drawing her back into the fragile trust they were building. He kissed her again. His hand stroked her hair, his other hand massaged her breast. His tongue penetrated her mouth, exploring it. When he broke the kiss, he looked at her again. ‘Relax,’ he said softly to her and gently pushed his member inside. Her eyes filled with tears from the pain and he kissed her tears away. He pushed himself all the way in and then stopped. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked her gently. She just nodded. He took her hand and stroked it over his chest and then over his abs. Then he moved back to her breasts and sucked on her nipples. Slowly, he felt her relax and take him in. He kissed her quickly and sat up further. Slowly, he pulled out and then thrust back in. She screamed, and he repeated it until her screams sounded like pleasure. It felt so good that she moaned softly, prompting him to suck even harder. He carefully removed her dress and gently caressed her skin with his fingers. He noticed her goosebumps and smiled briefly. Then he kissed her neck again, his hands moving along her side. Hermione shivered and felt herself getting wet down below. His hand slid further down, to the inside of her thigh and her mons pubis. She spread her legs when he moved over her groin. He smiled briefly and kissed her again. He carefully pulled off her knickers. He interrupted the kiss to pull them off completely. He looked at her for a moment. How she lay there, breathing quickly and so beautiful. He kissed her again, a little more excited. He kissed her cheek and went back to her sensitive spots near her throat. His hands slid back to her breasts and massaged them gently. He listened as her moans changed to desire and withdrew. He took off his trousers and underpants and laid them neatly over the chair. She looked at his erection and seemed concerned. It looked so big. Would it fit? Lucius took her face in his hands and kissed her. ‘Don't worry, it always fits,’ he reassured her, as if he had read her thoughts. He took her hand and brought it to his member. She touched it cautiously and felt the warm, soft skin. Lucius shuddered and kissed her again. When he looked up again, he saw that her eyes still showed fear. He kissed her again as his hand slid down her side. He slid his hand over her warm, moist slit and searched for the nub to make her enjoy it. He gently moved his thumb over it and heard her moan again. He broke the kiss and kissed down her neck and stomach. He licked her slit, and she let out a cry. With his other hand, he held her hip and began to gently lick her slit. She moaned with every breath. He searched for the nub with his tongue and sucked on it. Her hips moved up and down, but his hand kept her in place. Carefully, he pushed her labia aside with his fingers and pushed his finger through the entrance. He heard her moan and slowly began to move his finger in and out. He felt the muscles slowly relax around his finger and pushed a second one inside. He waited a moment to let her get used to it and then slowly began to pump inside her again. When the muscles slowly relaxed again, he pulled his fingers out and sucked them. He crawled back to her and kissed her again. His hand slid to his member and moved it gently up and down against her slit.
“Take a deep breath” he whispered to her lips as he slowly pushed his member inside. Her tears stung in her eyes and he kissed them away immediately. His thumb quickly went back to gently rub her little nob, kissing along her neck and jawline. After a while he heard her moan again.
“I’m going to move now” he informed her and pushed himself in and out slowly, keeping his eyes on her “Relax” he whispered once again. He could feel how she started to get used to him and the pain subsided for pleasure. He controlled himself and took his time, ensuring he wouldn’t hurt her. His hand reached back to her breast, while the other kept him from crushing her. As her moans became loader, he could no longer hold back. He began to thrust harder and faster. He heard her begin to enjoy it and felt her muscles tighten around his member. He smiled at the thought that she was almost there and searched with his finger for the nub that would bring her to climax. She felt his member hit exactly the spot that gave her so much pleasure and surrendered to him. She came with a loud cry but didn't have time to enjoy it. He kept pumping and she felt the pleasure take over completely and bring her closer to a second orgasm. He kissed her neck again while a hand began to squeeze her breast. She heard him pant softly and he began to move even faster. He kissed her on the mouth and then sat on top of her. His hands grabbed her hips and pulled her closer to him. She felt the knot in her stomach grow stronger again. This time she felt the knot release its pleasure over her. Lucius moved his hips powerfully a few more times and groaned as he came inside her with one last firm thrust. He threw his head back. He pushed his hair back and looked at Hermione. She looked flushed but she smiled at him. ‘How was it?’ He asked her tenderly, kissing her softly on her forehead.
‘It was scary at first,’ she whispered, ‘but it was nice.’
He nodded and pulled himself out. He quickly threw a blanket over her and changed himself in the bathroom. Once he returned, he sat down next to her on the bed.
“It’s over now. I hope you have not experienced pain and learned that it gives you pleasure. The rest is for you to explore with Draco.” He said softly.
She nodded sleepily, hugging the blanket tighter around herself. “I… I think I’m ready to rest now,” she murmured. Lucius gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Good. Rest well,” he said, his voice low and steady. He stood, straightened his robes, and gave her one last glance and then quietly moved toward the door.
“Goodnight,” she whispered, her eyes already drooping.
“Goodnight,” he replied, his footsteps fading down the corridor. The room was silent except for her slow, even breathing. Soon, she was asleep, wrapped in warmth and the lingering quiet of the night.

Chapter Text

Hermione sat stiffly next to Draco on the left of Lucius, hands folded neatly in her lap, though they trembled slightly. Across from her, Lucius’s calm, commanding presence filled the centre of the table, while Narcissa sat beside him, perfectly composed, eyes sharp and observant. Draco’s fingers tapped lightly against the table, subtle but insistent. Hermione could feel the tension radiating from him, the unspoken question hanging in the air: How do we go forward now, after… She swallowed hard, aware that everyone at the table understood the tradition; how she had been “opened” by Lucius, as was customary in their wizarding society, to ensure a woman’s first union wasn’t associated with force or pain.
“I trust you slept well,” Lucius said smoothly, voice controlled. Hermione’s stomach twisted; the words were polite, almost neutral, but she could feel the authority behind them. “Yes… thank you, Father.” she murmured, barely above a whisper. Draco’s jaw tightened beside her. His hand flexed, then relaxed, but the tension didn’t leave him.
“Good,” Lucius said, leaning back slightly, eyes flicking toward Hermione with just enough intensity to make her flinch. “Let’s eat.”
The silence was thick. Every clink of cutlery, every subtle movement of Draco’s hand or Narcissa’s eyes, carried weight. Hermione pushed her porridge around her plate, forcing herself to eat, forcing herself to exist under the oppressive scrutiny. Hermione’s hand tightened around her spoon, her knuckles white. Every small sound: the scrape of a knife against a plate, the subtle shift of Draco’s chair, felt amplified in the heavy silence. She could feel Draco beside her, rigid, coiled tight like a spring ready to snap, and the awareness of what had happened between her and Lucius hovered over the table like a storm cloud. Draco’s jaw was set, his grey eyes flicking to her only briefly before darting away, but she could sense the questions burning behind them: How do I face her now?
Draco’s hand tapped a slow, insistent rhythm against the table, a quiet, controlled anger she could feel through her side. Lucius’s voice dropped again, deliberate and cutting. “Draco,” he said, glancing at his son with that calm cruelty, “control yourself.”
Draco’s fingers stilled. Hermione noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled slightly at his sides. She wanted to reach for him, to offer some silent comfort, but she remained frozen, unsure how to handle the situation. Narcissa’s eyes flicked toward her, sharp and assessing. Hermione felt exposed, weighed, judged. She pushed her porridge around her plate, every bite a small act of endurance, every swallow a silent plea for the morning to pass. The table was quiet again, the only sound the soft clinking of cutlery. Hermione’s chest tightened. She knew that the memory of last night, the knowledge of the tradition, and Lucius’s presence would hang over every shared moment for a long time. Perhaps forever. And sitting there, next to Draco, she realised that nothing about this breakfast would ever feel ordinary again. Lucius leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Hermione,” he said, his tone smooth, measured, “last time, we drew out only a fraction of your potential. Today… we will need to be more thorough.”
Hermione’s stomach clenched. She knew exactly what he meant.
“And Draco,” Lucius continued, eyes narrowing slightly, “you will assist.”
Hermione’s pulse spiked. Assist. The weight of the word pressed down on her chest, but she felt Draco shift beside her, the subtle tightening of his fingers on the table; a silent question, a challenge. She swallowed hard, knowing what would come. Lucius’s gaze swept over them both, cold and precise. “We will begin shortly,” he said, rising from the table. Narcissa followed, poised and imperious, and Hermione felt the oppressive weight of their expectation settle over her. Draco stood, offering her a small, taut glance. She nodded, gripping his hand lightly as they followed the two adults into the adjoining chamber. The air inside was charged, thick with the memory of past duels, of raw power waiting to be tested. The chamber door closed behind them with a heavy thud. Lucius and Narcissa assumed their stances instantly, eyes gleaming with expectation. Draco fell into position beside his father, wand ready, jaw tight, the subtle set of his shoulders betraying both resolve and hesitation.
“Begin,” Lucius commanded, voice cutting through the charged silence. Curses streaked through the air immediately. Hermione dodged, countered, blocked. Every movement forces her to summon deeper reserves of magic. Draco and Lucius were coordinated, precise, and relentless. Narcissa moved fluidly, her own attacks testing Hermione’s reflexes and control at every step. Her chest burned, sweat prickling her temples, magic thrumming in her veins, pushing at her from every angle. She could see Draco’s grey eyes flick toward her once, the tiniest hesitation as if he doubted himself, but he pressed forward anyway, his spells flying in tandem with Lucius and Narcissa’s attacks. Then, a misstep, a flash of red light too close, too fast. A stray curse veered off Lucius’s aim, heading straight for Draco. Hermione’s breath caught. In that instant, something inside her snapped. Fear, anger, love; all coursed through her at once. Power erupted like a storm, radiating from her wand, forming a shimmering barrier around Draco. The curse slammed into it and shattered harmlessly. Draco froze mid-step, staring at her, eyes wide in shock. Hermione’s power hums through her. Lucius’s eyes flicked to Draco, then back to Hermione, narrowing slightly. Something had changed. That last barrier wasn’t like her usual reactions. It was so precise, so instinctive. It had shielded Draco perfectly, almost before he had even realised the danger. Narcissa’s gaze sharpened, her expression unreadable. “Did you see that?” she asked softly, almost to herself. “She… anticipated it. And it was strong, controlled… Far beyond what we’ve seen before.”
Lucius tilted his head, studying her movements. His mind raced, cataloguing every flick of her wand, every pulse of magic. “Indeed,” he said, voice smooth but sharp. “She is… responding differently. Something altered the way her power flows. Perhaps fear? Or instinct?”
Hermione’s chest burned, and she clenched her wand tighter, heart hammering. Draco glanced at her, wide-eyed, but didn’t speak. Lucius stepped closer, voice smooth but commanding. “We will try again. If it is instinct, fear, or something else, we must see its limits. Focus, Hermione. Respond. Show us the source of your strength.”
Hermione raised her wand, her movements careful, precise, but as they began to attack again: Lucius and Narcissa coordinating, Draco assisting from beside them. However, she felt no surge like before. The barrier flickered weakly, her magic straining, but it was nothing compared to the perfect, instinctive protection she had provided for Draco a moment ago.
“Interesting,” Lucius said, his eyes narrowing as he observed her struggle. “She cannot reproduce it. Perhaps it was… situational. Spontaneous. Or fleeting.”
Narcissa stepped closer, wand at the ready, eyes calculating. “She has power, certainly.” she said, voice soft but firm. Hermione’s chest tightened further. She couldn’t explain it; not to them, not to herself. The sensation of power surging had been intoxicating, overwhelming, but now it was gone, slipping through her fingers like water. The chamber remained tense, the duel continuing, but Lucius and Narcissa’s attempts to draw out that same burst of power failed. Hermione’s instincts and skill were formidable, but whatever had protected Draco, whatever had elevated her magic to that peak, remained elusive, a secret even from herself.

The days stretched on, each one a careful, measured trial. Lucius and Narcissa returned to the chamber, Draco assisting at his father’s side, and each session followed the same pattern: relentless spells, precise attacks, Hermione forced to defend, counter, and adapt. Yet no matter how hard they pressed, she could not replicate the surge of power that had instinctively protected Draco. Barriers flared, spells erupted from her wand, but the raw, instinctive intensity remained elusive. Lucius grew more meticulous, observing every twitch, every flick of her wand, calculating how to push her limits further. Narcissa remained calm, unflinching, but Hermione felt the weight of her scrutiny in every moment. Draco continued to follow his parents’ lead, his spells precise yet restrained, every attack a reminder that she could not anticipate the spark that had appeared once before. Each day, Hermione’s chest tightened with exhaustion and frustration. She began to recognise patterns in her magic, subtle shifts and flows, but the instinctive surge remained just out of reach. And still, she persisted. Then, on the 6th day, everything shifted. Lucius paused mid-battle, wand lowered slightly, a flicker of unease crossing his otherwise composed face. Hermione’s eyes darted to him, confusion tightening her chest. What is he—
Draco mirrored her glance, brow furrowed, wand still raised. Whatever tugged at him, it was silent, invisible to them both. Lucius straightened, lips pressed into a thin line, and with a sharp, controlled motion, he stepped back, breaking the rhythm of their carefully orchestrated duel. “The session must… pause,” he said smoothly, voice even, though a subtle tension threaded through it. Hermione frowned, wand still raised, confusion and frustration coiling in her stomach. Draco’s jaw tightened, his hand flexing around his wand. Neither dared to question him further. Lucius’s authority brooked no interruption. With a curt, almost imperceptible nod to his family, Lucius swept from the chamber, leaving the duel unresolved. Hermione’s heart hammered, the surge of power she had briefly accessed still thrumming beneath her skin, untamed and unreplicated.

Lucius moved through the darkened corridors with deliberate precision, the chill of Malfoy Manor’s shadows fading as he stepped into the night. The subtle tug of the Dark Mark, still hidden from anyone else, guided him with unerring certainty. His mind replayed the events of the past days; the duel, the fleeting surge of Hermione’s power, and the unsettling way she had instinctively protected Draco. He arrived at the Dark Lord’s chamber, the air thick with malice and expectation. Voldemort’s serpentine eyes fixed on him immediately. “Lucius,” he hissed, voice like silk over steel, “you have returned. Speak.”
Lucius bowed slightly, composure intact. “My Lord,” he said smoothly. “I have observed her abilities as requested. The girl is… extraordinary. During the duel, she displayed a sudden surge of power. An instinctive response, precise and forceful. Unlike anything we have previously seen. She protected another, though the cause of the response is unclear.”
Voldemort’s thin lips curved. “Ah. Interesting.” His gaze glimmered with cold calculation. “And yet you could not fully draw it out?”
Lucius’s jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration flashing in his eyes. “No, my Lord,” he said evenly, though his tone carried a restrained edge of anger. “Attempts over the past several days have failed to replicate the effect.“
Voldemort’s eyes glinted, sharp as knives. “Good. Then we will act directly.” His voice dropped, commanding. “Bring her to me. All further experimentation will be under my supervision.”
Lucius’s hand clenched briefly at his side before he bowed his head, hiding the flicker of irritation from the Dark Lord’s gaze. “As you wish, my Lord,” he said, his voice tight, controlled, concealing the frustration that simmered just beneath the surface. Lucius moved silently through the corridors; his thoughts were a storm of irritation and fury. Days of pushing Hermione, of trying to force her power to the surface, had ended in failure. The drawing room was quiet when he arrived. Hermione sat stiffly beside Draco, hands folded neatly in her lap. Narcissa’s eyes were on her, calm and calculating, but even she seemed to sense the tension in the air. Draco’s wand lay across his knees, fingers flexing nervously as if ready to act, but Lucius’s presence overshadowed them all. Lucius’s eyes swept the room, sharp and predatory. “Hermione,” he said, voice low and cold, “we are going.”
Before she could move, his hand shot out and gripped her arm with a force that made her gasp. The pressure was sharp, painful, leaving her fingers tingling from the strength of his hold. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep her gaze lowered.  Draco’s hand twitched toward his wand, but he froze, caught between fear and the weight of Lucius’s authority. Narcissa’s expression remained calm and composed, as though observing a carefully measured experiment. Hermione’s steps were careful and precise as Lucius dragged her from the room, his grip unyielding, every movement dominated by his anger and impatience. The corridor stretched before them, dimly lit and oppressive, each echoing footstep reinforcing the tension. She dared not speak, dared not move faster than he allowed. Every fibre of her body was tense, heart hammering, as the pain in her arm reminded her of the fragile control she had over the situation. Lucius’s expression remained unreadable, but the tightness of his jaw, the sharpness of his movements, and the unrelenting pressure on her arm spoke of a fury that simmered just beneath the surface. Without a word, he led her to the Dark Lord, leaving Draco and Narcissa behind in a heavy silence. The chamber was vast and shadowed, the walls lined with cold, flickering torches. Hermione’s heart hammered in her chest as Lucius shoved her forward, his hand releasing her arm only when she was forced to stand directly before the Dark Lord. She kept her head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor, hands trembling around her wand. Voldemort’s eyes glinted, sharp and predatory, as he stepped closer. His long fingers reached up, gripping Hermione’s chin to lift her face toward his, forcing her to meet his gaze. She froze, heart hammering, muscles tight with fear.
“You have power,” he hissed, voice low and deliberate, “power that others would kill to possess, and yet it lies dormant, untamed, hidden.” His grip tightened slightly, sharp enough to make her flinch. “I will draw it out. You will show me what you are capable of.”
Hermione’s chest constricted, a shiver running down her spine. She opened her mouth to protest, but the cold weight of Lucius’ eyes pinned her in place.
“You will face me, and you will battle. Do you understand?” Voldemort continued, voice a cruel whisper.  She swallowed hard, voice barely audible. “Y-yes… my Lord.”
A faint, cruel smile curved his lips. “Good. Then raise your wand. I want to see the extent of your abilities, girl.“
Hermione’s fingers tightened around her wand, knuckles white, as she lifted it with trembling hands. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to hide, yet she kept her head bowed slightly, obedient, her gaze locked on the floor even as Voldemort’s calculating eyes measured her every movement. He took a step back, wand raised, and with a sharp command: “Begin.”
Hermione’s hands shook as she raised her wand, her chest tight with fear. Every muscle screamed to flee, yet the command to battle pressed down like a weight she could not escape. With a flick of his wrist, a jet of red light shot toward her. Hermione raised her wand, meeting it with a shimmering shield, sparks cascading as the two spells collided. She countered swiftly, casting a powerful hex, but Voldemort twisted effortlessly, deflecting her magic with a flick of his wand as though it were nothing more than a light breeze. She pivoted, ducking a sudden stream of green energy that streaked toward her side, retaliating with a volley of her own curses. Each spell was precise, strong, yet he moved around them with terrifying fluidity, his counterattacks precise and overwhelming. Hermione’s chest burned from exertion, and her arms ached from constantly holding her defences. She forced herself to push harder, weaving complex combinations of spells, flares of fire and protective enchantments filling the chamber. A particularly vicious curse streaked toward her, and instinctively she raised her wand, unleashing a protective barrier. The shield flared brilliantly, absorbing the attack, but it sent a shockwave through her arms, leaving her momentarily unsteady. Voldemort’s gaze flickered, sharp and calculating. “Yes… improvement,” he hissed. “But not enough.”
She adjusted her stance, casting another sequence of spells, faster, more aggressive, combining attack and defence. For a moment, sparks danced across the chamber as if her magic might find a weak point, but Voldemort’s wand was faster, every counter perfect, every strike calculated to test her limits without harming her unnecessarily. Hermione’s chest heaved, sweat prickling at her temples, but she refused to falter. She had learned, she had trained, and she was skilled, but the truth was undeniable: no matter how fast, precise, or clever she was, she could not overcome him. His power was absolute, terrifyingly refined, and her best efforts barely slowed him.
Finally, Voldemort stopped, lowering his wand slightly, black eyes glinting with cold amusement. “You are competent,” he said smoothly, almost approvingly. “Trained. Skilled. Yet you cannot surpass me. Your power is strong… but here, you are still incomplete. There is potential, yes… but unfulfilled.”
Hermione lowered her wand, breathing heavily, sweat dripping from her brow. She had fought with everything she had. Voldemort leaned closer, voice low and commanding. “You will go to Dumbledore. Only he can refine your abilities to their fullest.”
Lucius stepped forward, jaw tight, eyes flashing with barely contained fury. “Come,” he said sharply, his voice slicing through the charged silence. Without another word, he grabbed her arm with an iron grip, and she flinched as the pressure dug into her skin. The journey back to Malfoy Manor was silent, Hermione’s gaze fixed on the floor, wand still clutched loosely in her hand. She could feel the tension radiating from Lucius, every step echoing the storm of frustration building inside him. The moment they were inside, Lucius’s composure finally cracked. His hand shot out, slapping her across the cheek with a sharp, punishing force. Hermione stumbled, catching herself with trembling fingers, a low gasp escaping her lips.
“You,” Lucius hissed, teeth clenched, “do you understand what you have done? You have frustrated me, defied control, and wasted what could have been absolute power. Do you realise how close I was to… achieving it?”
Hermione swallowed hard, keeping her eyes lowered, voice barely audible. “Y-yes… father.”
Lucius’s gaze hardened, lingering on her face, searching for any spark of defiance. Finding none, he turned abruptly, seething, yet restraining the urge to unleash further fury. “You will go to Dumbledore tomorrow.”
Hermione moved quietly through the corridors of Malfoy Manor, wand still clutched loosely in her hand. Her cheeks burned, not just from exertion during the duel but from the sting of Lucius’s hand. The echo of his anger lingered like a shadow, pressing on her chest. Without thinking, she made her way to Draco’s room, hoping for some small measure of comfort, of normalcy. Draco opened the door before she could knock, grey eyes immediately searching her face. “Hermione?” His voice was low, cautious, reading the fear and tension in her posture. She stepped inside, shoulders hunched, and sank onto the edge of the bed. “Lucius… he—” she began, but the words faltered, trapped by the memory of his glare and the sharp sting across her cheek. Draco sat beside her, careful to leave space, yet close enough for her to feel his presence. He reached out slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Hey… it’s going to be alright,” he murmured softly. They sat in silence until Hermione broke it.  “I… I have to go to Dumbledore tomorrow,” she said finally, voice barely above a whisper.
Draco’s hand covered hers, fingers entwining briefly. He wanted to pull her close, to hold her as he had so often wished, but since her First, he didn’t know how to cross the barrier.
“You’ll be fine,” he said gently. “And… you can write to your friends. They’ll hear from you. You won’t be alone, not really.”
Hermione let out a shaky breath, leaning slightly into his presence. “I… I just wish things weren’t so… heavy,” she admitted, eyes downcast. “Everything feels… impossible sometimes.”
Draco tightened his grip just enough to reassure her. “I know,” he said softly. “But you’re strong, Hermione. Stronger than anyone. And you… you have me. Always.”
Her lips curved faintly, a fragile smile breaking through the tension. “I… I have you,” she echoed, the words quiet but full of meaning. Draco let his hand linger over hers, thumb brushing gently across her knuckles. Hermione’s fingers twitched at first, then relaxed, as if the simple, steady presence beside her could absorb some of the weight she carried. Without thinking, Draco leaned just slightly closer, enough for their shoulders to brush. Hermione felt a warmth spread through her chest—not just from his nearness, but from the unspoken understanding that he would stand by her, even when the world felt overwhelming.
“You don’t have to face it all alone,” Draco murmured, voice soft, barely above the hum of the quiet room. “I’ll be here…”

Hermione lifted her gaze, meeting his grey eyes, and saw the sincerity there; the fierce, protective devotion that never wavered. Her lips curved into a tentative smile, and for the first time that evening, she allowed herself to rest, just a little, against the tension that had gripped her. Draco’s other hand reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. She leaned into the touch, letting herself feel safe, even if only for a few moments. Slowly, she leaned a little against him, a measured gesture of trust, and he adjusted to support her. Their closeness was quiet, cautious, yet unmistakable: an unspoken promise between them that, despite everything, they could rely on one another. For a few precious minutes, they sat like that, hands brushing, shoulders nearly touching, sharing a silence that spoke louder than any words. Hermione let herself breathe, just slightly freer than she had in days, and Draco let his chest ease as he watched her relax, however subtly.Though the shadows of past trials still lingered, the weight had lifted enough for them to reclaim a small space of warmth, intimacy, and reassurance: together, at last.

Chapter Text

The morning light filled the Malfoy Manor drawing room. Hermione’s hand clutched her bag, fingers tight around the straps as she stole one last glance at Draco, standing silently at the window. The weight of unspoken words hung between them, heavy and sharp.
“Hermione,” Lucius said, his tone cold and precise, eyes locking onto hers. “You are only going to Dumbledore to control your powers. I expect you to be back soon.” He tapped lightly on the heart-shaped necklace at her chest, the green diamond flashing faintly. “Do not stray. I will know where you are.”
Hermione swallowed, keeping her gaze lowered. The weight of his words pressed against her, sharp and unyielding. “Yes, father.”
Narcissa stepped closer, her voice calm but firm, a subtle softness beneath the authority. “And Hermione… take care of yourself. Listen carefully, follow the guidance you are given. Do not underestimate what you are capable of, nor the responsibility that comes with it.”
Hermione nodded, fingers tightening briefly around the straps of her bag.
Dumbledore entered the room, his robes flowing gently around him, eyes calm and assessing. “Hermione,” he said softly, a small, reassuring smile touching his lips. Hermione’s chest tightened, and her hands clasped nervously around her bag. She stole one last glance toward the window where Draco stood. His grey eyes met hers, steady and filled with unspoken reassurance. A faint, fragile smile tugged at her lips; a silent promise lingering between them.
“Professor Dumbledore.” She welcomed him, but her eyes went back to Draco. Her lips curved into the faintest, fragile smile, a silent promise lingering between them. He gave a subtle nod, almost imperceptible, and she felt a small measure of courage settle in her chest. Lucius stepped forward, bowing his head slightly in a formal, measured gesture. “Professor Dumbledore,” he said smoothly, his voice low and controlled. “I trust you are well.”
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses, calm and steady. “Thank you, Lucius.”
Lucius’s jaw tightened, hands clasped behind his back. “Before you depart, I should know, when can I expect her return?” he asked, measured, controlled, the subtle edge of authority clear. Dumbledore’s lips curved into a gentle, whimsical smile. “Ah… that is not entirely mine to say. A mind such as hers progresses according to its own rhythm. I can assure you, however, she will be guided carefully.”
Lucius’s eyes flickered to Hermione, standing quietly at his side, shoulders stiff but posture obedient. He let a measured silence hang, the weight of his control pressing subtly, before inclining his head once. “Very well. Ensure she is… well-guided,” he said, sharp and controlled.
Dumbledore extended his arm. “Shall we go, then?” Hermione let him guide her, walking beside him through the familiar halls of Malfoy Manor. The corridors felt endless, yet his presence was steady and reassuring. Step by step, they passed through the grand rooms and silent staircases until they reached the front doors. Outside, the soft morning light spilt over the gardens, and Hermione drew a steadying breath. She stole one final look back toward the Manor, imagining Draco watching from a window, his grey eyes still holding that quiet reassurance. Then she turned forward, walking with Dumbledore into the fresh air, ready to face what came next. Dumbledore handed her a small, folded parchment. “Hermione,” he said softly, “this contains the location of the house where you will stay. Commit it to memory; once you have, it will no longer exist for anyone else.”
Hermione broke the seal, eyes scanning the address. The words glimmered faintly with protective magic, but the message was simple. She memorised every detail, her pulse quickening. When she had finished, Dumbledore raised his wand. The parchment shimmered briefly and vanished.  Hermione swallowed hard, clutching the memory of the address tightly in her mind. Dumbledore’s eyes met hers, calm and steady, as he said, “Ready, Hermione?” She nodded, her chest tightening. The crisp morning air bit at her cheeks as she stepped slightly forward, wand in hand. Dumbledore’s presence beside her was grounding, a steady anchor in the whirlwind of nerves and anticipation.
“On my count,” he murmured. “Three… two… one—”
A sudden, vertiginous rush of movement surged through her. The world blurred, spinning, then vanished entirely. When Hermione’s stomach stopped flipping, she realised she was no longer at Malfoy Manor. She was standing in the middle of a quiet park, the grass damp beneath her feet, the scent of trees and earth filling her senses. The sun shone gently, casting long shadows across the path ahead. She blinked, heart pounding, as the familiar shape of a modest, hidden house slowly emerged before her eyes, as though drawn from the very air. Dumbledore’s voice broke the stunned silence. “Remember what you read, Hermione.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed slightly, forcing herself to commit every line of the address to memory once more. The house before her was unremarkable in shape, almost nondescript, but the faint shimmer of protective wards hinted at something far older, far more secretive than it appeared. Dumbledore watched her closely, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Let’s go inside, shall we?”
Hermione nodded, swallowing hard. Her hands tightened around her wand as she approached the front door. The air seemed heavier here, charged with quiet magic, as if the house itself were aware of her arrival and scrutinising her every step. The door creaked softly as she pushed it open, the shadows inside swallowing the faint daylight that filtered in. The hallways were narrow, the ceilings low, and the dim light from enchanted lanterns cast eerie patterns on the walls. The house was silent, yet Hermione could feel it breathing around her, ancient and watchful, steeped in protective spells and the echoes of danger past. Dumbledore moved beside her, his presence a calm anchor in the oppressive darkness. He gestured toward the interior. “We have to be silent, Hermione.” Dumbledore whispered, “I don’t want to wake something in the house”
She nodded again, stepping inside, each footfall careful and deliberate. The air was cool, the shadows clinging to corners, and every creak of the floorboards beneath her feet sounded far louder than it should. The house felt alive, wary, even suspicious, but it also carried a strange comfort: she was not intruding, she was expected. Finally, she reached the kitchen. The faint smell of wood smoke and something richer hung in the air. And there, leaning against the counter, was Sirius. His dark eyes, sharp and assessing, immediately caught hers. Sirius straightened from the counter, a grin spreading across his face. “Well, if it isn’t Hermione Granger. Finally out of the Manor and into the real fun, eh?”
Hermione smiled, relief washing over her. “Sirius! I was wondering when I’d see you again.” She stepped forward, giving him a quick hug. “I didn’t expect to meet you here first.”
“You think I’d let Dumbledore have all the fun?” Sirius said, mock indignation in his voice. “Besides…” He glanced around the kitchen, eyes twinkling. “This place has potential. If you ask me, it’s perfect for the Order. Hidden, warded, and ready for action.”
Dumbledore’s eyebrows lifted, and his eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “An interesting suggestion, Sirius. Explain your reasoning.”
Sirius moved closer to the hearth, gesturing around the room. “We need a safe haven. Somewhere secure, discreet. This house is ideal. Hermione can train here, yes, but it can also shelter the Order, keep everyone out of harm’s way.”
Dumbledore considered this, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Very well. That is a prudent plan. We shall proceed as you suggest.”
Dumbledore’s eyes softened as he looked at Hermione. “I shall return tomorrow with further instructions, Hermione. For now, focus on familiarising yourself with the house. Sirius will guide you.”
Hermione nodded, her chest tightening slightly. “I understand, Professor.”
With a faint smile and a nod, Dumbledore raised his wand and disappeared in a shimmer of light, leaving Hermione and Sirius alone in the quiet, shadowed kitchen. Sirius leaned against the counter again, watching her with an easy, reassuring expression. “Well, now it’s just us,” he said. “Looks like you’re stuck with me for the night… and tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’m not that scary.”
Hermione laughed softly, the tension in her shoulders easing a little. “I’ve faced worse than you,” she teased.
“You have, have you?” Sirius raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Good to know my reputation doesn’t precede me too harshly. Come on, I’ll show you around. This place has a few quirks—you’ll want to know them if you’re going to be spending more than a few hours here.”
They walked through the dimly lit hallways, Sirius pointing out subtle protective runes etched into the walls and whispering small hints about the house’s hidden enchantments. Hermione listened intently, eyes darting around as she tried to memorise the layout. Sirius stopped at the end of a long, shadowed corridor, turning to face her. “Alright, Hermione. You’ll be here for a bit, so you should have a room you like. There are a few upstairs, small, cosy, all warded. Take your pick. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s safe.”
Hermione glanced down the staircase, then along the hallway, considering each doorway. “I… I think I’ll take that one,” she said finally, pointing to a modest room with a small window letting in the late afternoon light. “It’s… quiet, and I like the view outside.”
Sirius nodded approvingly. “Good choice. Quiet rooms are usually the safest. You’ll be able to concentrate”
Hermione smiled, feeling a small thrill of independence. “Thank you, Sirius. I feel… better already, just knowing you’re here.”
“Shall we have some tea together?” Sirius asked, his voice easy, teasing just slightly.
Hermione nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.”
They made their way back down the creaking staircase, the dim light from enchanted lanterns casting warm, flickering shadows across the walls. Once in the kitchen, Sirius set about brewing the tea, his movements casual but confident. Hermione watched him, feeling the calm presence of someone she had trusted since her third year.
“So,” Sirius said after a moment, handing her a steaming cup, “are you excited to go back to Hogwarts? Fifth year, new classes, all that fun stuff?”
Hermione took a careful sip, letting the warmth settle her nerves. “Excited… and nervous,” she admitted. “There’s so much to do this year. And my OWLs—I can’t afford to mess up.”
Sirius leaned against the counter, his expression softening. “Hermione, you’ve always been brilliant. You’ll do fantastically on your OWLs. Don’t let the pressure get to you. You’ve got the brains, the focus, and the drive: more than enough to handle it.”
Hermione felt a surge of reassurance, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you, Sirius. I needed that.”
“Don’t mention it,” Sirius said, his smirk lingering as he took a slow sip of his own tea. Hermione sat for a while, letting the warmth of the cup settle her nerves. The quiet hum of the house wrapped around her, soft and protective, yet alive in a way she couldn’t quite put into words. She thought about the upcoming school year, her OWLs, and the unusual training she’d be starting tomorrow. Finally, she set her cup down with a soft clink. “Sirius… would it be alright if I went to my room for a bit?” she asked, her voice almost hesitant. “I’d like to… think. Maybe look over some notes.”
“Of course,” he said easily, rising from the counter. “I’ll be just down here if you need me. “
Hermione climbed the stairs quietly, slipping into her room. She crossed to the small window, pushing it open just a little to let in the cool evening air. The view stretched over the park, the grass darkening as the sun sank lower, long shadows spilling across the damp earth. And then she froze. A tall, pale figure moved restlessly along the edge of the path: Lucius Malfoy. His polished cane tapped against the stones as he walked, his sharp eyes scanning the park as though searching for something hidden. He paused every so often, frowning, before resuming his slow circuit. Hermione’s pulse quickened. He looked frustrated, but no matter how hard he studied the air, he never once looked toward the house. To him, it wasn’t there at all.
“Looks like the wards are working,” came Sirius’s low voice at her side. Hermione jumped, whipping her head around. He was leaning casually against the window frame, as though he’d been there the whole time. Her eyes darted back to Lucius. “He can’t see it.”
Sirius’s mouth curled into a small, satisfied smile. “Not even a shadow. The Fidelius, the family wards, all layered together, keep out anyone who doesn’t belong. Poor Lucius could walk in circles all night, and he’d never so much as sniff the door.”
Hermione’s hand instinctively rose to her throat, brushing against the cool surface of the necklace that rested there. The green diamond caught the last rays of the sun, glowing faintly in the fading light.
“It’s my fault,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying.
Sirius glanced at her sharply, the smug ease fading from his face. “What do you mean?”
She swallowed hard, fingers curling protectively around the pendant. “He gave this to me years ago, but… last year, he enchanted it. He can track me through it. That’s how he knows I’m not at Hogwarts.”
For a moment, Sirius just stared at her. Hermione’s throat felt tight. “It can only be taken off by a Malfoy.”
Sirius shifted closer, his voice low but firm. “Listen to me. That’s not your fault. Lucius made sure you couldn’t take it off, because that’s what men like him do: wrap control in velvet and call it protection.” He nodded toward the park, where Lucius still paced like a caged wolf, cane striking the ground in sharp bursts. “That necklace doesn’t make you his or Draco’s, Hermione. And it sure as hell doesn’t decide where you belong.”
Hermione’s pulse thundered in her ears. She wanted to believe him, but the weight of the stone against her skin felt heavier than ever. She turned back to the window, watching Lucius stop suddenly, his pale face tipped up as though searching the air for a clue that would not come.
“He knows I’m close,” she murmured.
“Close won’t be enough,” Sirius replied grimly. “The wards twist everything he senses. He feels the pull of the enchantment, but like smoke through his fingers. He’ll never see this house, never find his way in.”
Hermione nodded faintly, but her hand lingered against the green diamond, its sharp edges pressing into her palm. She could almost feel the magic humming inside it, alive and watchful. Outside, Lucius turned on his heel with a sudden, frustrated snap of his cane and disappeared into the growing dusk, leaving the park empty once more. Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, her fingers still tight around the necklace. The silence after Lucius’s departure pressed heavily against the glass, broken only by the faint creak of the old house settling.
Her mind spun. Sirius’s words lingered: that necklace doesn’t make you his or Draco’s, but something caught at her. She turned to him, brow furrowing.
“Wait,” she said slowly, searching his face. “How do you know about Draco?”
Sirius’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he gave a short, humourless laugh. “Because I know his mother. Narcissa.” He leaned one shoulder against the wall, arms folding across his chest. “She’s my cousin.”
Hermione blinked. “Your cousin?”
“Mm. The Black family tree is a mess of pride and rot,” he said dryly. “Narcissa, Bellatrix, Andromeda; we were all raised under the same roof once. Pure-blood doctrine shoved down our throats before we could even hold a wand.” His lip curled, though there was bitterness more than anger in it. “Narcissa married Lucius, of course. A perfect match in their eyes: money, power, the right kind of blood. And that union gave them Draco.”
Hermione’s stomach gave a strange twist at the sound of Draco’s name. Sirius noticed but pressed on, his tone gentler now.
“You grew up in their house. You know how it is; expectations tighter than chains, everything about who you’re supposed to be already decided for you.” His gaze softened, almost pitying. “But Draco didn’t choose it, not at first. None of us did. Some of us rebelled, some of us broke, and some… well, some stayed loyal to the family name no matter the cost.”
Hermione lowered her eyes to the floorboards, her thumb brushing against the diamond at her throat. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if Sirius was talking about Draco or about himself.
“Come with me,” Sirius said suddenly.
She looked up, startled. “What?”
He pushed away from the wall, his expression grim but purposeful. “If you’re going to understand how I know about Draco, you should see for yourself. There’s a room here that… well, it explains more than I ever could.”
Curiosity prickled through her unease as she followed him down the dim hallway. The house creaked around them, lantern light flickering against walls lined with peeling wallpaper and old portraits whose eyes tracked their steps. Sirius stopped before a heavy wooden door, its handle worn with age, and pushed it open. The air inside was colder, heavy with dust and disuse. Along the far wall hung a massive tapestry, its fabric darkened with time but still vibrant with elaborate embroidery. Gold-thread branches wound across the cloth, spreading like veins, each one ending in a name, a date, a life. Hermione stepped closer, her breath catching. “The Black family tree,” she murmured.
Sirius’s mouth twisted into something between a smile and a grimace. “Home sweet home.”
Hermione leaned in closer, her eyes following the curling lines of gold thread that bound the family together. The names shimmered faintly in the lantern light, each one precise, each one claimed. Her gaze caught on Draco’s name, stitched in flawless golden script beneath Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black. The sight made her throat tighten. Sirius’s voice was low, edged with something sharp. “The Black tapestry records everything. Every child, every marriage, every so-called worthy union. It’s a prison made of thread and pride.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “And when you step out of line, they burn you away, as if you never existed.”
Hermione’s eyes flicked toward the blackened hole where his name had once been. She hesitated, the words pressing at her lips before she could stop them.
“My name isn’t on here,” she said softly.
Sirius glanced at her, brow furrowing. “Of course not. You’re not a Black.”
“Not by blood,” she whispered, her thumb brushing the cool edge of the stone, “but I was bound to them all the same.”
Sirius’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Hermione hesitated, the words heavy on her tongue. She had never spoken them aloud. Not at Hogwarts, not to Harry or Ron, not to anyone. But the tapestry stretched before her like a silent witness, its golden script burning with truths too long buried.
“My parents were Death Eaters,” she said finally, her voice thin but steady. “When I was born, they betrothed me to Draco Malfoy. An infant bargain, sealed before I ever opened my eyes. But Professor Dumbledore… he took me. Stole me from them. Placed me with a Muggle family who had just lost their baby girl. To the world, I became their daughter. To me, they were my parents.”
Her hand trembled against the necklace, the green diamond catching the lantern light like a shard of fire. “But the Malfoys never forgot. This ring from the Dumbledore family-“ she held her hand up to show Sirius “was used to find me.”
Sirius’s expression darkened, the bitterness in his voice like broken glass. “That wasn’t your fault, Hermione. Lucius has always been a master of gilded chains. The tapestry is just another version of the same. Gold thread instead of diamonds, but the same prison. Names written and destinies stolen before children are even old enough to speak.”
Hermione’s gaze flicked back to Draco’s name on the tapestry, perfect and glowing in gold. For a moment, she could almost hear the echo of Lucius’s cane striking stone outside, the reminder that he was still searching. Still claiming. Sirius stepped closer, his voice fierce but steady. “But you’re not theirs. Dumbledore saw to that the day he tore you out of their world. And now you’re here. Not at Malfoy Manor, not under Lucius’s thumb. Here, where their rules don’t reach. And you, Hermione Granger, get to decide what your name means. Not them. Not a piece of enchanted thread.”
Her throat tightened, but the words lodged in her chest weren’t despair this time. They were something closer to defiance. She glanced once more at the tapestry, the golden names, the scorch mark where Sirius had been burned away, and then lowered her hand from the necklace, letting the pendant fall cold and heavy against her chest. Sirius gave her a small, almost teasing smile, breaking the tension that had settled in the room. “Well… after all that doom and gloom, I think we deserve something a little more… ordinary. How about we make dinner?”
Hermione blinked, a small, surprised laugh escaping her. “Dinner?”
“Why not?” Sirius said with a shrug, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “We’ve got the kitchen, the magic, the ingredients… and honestly, I could use an accomplice who knows more than I do about actual cooking.”
Hermione felt a spark of warmth at his easy confidence. “Alright… let’s do it,” she said, the tension in her shoulders finally easing. They moved around the kitchen together, Sirius chopping vegetables with a flourish that was more show than skill, and Hermione carefully measuring herbs and spices. Laughter filled the space as Sirius made a dramatic show of almost dropping a carrot, or pretending to, while Hermione shook her head, smiling despite herself.
“I’m telling you,” Sirius said, tossing a peeled potato into the air and catching it perfectly in his hand, “cooking is an art. And tonight, we are artists.”
Hermione laughed, the sound light and free, a stark contrast to the heavy shadows of the afternoon. “Artists, huh? Well, I suppose I can follow orders.”
“What is this chaos? What are you doing, Master Sirius? You will ruin everything!” Kreacher appeared in the doorway, small, bony, eyes darting with suspicion. His hands were clasped tightly, knuckles white, his posture rigid and tense. “And who is this… this intruder?!”
Sirius groaned. “Kreacher, don’t start. This is Hermione. She’s staying here for a while. Hermione, meet Kreacher.”
The elf’s sharp gaze swept over Hermione. “Full-blood… yes… full-blood…” he muttered, voice trembling with calculation. “Mistress… you… you may enter”
Hermione stepped forward carefully, hands open and calm. “Hello, Kreacher. How are you?”
Kreacher’s eyes narrowed, his bony fingers clenching into tiny fists. “How… how dare you speak to me like that, Mistress! You… you presume to treat me as a human, as though I were… as though I were… worthy!” His voice shook with a mix of outrage and disbelief, and a high-pitched squeak of fury escaped him.
Hermione tilted her head slightly, keeping her tone gentle. “I’m not trying to presume anything, Kreacher. I just—”
“Quiet! Quiet!” he snapped, stepping back as though the words themselves might strike him. “I am Kreacher, of House Black! “
His voice shook with a mix of outrage and disbelief, and a high-pitched squeak of fury escaped him. Hermione tilted her head slightly, keeping her tone gentle. “I’m not trying to presume anything, Kreacher. I just—”
“GET OUT!” Sirius roared suddenly, his voice booming through the kitchen. He slammed a hand onto the counter, making Kreacher jump back. “Out of my kitchen, you whining, muttering, ridiculous excuse for a house-elf! Now!”
Kreacher froze, muttering incomprehensible fragments under his breath, glaring at Sirius but slowly retreating, leaving them alone in the kitchen.Hermione exhaled softly, allowing the tension to ease slightly from her shoulders.

Sirius turned back to the stove, grabbing a pot and gesturing for Hermione to start chopping vegetables. The kitchen filled with the clatter of knives and the hiss of sizzling pans. Laughter slowly returned to the room as Hermione guided the cooking, Sirius’s sharp jokes cutting through the shadows. The tension from earlier melted, replaced by the simple rhythm of preparing a meal together, the quiet rebellion of ordinary magic in a house that had seen far too much darkness. The meal was simple but satisfying, the warmth of the kitchen wrapping around them like a soft cloak. After they had cleared the table, Sirius leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples with a tired hand. Hermione set down the last plate, brushing crumbs from her fingers.
“You know,” Sirius said quietly, more to himself than to her, “it’s not often I get to… just… eat with someone who doesn’t think I’m a walking disaster.”
Hermione smiled softly, sitting opposite him. “I’m glad I’m here, Sirius. I mean, really glad. You’ve been… a constant through all of this.”
He let out a short, almost bitter laugh. “Constant, huh? That’s one way to put it.”
Hermione studied him quietly, the flickering lantern light casting shadows across his face. There was a raw vulnerability there she hadn’t noticed before, buried beneath his bravado and sharp tongue. She realised, with a soft ache in her chest, how much he craved companionship. Someone who could sit with him in silence, who wouldn’t judge the messiness of his past or the temper that came so easily.
Sirius caught her gaze and offered a faint, tired smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll be safe here. At least… I’ll try my best to make it that way.”
Hermione nodded, letting the reassurance settle. Later, when the kitchen was quiet and the house seemed to sigh with its own old magic, they each retreated to their rooms. Hermione lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thoughts drifting. She thought about Sirius; his temper, his laughter, his rare glimpses of gentleness. She thought about the loneliness she sensed in him, the way he guarded himself fiercely but clearly craved connection. And in the quiet of the hidden house, she felt a flicker of warmth: not just relief at being safe, but gratitude for his presence, for the rare, steadying companionship he offered in a world that had demanded so much of her already. Outside, the wind rustled through the trees, and the house settled around her like a protective embrace. Hermione let her eyes close, letting herself rest, ready to face whatever tomorrow would bring.

Chapter Text

The first pale light of morning crept through the windows, painting the kitchen in soft gold. Hermione had already moved quietly through the house, gathering ingredients and preparing a simple breakfast. She hummed softly under her breath, the rhythm of chopping and stirring grounding her after the intensity of the previous day. A sudden shuffle of footsteps and a low whistle made her jump. Sirius leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “Well… I didn’t expect to find you here making breakfast,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Planning to feed me or just trying to show off your domestic wizardry?”
Hermione turned, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I figured we’d start the day right. Breakfast is important, you know.” She held up a frying pan as if it were a wand. “And besides, I can’t let you starve.”
Sirius shook his head, chuckling. “Fair enough. I suppose I can tolerate this… for now.” He moved closer, leaning casually against the counter, watching her work. There was a brief, comfortable silence as the smell of sizzling eggs and toasted bread filled the air. Sirius leaned against the counter, shaking his head. “Though, if you keep this up, I might start expecting breakfast every morning. Don’t let it get to your head.” He let a short, lopsided grin break through, but his eyes were still sharp, scanning the kitchen like he half expected something to explode. Hermione laughed softly, the sound easing the tension in the air. “I’ll try not to, but don’t blame me if I succeed.”
The faint hum of the house settled as another, firmer knock echoed at the kitchen door. Hermione and Sirius both turned, and Hermione’s pulse quickened slightly. “Professor Dumbledore?” she said, stepping cautiously aside. Sirius straightened instantly, eyes narrowing, muscles tensing as if ready for anything. “He prefers old-fashioned manners, at least,” he muttered under his breath. Hermione opened the door, and Dumbledore’s calm, deliberate presence filled the threshold. “Good morning,” he said softly, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. “I trust I’m not intruding?”
“Not at all, Professor,” Hermione replied, moving aside to let him enter. Sirius made a small noise of reluctant acknowledgement but stayed quiet. Dumbledore’s gaze swept the kitchen, lingering for a moment on the sizzling eggs and the faint, homey warmth of the space. “Excellent. I bring news: Mr. Lupin will be joining us shortly, and the Weasleys will arrive soon as well. Thought you might appreciate some company this morning.”
The three of them ate together in a comfortable, quiet rhythm. Plates were filled with scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh fruit, and Sirius kept glancing at the door, a faint smile tugging at his lips, clearly enjoying the ordinary domesticity after yesterday’s tension. Hermione sipped her tea carefully, listening to Dumbledore’s gentle chatter about the day ahead and Sirius’s occasional, teasing interjections.  The kitchen door creaked open again, and Sirius practically leapt from his seat. “Remus!” he exclaimed, his grin spreading across his face. Lupin stepped inside, his usual calm demeanour in place, eyes lighting briefly at the sight of his old friend. “Good morning, Sirius. I hope I’m not too early?”
“Too early?” Sirius scoffed, though the warmth in his voice was unmistakable. “Remus, you’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting. Breakfast is saved. Come, join us!”
Lupin settled beside Sirius, and Hermione felt the quiet comfort of old friendships at work. Conversation flowed easily, small jokes and reassurances passing between the two men, and she could see how much Sirius appreciated the presence of someone he trusted completely. The plates had been cleared, and the kitchen hummed with quiet energy. Sirius and Lupin were still talking quietly, laughing occasionally at some shared memory, and Hermione lingered near the counter, fidgeting with her cup of tea.
“Professor Dumbledore,” she began carefully, “I… I’d like to get a Daily Prophet subscription. I want to keep up with the news myself, especially… well, all the things they’ve been saying about Harry, and about you.”
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled behind his glasses, a faint, approving smile tugging at his lips. “Ah, very wise, Hermione. Information is only dangerous if left unchecked. I can make the arrangements; you’ll have your own copy, delivered daily.”
Sirius leaned back in his chair, a teasing glint in his eye. “Finally! Someone willing to see through the nonsense. Just don’t let it turn your head too much, Hermione. You might start thinking the Prophet’s version is the only one.”
Hermione smiled faintly, nodding. “I won’t… I just want to read it for myself. I need to see what the world is saying, not just hear it from others.”
“Good girl,” Dumbledore said softly. “Knowledge, tempered with judgment, is a powerful thing.”
“Hermione,” he said gently, voice calm but insistent, “would you join me in the living room for a moment? There are… matters I wish to discuss with you.”
Hermione nodded, feeling a flutter of nervous anticipation. She followed him, walking quietly across the warm, sunlit corridors of the house. Sirius and Lupin watched her go, giving small nods of encouragement, though neither spoke. The moment the living room door closed behind them, the ambient noise of the house faded, leaving a hushed, contemplative space. Dumbledore gestured toward a chair, and Hermione sat, hands folded neatly in her lap,
“Hermione,” he began quietly, “I have received word from Lucius Malfoy. He… requested that you be brought to me, in order to examine a… particular aspect of your abilities.”
Hermione swallowed, cheeks flushing, and nodded. “Yes, Professor. I… I don’t really understand it myself, but something happened at Malfoy Manor. A curse was aimed at Draco, and… I instinctively created a barrier. It protected him completely, stronger and faster than anything I’ve ever done. I didn’t plan it. I didn’t even think—I just…” Her hands trembled slightly as she tried to explain. Dumbledore listened intently, his fingers steepled. “So it was not deliberate, nor a result of study or practice?”
“No,” Hermione admitted softly. “I’ve tried to do it since… but I can’t. I don’t know why it happened that one time. I don’t know how to make it happen again.”
A thoughtful silence filled the room. Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, yet carried a weight of understanding. “Ah… I see. What you describe is very unusual. Your magic responded instinctively. Without conscious direction, but with remarkable precision. This… suggests that the source of its strength is not your ordinary skill alone, but something deeper.”
Hermione shifted slightly in her seat, uncertainty clear in her expression. “Something deeper… you mean like… emotions?”
Dumbledore nodded slowly, his gaze gentle. “Yes, precisely. Magic, when it responds instinctively, often draws upon the strength of the heart, the instinct to protect or care. What you experienced was not a sudden amplification of your usual skill, but a natural extension of your concern for another; a protective instinct given form by your magic.”
Hermione’s eyes widened slightly. “So… it’s like my feelings made it stronger?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Dumbledore said, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “What makes it remarkable is your ability to channel that instinct so effectively, even without realising it. Few wizards manage such control naturally. And yet…” He paused, letting the thought settle. “It is a type of magic that exists within the potential of many; you are fortunate that yours manifested so clearly. With guidance, you can learn to recognise it, to shape it deliberately, rather than leaving it to chance.”
Hermione swallowed, relief mixing with curiosity. “You mean… I can practice it? Learn to… use it?”
“Indeed,” Dumbledore replied warmly. “We will begin slowly, exercises to attune your awareness to the flow of your own magic. You will learn to call upon it more reliably, to strengthen it without forcing it, and to understand the limits of what it can do. You are special, Hermione, but not alone in this. Many wizards possess instincts that can be cultivated; you simply have a head start, guided by your character and your compassion.”
Hermione nodded, a small, tentative smile forming. “I… I’d like that”
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled again, with a faint warmth behind the usual gravity. “Very good, my dear. Then we shall begin carefully, with patience and observation. Magic such as yours rewards both attentiveness and restraint. And with time, you will see just how much you are capable of. Without ever needing to rely on chance alone.”
Dumbledore stood, moving to a small table near the window where sunlight pooled across the floor. “We shall begin gently,” he said, gesturing for Hermione to stand in the centre of the room. “First, we will focus on awareness. Becoming conscious of the magic that flows naturally within you, before it reacts instinctively.”
Hermione’s hands clutched her wand lightly. “So… I just… feel it?”
“Precisely,” Dumbledore replied. “Close your eyes if it helps. Pay attention not only to your spells, but to the sensation of power moving through your body, the way it responds to your thoughts, your intentions, even your emotions. Do not try to force it. Observe it.”
Hermione inhaled, shutting her eyes, and Dumbledore’s calm voice guided her. “Imagine the last time your magic protected another. Let that feeling, concern, care, vigilance, be present, but do not dwell upon the outcome. Simply let it flow.”
A soft shimmer appeared around her wand tip, almost imperceptible, and Hermione’s chest hummed lightly. Her instincts wanted to push outward, to replicate the barrier she had cast for Draco, but Dumbledore’s voice held her gently. “Good,” he murmured. “Now, allow that same awareness to extend to your natural magical ability, separate from instinct. Your skill, your training, your study: all that is the foundation. But beneath that foundation lies your core. Your innate potential. It is quiet, steady, and present even when not called upon.”
Hermione opened her eyes slightly, focusing on the calm warmth Dumbledore described. “I… I can feel it, like a pulse under everything I know.”
“Exactly,” he said, smiling faintly. “This is your natural power. When instinctive reactions surge, they draw upon this source, magnifying what is already there. By learning to recognise it, you can draw from it deliberately, and even enhance your instinctive spells without relying solely on chance or emotion.”
He waved his wand gently, and small motes of golden light hovered in the room. “Now, for the first exercise: cast a simple protective spell. A barrier, a shield, but first, visualise it forming from your natural power alone, without letting emotion dictate its strength. Allow the magic to emerge from the core of yourself, calm, steady, and controlled.”
Hermione concentrated, wand raised, and a faint translucent dome shimmered before her. It was not as instinctive or explosive as the one that had saved Draco, but it held steady, a proof of her natural potential. “Excellent,” Dumbledore said softly. “Notice the difference: the instinctive surge is swift, reactive, sometimes overwhelming. Your natural power is deliberate, patient, and enduring. With practice, you will learn to combine the two. Your instincts guided by conscious control, your core strength amplified by care for others. That is the hallmark of a wizard capable of remarkable protection without losing themselves in it.”
Hermione nodded, awe and relief mingling in her expression. “So… I can learn to make it happen again. Not by accident, but… on purpose.”
“Exactly,” Dumbledore said, his eyes gentle but bright. “Patience, observation, and care. We will continue slowly, step by step. You are simply attentive, compassionate, and willing to learn. That is enough to make your magic shine in ways many only dream of.”
He lowered his voice slightly, leaning closer. “And remember, Hermione: power without understanding can be dangerous. What you have now is a gift precisely because you care. Never lose that, and it will guide you far.”
Dumbledore’s eyes softened as he looked at Hermione. “You have the capacity to access this instinctive magic, Hermione, but it is not something that can be forced. All you need is practice, patience… and the warmth of those you care about. Friends, companionship, love. They will guide your magic as much as your wand ever could.”
Hermione felt a small spark of relief. “So… it’s not something dangerous? I don’t need to be afraid of it?”
“Fear will only cloud your control,” Dumbledore said gently. “Trust yourself. Trust those around you. That will be enough for now.” With a faint nod, he tapped his wand, signalling that their session was complete. “I must take my leave, but remember: practice, observation, and heart. That is the truest way to refine your power.”
Hermione blinked, and when she looked again, the room was empty, the golden sunlight of morning spilling across the floor. She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of tension lift slightly from her shoulders. Just then, a familiar commotion arose from the front entrance: the Weasleys had arrived. Sirius, grinning like a mischievous imp, opened the door for them, while Lupin hovered nearby, calm and reassuring as ever. The kitchen quickly filled with the sounds of laughter, greetings, and the clatter of trunks and parcels. Molly’s hands were already moving, directing the younger children to unpack, while Fred and George shot teasing glances at each other, clearly plotting mischief. Ron skidded in behind them, hair mussed and cheeks flushed from running, and Ginny darted past Hermione. Hermione moved to help, carrying a basket of bread, and found herself swept up in the warmth and chaos of the family. Sirius leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the scene, while Lupin quietly offered Hermione an encouraging nod.
“Need a hand with that, Hermione?” Ginny asked, tugging gently at her sleeve.
“Sure,” Hermione replied, smiling, feeling a lightness she hadn’t felt in days. They moved together, arranging the table, unpacking the food, and sharing small jokes. Even Sirius couldn’t resist teasing Fred and George when they tried to sneak a few extra pastries, and Lupin chuckled quietly from the corner.  As the plates were filled and the conversation grew louder, Dumbledore’s words came back to her. Later, when she found a quiet corner near the sunny window, Hermione pulled out her wand. She focused on the warmth she felt from the people around her; the laughter of the Weasleys, the calm support of Lupin, Sirius’s easy camaraderie. And let her magic respond naturally. A faint glow shimmered at the tip of her wand. It wasn’t the instinctive surge she had produced at Malfoy Manor, but it was steady and alive, guided by care and attention rather than force. Hermione smiled, feeling a quiet thrill. With practice, patience, and the support of those she trusted, she knew her power could grow. She leaned back slightly, letting the golden light expand across the floor, feeling the simple joy of a meal shared, the comfort of companionship, and the promise of her own abilities unfolding in their own time. The laughter and clatter of the Weasleys’ lunch faded as Hermione finally slipped away to her room, carrying a small plate of fruit and a mug of tea. Sunlight spilt across the floorboards, warm and comforting, and for the first time that day, she felt a quiet sense of calm. She set her things down, closing the door behind her, and drew a deep breath. Her wand lay on the desk, gleaming faintly in the sunlight. She hesitated for a moment, remembering Dumbledore’s instructions: observe, feel, and draw upon your natural power without forcing it. Sitting on the edge of her bed, Hermione lifted her wand. She closed her eyes, picturing the surge of magic that had protected Draco. Not the instinctive, explosive power, but the calm, deliberate core of her abilities. She felt it under her skin, steady, present, waiting to be guided. Slowly, she raised her wand, focusing on the warmth of her companions’ presence in the kitchen: the laughter of the Weasleys, Sirius leaning casually against the doorway, Lupin’s quiet, reassuring nod. A soft golden shimmer flickered at the tip of her wand, and with careful thought, she extended it outward. A faint dome appeared, steady and translucent, held in place purely by her concentration. She opened her eyes and smiled, the thrill of success warming her chest. Her concentration was broken by a sudden, precise flap of wings against the window. Hermione looked up, heart skipping a beat, to see Hedwig perched impatiently, wings slightly ruffled. A tightly folded letter dangled from the owl’s leg, sealed with Harry’s messy, uneven scrawl. She tore it open quickly, eyes scanning the words:

"Hermione,
I was attacked by Dementors, and I… I needed to know you were safe. What’s happening? Why does nobody tell me anything? I don’t understand what is gong on. You have to write, Hermione. Please. I need answers.
Harry"

Hermione’s hands trembled as she held the letter. His urgency, his anger, and his worry pressed through every word. She knew he wasn’t blaming her, but the raw intensity made her chest tighten. She sank into her chair, Hedwig perched beside her, silently watching. Hermione’s mind raced. Dementors… Harry… was he okay? The thought of him being attacked, of him alone and desperate, made her stomach twist. Her instinctive urge to protect him flared, sharp and insistent. If only I were there… if only I could’ve done something.
She pressed the letter to her chest, her eyes drifting toward her wand. She knew he could conjure a Patronus, that he was strong, but could she do anything from here? Could she somehow help, even from Sirius’s house? The thought that Voldemort might have sent them made her shiver. Is this… connected? Is it because of me being here, training with Dumbledore? A tight knot of guilt and worry coiled in her stomach. She wanted to write back, to reassure him, to tell him she was safe, but what could she say that would ease his fear? And yet… she couldn’t ignore it. She had to focus, to prepare herself. A soft knock at her door made Hermione jump. “Hermione, come on,” Sirius’s voice called, gentle but insistent. “It’s time to come downstairs.”
Hermione hesitated, glancing at the letter from Harry clutched in her hands. Her chest ached at the thought of him alone and worried. But she tucked it carefully into her bag and followed Sirius down the hall. In the kitchen, Dumbledore sat quietly, eyes calm, while Mr. Weasley fidgeted nearby, clearly uncomfortable with the tension in the air. Sirius leaned against the mantel, his expression unusually serious. Ron sat at the table with the same letter from Harry.
“Hermione,” Dumbledore began softly, “Ron, we must discuss correspondence with Mr. Potter. He has written, and I understand your instinct to respond. But I must ask, no letters are to be sent, not by you, Hermione, and not by you, Ron.”
Hermione’s heart sank. “But… he’s worried, Professor. He doesn’t know what’s going on-“
“Exactly,” Dumbledore said gently. “Harry has been through much already, and the recent Dementor attack has left him vulnerable. Any reply from you, or even from Ron, might only increase his anxiety and draw unwanted attention. For now, he must remain where he is, safe from further danger.”
Sirius’s voice cut in, low but firm. “That’s right. Harry stays put. We’ll keep an eye on him. You don’t need to carry that weight. Not yet.”
Mr. Weasley nodded vigorously, his hands wringing together. “We will write to him, of course, but only to assure him that he is safe and to give instructions, nothing more. No updates on your whereabouts.”
Hermione’s fingers tightened around the edge of her chair, her mind still buzzing with worry. “I… I just want to make sure he’s safe,” she whispered, barely above the room’s quiet hum.
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his hands folded over hers. “And you will help keep him safe, Hermione. But not through letters. Your role, for now, is here.”
Sirius crossed the room in a few long strides and rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Dumbledore’s right. Leave this to the adults.”
Hermione nodded slowly, trying to still the whirl of guilt and worry in her chest. “I understand… I just… I wish I could do more.”
Lupin, who had been quietly observing from the corner, spoke in his calm, even voice. “You are doing more than you realise, Hermione.”
Dumbledore’s eyes softened as he regarded her. “And, Hermione,” he continued, “there is another matter. This very evening, the first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix will take place here at this house. Your presence is required. Not merely as an observer, but as someone whose abilities and insight may prove invaluable.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Me… at the meeting?”
“Yes,” Dumbledore said gently, his gaze steady.
“Your experiences before and after your time at Malfoy Manor. What you observed, the information you gathered, the threats you perceived. It is precisely why your presence is needed at tonight’s meeting of the Order.”
Hermione blinked, the weight of that reminder settling on her shoulders. “You mean… all the things I noticed… the Malfoys, their movements, even the hints of Voldemort’s plans…”
“Exactly,” Dumbledore said, his voice calm but insistent. “These details, combined with your careful reasoning, are invaluable. The Order must be aware of everything, however small it may seem. And you can provide clarity where others might only see shadows.”
Sirius leaned slightly forward, a rare seriousness in his eyes. “You’ve been at the heart of danger, Hermione. Tonight, you’ll be at the heart of strategy. Trust your instincts, and remember: you are not alone in this.”
“I… I’ll be ready,” she said softly
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, gentle but firm. “Very good.”
Later, when the house had quieted and the midday sun spilt into her room, Hermione sat by the window, wand in hand. She let herself focus on the steady glow of her own natural magic, the awareness Dumbledore had taught her. Thoughts of Harry, the Malfoys, and the looming meeting swirled together, but this time, she felt a faint clarity in the midst of it all, a thread of control she could hold onto. The kitchen at Sirius’s house was filled with a quiet tension, punctuated by the soft shuffle of robes and the occasional low murmur of introductions. Hermione clutched her wand beneath her sleeve, trying to calm the rush of thoughts in her head. Every snippet she had overheard at Malfoy Manor pressed against her memory, and now she felt the weight of it all as she prepared to relay it. The air was thick with the quiet tension of anticipation. Hermione entered, heart beating fast. This was her first real meeting with the full Order, and though Dumbledore had assured her she would be valued, the weight of her recent observations at Malfoy Manor pressed on her.
“Welcome,” Dumbledore said, his voice calm, carrying the authority of someone who had seen more darkness than anyone else in the room. “Tonight, we meet to share information, to plan, and to prepare. Hermione, thank you for joining us. Your insight from the Manor will be crucial.”
Hermione nodded, trying to steady herself. She noticed familiar faces: Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill quietly taking notes, Lupin offering a calm nod, Sirius leaning back with his usual guarded grin and Moody, with his magical eye observing her. Then there were new ones for her: a young woman with a bright shock of pink hair, standing near the mantel.
“This is Nymphadora Tonks,” Dumbledore introduced gently. “She will be assisting in reconnaissance and intelligence work.”
Hermione offered a small smile, the first spark of camaraderie forming. At the far edge of the room, Severus Snape stood, arms crossed, expression inscrutable. The room seemed to draw a collective breath at his presence.
“Severus Snape joins us as well,” Dumbledore continued, eyes sweeping the room. “He brings knowledge of Death Eater movements and tendencies.“
Hermione drew a steadying breath, her fingers curling around her wand. “At Malfoy Manor,” she began, her voice quiet but firm, “I observed that Lucius has been spending more time at the Ministry than usual. Normally, he goes to work, but during the holidays, he remains at the manor for long stretches.” Her gaze flicked briefly toward Snape, noting his unreadable expression, before continuing.
“Voldemort also called the children together,” she said, her voice tightening slightly. “Narcissa said it was only to discuss… our First, but when we were moved to a separate room while the parents remained with Voldemort, I tried to listen. I only caught fragments of what they said.” She closed her eyes, reciting the words exactly as she had heard them:
“…must not fail… chosen one… important…”
“…he cannot be allowed… the others…”
“…everything depends… we must ensure…”
She opened her eyes again, meeting Dumbledore’s gaze directly. “He… Voldemort… he has been trying to draw out my power,” she said, her voice firm but low. “He forced me to duel him, then sent me away from the Malfoys to train under you.” Her eyes darkened for a brief moment as memories of Lucius’s fury flickered in her mind, but she pushed the thought aside. “And… one day, Lucius brought us to the Ministry,” she added, steadying her voice. “It was… intimidating. We met Miss Umbridge there, and I also glimpsed some of the prisoners in Azkaban. I noticed a ledger on Lucius’s desk. It listed names I recognised faintly from whispers: prisoners, their crimes, and the locations of their cells. There were notes in the margins suggesting careful planning:
“…Bellatrix Lestrange — high security… monitoring required… transfer feasible…”
“…Rosier, Mulciber… evaluate guards… potential extraction…”
Hermione’s eyes lifted to meet Dumbledore’s. “I… I thought it was important to share all of this. Every detail I could observe. I’m not certain what’s most urgent, but it seemed relevant.” Hermione finished her report, her voice steady despite the rush of memories. The room fell silent for a moment as the members of the Order absorbed her words. Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, his eyes warm with quiet approval.
“Thank you, Hermione,” he said softly. “Your observations are invaluable. Every detail you have noticed from the Malfoys’ movements to the fragments of Voldemort’s discussions, and even your glimpse of Azkaban, will help guide our decisions.”
Sirius gave her a rare, approving nod. “You’ve done very well. Don’t underestimate what you’ve accomplished just by reporting what you saw and heard.”
Mr. Weasley straightened, hands still slightly trembling, and added, “Indeed. We are grateful for your insight, Hermione—”
Dumbledore held up a hand gently. “However, you are still very young. The matters we are about to discuss require the judgment and experience of those of us who are older. Your role here was to observe and report, and you have done so admirably. The adults will handle the deliberations.”
Hermione’s chest tightened slightly, a mix of pride and frustration, but she nodded. “I understand, Professor.”
Dumbledore’s eyes softened. “Patience, Hermione. There will be many more opportunities for you to contribute in ways only you can. For now, step aside and let the adults proceed. You have already done more than most would at your age.”
Hermione left the kitchen and returned to her new room. She pushed the door open and a familiar face looked up from the bed.
“Hi,” Ginny said, a little hesitant. “All the other rooms are taken… so, um, would it be okay if we shared this one?”
Hermione blinked, caught off guard, then relaxed slightly. “Oh! Yes, of course. That’s fine.”
Ginny smiled, relieved. “Thanks. I didn’t want to just assume.”
Hermione nodded, setting her suitcase down. “No problem. I’m glad it’s you, at least.”
“So… how were your holidays?” Hermione asked, trying to sound casual. Ginny shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Busy, I guess. Lots of training and family stuff. You know, the usual chaos at the Burrow.” She paused, then laughed softly. “And you? Did you survive the Malfoys?”
Hermione hesitated, then nodded. “Yes… mostly. It was… okay, I guess. I’m glad I only spent three weeks there.”
After a few minutes of chatting with Ginny, Hermione’s thoughts wandered to her OWLs. “I should… find a book,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. Ginny playfully rolled her eyes at her, but Hermione ignored it.  Hermione left the room quietly, Ginny’s curious gaze following her until the door clicked shut. She wandered down the hall, her thoughts half on her upcoming OWLs and half on finding the right book. Soon, she found Sirius lounging in the sitting room, a book in his hands.
“Sirius?” she called softly.
He looked up, an amused arch to his brow. “Yes? Looking for trouble—or just me?”
“I… need a book,” Hermione said, a bit flustered. “Something that could help me study for my OWLs. Magical correspondence, charms… things like that. But I didn’t want to just take a book without asking.”
Sirius set his book aside and stood, giving her a reassuring grin. “Alright. Come on, I’ll help you find one.”
They walked together through the long corridors of the Black house until they reached a section of tall, imposing shelves. Sirius ran his fingers along the spines, muttering quietly, checking for any signs of enchantment.
“What exactly are you looking for?” he asked, crouching slightly to examine a particularly thick volume. Hermione thought for a moment. “Something that explains magical theory for practical use. Spells, protections… maybe even a bit about magical creatures. Anything that’s helpful for OWLs.”
Sirius chuckled and pulled out a solid, unassuming book from the shelf. He held it at arm’s length, muttering under his breath as he ran his fingers along the spine and traced his wand lightly over the cover. A faint shimmer of protective magic sparked briefly before fading. “Yep, safe,” he said with a grin. “No curses, no exploding ink, no biting pages.”
Hermione took the book carefully, opening the cover and inhaling the faint, comforting scent of old parchment. “Thank you, Sirius,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“No problem,” he replied, leaning casually against the shelf. “I’ve learned the hard way. You can never trust a Black family book until you’ve given it the once-over.”
Hermione settled onto the edge of the large, shared bed, Ginny already curled up at the other side. The book Sirius had approved rested on her lap, its pages filled with practical spells, charms, and magical theory. The room was quiet except for the occasional crackle of the fireplace and the soft rustle of Ginny turning under the covers. She read steadily, absorbing as much as she could, her mind still replaying the memories of Malfoy Manor and the glimpses of Voldemort’s plans. The warmth of the bed and Ginny’s quiet presence gave her a small measure of comfort, and for the first time since arriving at the Black house, she felt a little safe. Minutes or perhaps hours passed. Hermione’s eyes grew heavy. She marked her place carefully and finally closed the book, letting sleep take her, the worries of the day mingling with the soft rhythm of breathing beside her.

Chapter Text

Sunlight spilt through the tall windows, illuminating the Black house in a warm, golden glow. Hermione had risen early, moving quietly through the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Hermione had already moved quietly through the room, gathering ingredients and preparing a simple breakfast. She hummed softly under her breath, the rhythm of chopping and stirring grounding her after the intensity of the past few days. A gentle voice broke the quiet. “Good morning, Hermione,” Lupin said, stepping around the counter, his calm presence immediately easing some of her tension. “Anything I can do to help?” Hermione looked up, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Good morning, Professor. I… I think I’ve got most of it, but maybe you could help me set the table? And keep an eye on the eggs. They seem to have a mind of their own this morning.”
Lupin chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Please,” he said with a small smile, “call me Remus. You don’t need to call me Professor anymore. We’re friends now, allies. No titles needed.”
Hermione blinked, a little surprised, then smiled. “Alright… Remus. In that case, could you help with the cutlery? And maybe keep an eye on the toast too.”
“Consider it done,” he replied, moving with quiet precision, fetching plates, cups, and cutlery, arranging them carefully while occasionally glancing at Hermione. “You’ve got a good system going. It’s surprisingly calm for a Black family kitchen.”
Hermione laughed softly, her hands still busy with the vegetables. “I’m trying not to burn the house down, at least.”
A low whistle cut through the room, and Sirius appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, a grin tugging at his lips. “Well, well, I see the two of you are conspiring to make the kitchen look civilised,” he said, his eyes flicking from Hermione to Lupin. “I suppose I should join in, then, or risk being left out.”
Hermione handed him a stack of plates, and Sirius took them with mock solemnity. “Careful,” he said, waggling a finger. “These are dangerous. Don’t want to unleash any… enchanted horrors hidden in the porcelain.”
Sirius moved to set the table while Lupin continued arranging the cutlery, occasionally glancing at Hermione with a reassuring smile. “You’ve been through a lot,” he said quietly, almost conversationally. “How are you feeling this morning?”
Hermione paused, wiping her hands on a towel. “Better… I think. It’s nice to just… do something ordinary for once. Cooking, chatting… it helps.”
“Good,” Lupin replied, a small smile in his voice. “Even a brief calm can make all the difference.”
Sirius, having finished setting the table, leaned back against the counter with a triumphant grin. “There. Safe for consumption. And no curses, I checked. Mostly.”
Hermione laughed again, a genuine smile spreading across her face for the first time in days. The kitchen was filled with the comforting smells of sizzling eggs, toasted bread, and the quiet murmurs of conversation. For a moment, the dark weight of the outside world seemed far away, replaced by warmth, laughter, and the simple rhythm of a shared morning. The kitchen door swung open, and a flurry of red hair followed a crisp, familiar voice.
“Hermione! You’ve made breakfast already?” Mrs Weasley’s eyes widened in surprise as she stepped inside, the scent of toast and eggs immediately drawing her closer. “Oh, thank you, dear! That’s very thoughtful of you.”
Hermione blushed slightly. “It was… nothing, really. I just thought it’d be nice to start the day right.”
Mrs Weasley’s hands clasped together, a warm smile on her face. “Well, it’s much appreciated. Now, let’s see… the kitchen looks far more orderly than I expected. You two,” she said, glancing at Lupin and Sirius, “have been helping, I see?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lupin replied, with a small bow of acknowledgement. “Just setting things out. Hermione’s doing most of the work.”
Sirius grinned, leaning casually against the counter. “Mostly supervision,” he added, earning a soft chuckle from Mrs Weasley. The sound of footsteps and voices came from the front hall, and soon the rest of the Weasley siblings trickled in, drawn by the smell of food. Fred and George barged in first, laughing and elbowing each other as they grabbed seats. Ginny followed, still tugging at her sleeves nervously. Ron trailed behind, hair mussed and eyes still half-asleep.
“Breakfast smells brilliant,” Ron mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Hermione, did you make this?”
“Yes,” Hermione replied, smiling faintly. “I thought it’d be nice to start the day together.” The table quickly filled with chatter, clinking cutlery, and the smells of warm toast, sizzling eggs, and fresh fruit. Sirius moved among them, passing plates and occasionally teasing Fred and George when they tried to sneak extra pastries. Lupin kept a calm presence, quietly ensuring everyone had what they needed, occasionally exchanging a soft word with Hermione. Mrs Weasley, looking around at the busy, noisy table, shook her head with a fond smile. “Well, this is much better than I imagined. Thank you, Hermione. Truly. Now, after we eat, we have a bit of work to do to make this house… livable again. I think we can start with the kitchen, yes? A few lingering surprises, if I recall correctly…”
Hermione exchanged a glance with Lupin, who simply gave a small nod, his expression calm but knowing. “I’ll help,” she said softly.
“Of course you will, dear,” Mrs Weasley said, smiling, before turning to survey the rest of the lively group. “All right then, let’s finish breakfast before the real chaos begins.”
Hermione, Lupin, and Sirius set to work first, carefully inspecting the shelves, cupboards, and counters. “Watch the handles,” Sirius muttered, tapping a cabinet with his wand. “Mother liked… surprises.” A drawer rattled violently when he opened it, and a pair of silver knives shot into the air before Lupin, calm as ever, cast a precise pinning charm. Hermione jumped back, her heart racing, but smiled faintly. “I think I’ll leave the knife-dodging to you two,” she said. They moved systematically: shelves were checked for hidden charms, cupboards swept for dust and lingering hexes, and even the spice jars were examined for jinxes. Lupin’s steady hand and knowledge of defensive magic made the process far less harrowing than Hermione had expected, while Sirius muttered complaints about the “archaic nonsense” his family had left behind. A few of the enchanted objects, flying knives, snapping teacups, and a particularly stubborn cupboard door that seemed to bite anyone who opened it, required both careful counter-spells and cautious dodging. Hermione found herself grinning despite the tension, enjoying the rhythm of magical housekeeping combined with the thrill of harmless danger. Day after day, they repeated the careful routines. Breakfasts were quick but nourishing, with Hermione occasionally supervising Sirius’s attempts at toast. He insisted he didn’t need help, but Lupin quietly corrected his wand placements when necessary. The enchanted knives, snapping teacups, and other lingering traps became familiar, almost predictable, as Hermione grew adept at spotting even the subtlest of magical auras. The work was slow, methodical, and at times frustrating. A cupboard that had seemed cleared the day before would erupt again, an old hex reactivating unexpectedly. But with each passing morning, the kitchen became less a danger zone and more a functional, welcoming space. Hermione’s hands grew steadier, her awareness sharper, and she found herself enjoying the cooperative rhythm of the work: Sirius’s casual irreverence, Lupin’s calm guidance, and her own careful diligence. By the evenings, the younger Weasleys would retreat upstairs, whispering about the day’s discoveries and testing Fred and George’s new devices to eavesdrop on the Order meetings. The week passed surprisingly fast. Though the work was taxing, each day carried its own small victories. By the end of the week, the kitchen was finally ready: clean, organised, and free of surprises. The Black house, for the first time in many years, felt manageable and for Hermione, it was a sign that careful observation, courage, and cooperation could tame even the most daunting of magical challenges.

The front door creaked open and Hermione’s heart leapt into her throat. She had been waiting for this moment all summer, pacing the gloomy hallway of Grimmauld Place with Ron, both of them jumping at every sound. And then there he was: Harry, framed in the doorway of Ron’s room, his glasses crooked and his clothes rumpled from travel. He looked thinner, angrier, and older somehow, and Hermione felt an ache in her chest at the sight. Before she could stop herself, she dashed forward and threw her arms around him. He’s here, he’s safe, she told herself, clinging tightly. Harry stiffened for a heartbeat, then relaxed, and when she pulled back, she caught the flash of weariness in his eyes. Ron was there a moment later, grinning but awkward, clapping Harry on the shoulder.
“You’ve no idea how good it is to see you,” Hermione said breathlessly. Her voice came out higher than she’d meant, betraying how anxious she’d been. Hermione felt the weight of Harry’s gaze land on her again, and guilt pooled heavily in her stomach. Harry had been locked away at Privet Drive, receiving only the most useless scraps of news, and she and Ron had been forbidden from telling him anything at all. It was no wonder he looked so furious. “Harry…” she began carefully, trying to keep her tone even, gentle. “We—we really did want to write more. To tell you everything. But we weren’t allowed. Dumbledore’s orders.” At the sound of the Headmaster’s name, Harry’s eyes flashed. His hands balled into fists at his sides.
“Dumbledore’s orders,” he repeated, voice low and dangerous. “That’s all anyone says. I’ve been stuck for weeks, and nobody thought I had the right to know what was happening?”
Hermione flinched, but she forced herself to meet his glare. He had every right to be angry. She would have been furious in his place, left out of everything, shut up with no answers. Her heart squeezed as she thought of him pacing his room at Privet Drive, letter after letter filled with empty reassurances. She had written and rewritten so many drafts before finally sending the smallest, safest scraps of words.
“We weren’t trying to keep things from you,” she said quickly, stepping forward. “Honestly, Harry, we weren’t. It’s just… Dumbledore said it was too risky. That if any owls were intercepted…” She trailed off, her hands twisting together in her lap. The excuses sounded thin even to her own ears.
“Risky? What’s risky? Me knowing what’s going on?” His face was red now, eyes blazing. “Who’s the one Voldemort tried to kill? Who saw him come back? Who was there when Cedric died? Who brought his body back? Who had to fight to stay alive while you two were safe here?”
The words hit Hermione like blows. She gasped softly, her throat tightening as the memory of that awful night flashed before her eyes: Harry stumbling back into the maze, clutching Cedric’s body, the horror etched across his face. She had never forgotten it, not for a single day, and hearing it hurled at her now made her chest ache.
“Harry…” she tried, her voice trembling. She wanted to reach for him, to calm him, but he looked so furious, so unlike himself, that she didn’t dare move. She could feel Ron stiffen beside her, his ears going pink, though whether from anger or embarrassment, Hermione couldn’t tell.
“You don’t understand how it felt,” Harry continued, his voice cracking as it rose higher. “Being stuck with the Dursleys all summer, hearing nothing, knowing Voldemort’s out there, and I’m completely cut off. Like I don’t matter—like I’m not even part of this at all!”
Hermione bit down hard on her lip. He’s right, a small, guilty voice whispered inside her. They hadn’t been allowed to write, but that hadn’t made it any easier for him. Of course, he’d feel abandoned, left to imagine the worst on his own. She wanted to tell him everything, to pour out every detail of what little she and Ron knew, just to ease the fury in his eyes. But she couldn’t, or didn’t know what to tell him. They didn’t know more than he did.  Her hands were shaking now, and she clasped them tightly together in her lap to still them. She hated this. This feeling of helplessness. Harry’s voice thundered through the room now, each word raw and jagged.
“I’m the one who saw him come back! I’m the one who fought him! And still none of you. None of you thought I deserved to know anything!”
He began pacing the cramped space, his footsteps heavy against the worn carpet. His hands were clenched into fists, shoulders tight with rage. Hermione’s stomach twisted; she hated seeing him like this, burning with anger and hurt. She wanted to make it right, to calm him, but her mind raced uselessly. Everything she might say sounded like another excuse. Ron sat stiffly on the bed, face red, muttering under his breath. Hermione caught the words “we didn’t have a choice” but Harry either didn’t hear or didn’t care. Harry spun on them, his eyes blazing. “So what’s he doing then? Voldemort. What’s he planning? Because clearly, you two know more than I do!”
Hermione’s breath caught. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. How could she tell him they only knew fragments? That most of what they did hear was overheard snatches of Order meetings, not the sort of clear answers he was demanding? She glanced at Ron, hoping he might step in, but he looked just as stricken.
“Well?” Harry pressed, his voice sharp. “You must know something. You’ve been here for weeks!”
Hermione’s throat felt tight. “Harry, please—” she faltered, wringing her hands. “It isn’t that simple—” Hermione began, her voice breaking, but Harry cut across her, louder than ever.
“Not that simple? I’ve been shut up for weeks, Hermione!” Harry thundered. “Treated like a child while you two get to stay here, hearing everything! You think that’s fair?”
Before Hermione could answer, two loud cracks split the air. She jumped, clutching at her sleeve as Fred and George appeared at the foot of Ron’s bed, identical grins spread wide across their faces.
“Blimey, you don’t need to shout, Harry,” said Fred, stretching as though he’d just woken from a nap. “We could hear you from the attic.”
“Thought the ceiling was about to come down,” George added cheerfully. “Nice to see you too, by the way.”
Hermione’s heart was still racing from the noise, and she pressed her hand to her chest with a scowl. “Do you have to do that indoors?” she demanded, though the twins only looked more pleased with themselves.
“We thought someone was being murdered.” Fred continued, ignoring Hermione.
“No murder,” Harry snapped, glaring at them. “Just me being kept in the dark, apparently.”
The twins’ smiles faltered. Hermione shifted uneasily, wishing they’d stop looking so amused. She could feel Harry’s fury thrumming in the air, and Fred and George only made it worse.
“Don’t look at us,” Fred said quickly, hands raised. “We’ve not been allowed to say a word either.”
“Not that we don’t know loads more than you,” George put in, though his grin faded when Harry’s eyes flashed. Before Hermione could say anything to soften the tension, another voice drifted in — softer, cautious. “What’s going on?” Ginny stood half-hidden in the doorway, arms folded, her eyes wary as they landed on Harry. Hermione swallowed hard. The room felt stifling now, Harry pacing, the twins watching, Ginny hanging back. She wanted desperately to calm him, to say something that might ease the storm inside him, but her mind was blank. Before anyone could speak again, a crash echoed from below, followed by an ear-splitting shriek.
“FILTH! TRAITORS! BLOOD-TRAITORS BEFOULING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS—”
Hermione cringed, clapping her hands over her ears as the voice tore through the stairwell, every syllable rattling her bones. Harry flinched beside her, eyes wide, clearly unprepared for the assault. There was an immediate scramble of footsteps from below. She caught Moody’s barked orders, Lupin’s low, steady tones trying to soothe, and Tonks’s flustered apologies. But above it all came a furious snarl that made Hermione’s stomach flip.
“Shut UP, you vile old hag!”
She darted to the banister and peered down. Sirius Black stood in the hallway, yanking furiously at a pair of moth-eaten curtains that framed a large portrait. His hair was falling into his eyes, his face twisted with irritation as he wrestled the fabric into place. At last, the curtains closed, muffling the shrieks into silence. Sirius let out a sharp breath, brushing his hands off as though he’d won a duel. Then he looked up and his gaze locked on Harry. The irritation melted away in an instant, replaced by something wry, almost self-mocking.
“Well,” Sirius said, straightening, “you’ve met my mother.”
Hermione felt Harry freeze beside her, caught somewhere between astonishment and confusion. Harry didn’t move at first. He stared down into the hall as if rooted to the spot, his face pale, his eyes fixed on Sirius. Hermione’s heart squeezed. She knew how much Harry had longed to see him again. How many nights last year he’d whispered about writing, about escaping to him. And now here Sirius was, flesh and blood, standing beneath the tattered curtains with that crooked, boyish grin that looked so out of place in the gloomy house.
“Come on, then,” Sirius said, his voice lighter now. “Don’t just stand there gawping.”
Harry stumbled down the stairs, as though pulled by a thread, and Hermione followed quickly, Ron and Ginny just behind her. Sirius met Harry at the bottom, clapping both hands on his shoulders. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, and then Harry gave a small, shaky laugh. Sirius’s answering grin was fierce and bright, and Hermione felt some of the weight ease in her chest.
“Well,” Sirius said, his tone deliberately casual, though his eyes shone, “you’ve grown.”
Sirius barked a laugh and pulled him into a rough hug. Hermione smiled faintly, blinking hard against the sting in her eyes. After all the worry of the summer, the silence, the waiting, the not knowing,  here was proof that at least one good thing had come: Harry wasn’t alone anymore.
“Right,” Sirius said briskly after a moment, releasing him. “Let’s get you fed and settled. There’s plenty to talk about, but first—”
He was cut off by the kitchen door banging open. Mrs Weasley bustled out, wand raised, clearly having heard the commotion. “What now—oh, Harry!” Her expression shifted at once, from fury to fussing warmth. “ You must be starving, dear. Come on, into the kitchen, all of you.”
Hermione glanced at Harry. He still looked pale, and shadows lingered in his eyes, but he was smiling faintly now. Not the forced smile he’d worn upstairs, but something real, if small. She exhaled slowly and followed the others down the hall. The kitchen was as dark and cluttered as ever, but the table was already laden with food. Order members lingered at the far end, voices hushed, but Hermione barely registered them — she was watching Harry. He sat down heavily, as if every step had been an effort, and immediately Mrs Weasley began piling his plate with food. Sirius leaned against the mantel, watching him with a quiet pride that made Hermione’s chest ache. For the first time since Harry had arrived, Hermione allowed herself a small moment of hope. Hermione slid into the seat beside him, watching carefully. She’d known how much Harry wanted to be here. How badly he’d longed to see it all with his own eyes. Now that he was finally among them, she could almost feel the weight of his emotions thrumming off him. His gaze darted from Lupin to Moody to Tonks, his expression caught between awe, relief, and a stubborn edge of anger that hadn’t quite left him.
“Come, sit, everyone sit,” Mrs Weasley fussed, flicking her wand to send a dish of roast chicken floating onto the table. “Harry, have a drumstick, you look half-starved.”
Harry opened his mouth, as though to protest, but Mrs Weasley was already piling food onto his plate. Hermione hid a small smile. After weeks with the Dursleys, it was just like Molly to smother him with food first and questions later. The rest of the Order carried on their conversations, low-voiced but animated. Sirius kept leaning in to ask Harry how he was, clearly impatient to hear more from him. Lupin greeted Harry with his quiet smile, and Harry’s shoulders loosened a little at the sight of him. Hermione reached for the jug of pumpkin juice, her hands steadying now that Harry was among friends. Sirius leaned back in his chair, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth as he watched Harry shovel down roast potatoes.
“Well, Harry, you surprise me,” he said lightly, though his eyes gleamed with something sharper beneath the teasing. “I’d have thought the very first thing you’d do, once you walked through that door, was demand answers.”
Harry swallowed hard, his green eyes snapping up to Sirius. “Of course I want answers,” he said, his voice tight. “I’ve been stuck for weeks with nothing. But everyone keeps saying I’m not allowed to know anything.”
Hermione winced. She had dreaded this exact moment. Sirius’s careless words had torn the lid off Harry’s anger again, and now all eyes at the table were shifting toward them. Mrs Weasley’s hand shot out, a ladle trembling in her grip. “Sirius! That is enough! Harry is not to be burdened with matters that are far too dangerous for him. You should know better than to encourage him—”
Hermione’s stomach twisted. She knew Mrs Weasley was right. In terms of Order secrecy and law, they were still underage. But watching Sirius lean back, a faint grin tugging at his lips, she could feel the pull of temptation in the room. Harry had been starved of information all summer, and now here it was, laid out in front of him by someone who clearly wanted to push him just enough to tease, not protect. Harry’s hands clenched around his fork. “I just want to know what’s happening. I’m not a child.”
Sirius’s grin faded just a little, though his eyes still sparkled with mischief. “Well, Harry, if it makes you feel any better, you’re not completely in the dark. We know he’s been trying to gather followers again. Dark creatures, Death Eaters, people loyal to him…”
Hermione watched Harry’s green eyes widen, the tension coiling tighter in his shoulders. He leaned forward slightly, hungry for every word, desperate for something solid after weeks of nothing.
“And he’s building power,” Sirius continued, his voice lower now, serious beneath the teasing. Harry’s fists rested on the table, trembling slightly, but he forced himself to sit straighter. “Followers… dark creatures… building power,” he repeated slowly, almost tasting the words. “That’s all you know?”
Sirius shook his head. “That’s all any of us can safely tell you. The rest is for the adults to handle.”
Hermione reached for her pumpkin juice, her fingers curling around the jug. Harry let out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair. The anger hadn’t gone, but for a brief moment, there was a flicker of relief in his eyes. Finally, he wasn’t completely alone in knowing the world was turning darker again.

The next morning, Grimmauld Place seemed almost to sigh at their presence. Dust swirled in the narrow shafts of sunlight that pierced the grimy windows, and cobwebs hung like ancient curtains in the corners. Hermione rolled up her sleeves and grabbed her wand, ready to tackle the chaos, though a small part of her heart sank at the sheer scale of it.
“Doxies,” Sirius muttered from the doorway, nodding at a cluster skittering along the floorboards. “They’ve made themselves at home while the place’s been neglected.”
Hermione shivered. Tiny, sharp-toothed creatures darted across the floor and into the shadows. “Lovely,” she muttered, pointing her wand. With a few sharp pops, the Doxies were charmed into harmless confinement, floating gently into jars Sirius had set out for them. Hermione bent over a tarnished cabinet, rubbing at decades of grime. She could hear the occasional murmur from the portraits overhead, complaining about the disturbance, and she had to stifle a smile. Even here, the house had its opinions. By mid-morning, the first room was mostly cleared. The floors gleamed faintly under repeated sweeps of the broom, though the faint haze of dust still hung in the corners, disturbed only to settle again moments later. Shelves were polished until the wood caught the sunlight streaming through grimy windows, and the jars of Doxies lined up in neat rows, their tiny legs curling and uncurling as they clicked softly against the glass. Hermione paused, wiping a smear of soot from her forehead, and allowed herself a small, private sense of accomplishment. Grimmauld Place would never be perfect. The house had too much history, too much old magic, but it was becoming manageable. And, more importantly, it was beginning to feel safe for Harry. She moved to the next room, broom in hand, and stole a glance at him. Harry’s sleeves were rolled up, his knuckles white as he gripped the handle, his face set with quiet concentration. The tension that had seemed to coil through him all summer had begun to loosen, his movements deliberate and focused. He wasn’t yet himself, but seeing him take action, rather than sit helplessly at the Dursleys, filled her with cautious relief. Hermione adjusted her wand in her other hand, muttering the soft charms she had memorised to corral the remaining Doxies into their jars without harming them. One of the creatures darted for the corner of the ceiling, and she had to leap, sending a pulse of magical energy to stop it midair before it could escape. Even with the spells, the skittering sounds and sharp little bites kept her on edge. The house seemed almost alive, complaining softly through the whispers of the portraits, whose eyes followed their every movement. Sirius flitted through the hallway like a restless spirit, flinging advice over his shoulder. “Careful with that dustpan, Hermione. You don’t want to squish them. Harry, watch the edge of the carpet!” He moved with the chaotic energy of someone who had grown up in the house and yet still treated it like a playground. Every now and then, he tossed a teasing comment at Harry, who grunted in response but didn’t stop working. Ron, meanwhile, was a mixture of half-hearted effort and constant distraction. Sneezes shook him repeatedly as he disturbed long-forgotten dust, and more than once he tripped over a stray chair leg or bundle of cobwebs. Hermione had to constantly remind him to aim his wand properly; more than once, she caught him about to release a Doxy with a miscast charm, flinching as the creature tumbled unharmed but confused into the nearest jar. The smell of old wood, dust, and faintly magical residue filled her nostrils, and every sweep of the broom, every whispered charm, seemed to make the house a little less oppressive. By the afternoon, small victories began to pile up; cupboards cleared, floors scrubbed, cobwebs removed, and Doxies accounted for. Even the portraits seemed grudgingly quieter, their complaints less frequent as the rooms regained a semblance of order. Hermione allowed herself a moment to lean on her broom, surveying the progress. Harry was still hard at work, moving from room to room with a quiet determination that made her chest tighten. He wasn’t smiling, but the tightness in his shoulders had loosened, and that was enough for now.

The morning of Harry’s hearing dawned grey and heavy, the London sky pressing low against the windows of Grimmauld Place. Hermione sat at the kitchen table, twisting her hands in her lap as Harry fidgeted beside her. He kept pretending to butter his toast, though the knife only scraped uselessly at the crust. Sirius paced the length of the kitchen, his strides long and restless, every so often muttering under his breath about “corrupt officials” and “Ministry nonsense.”
“You’ll be fine, Harry,” Hermione said quietly, though her voice wavered despite herself. She reached out, laying a hand on his sleeve. “Dumbledore will be there. They can’t ignore the truth.”
Harry gave a tight nod, his jaw clenched. She could tell he wanted to believe her, but the shadows under his eyes betrayed how little he trusted the Ministry after everything. Ron mumbled his agreement from across the table, though his expression looked as pinched as Hermione felt. When it was finally time to go, Mrs Weasley fussed over Harry’s collar as if straightening it might protect him from the Wizengamot. Sirius stood in the doorway, his hand braced against the frame, eyes burning with unspoken frustration. “If they had any sense,” he growled, “they’d be giving you a medal, not putting you on trial.”
Hermione saw the flicker of guilt cross Harry’s face. He wanted to reassure Sirius, to promise it would all be fine, but the weight of the Ministry’s judgement pressed too heavily on him. Moody barked for them to move, and with a last, tense glance back at the kitchen, Harry disappeared through the door with Mr Weasley at his side. The house felt emptier in his absence. Hermione tried to keep busy, sorting books, clearing more rooms, but she caught herself pausing, straining for the sound of footsteps on the stairs that never came. Sirius grew moodier by the hour, prowling the halls like a caged animal, his temper sharp even with the twins’ jokes. When at last the door swung open again, Harry stood there, wide-eyed and flushed, his face brighter than it had been all summer. “Cleared!” he announced, his voice ringing through the hall. “I’ve been cleared! I can go back to Hogwarts!”
Hermione’s chair scraped back as she sprang to her feet, colliding with him in a fierce hug before she could think better of it. Relief coursed through her, leaving her dizzy with it. Ron whooped, pounding Harry on the back, while Ginny grinned from ear to ear. Even the twins clapped him on the shoulder, their usual quips for once forgotten in the sheer joy of the moment. Sirius stood a little apart, his smile fierce but his eyes dimmer than the rest. He ruffled Harry’s hair, pulling him briefly into a rough embrace. “Knew they couldn’t touch you,” he said, his voice warm but strained. Hermione caught the flicker of longing in his expression, the ache beneath the pride. As the Weasleys celebrated, Harry chattering with a grin that hadn’t been seen in weeks, Sirius retreated to the shadows of the hearth. Hermione glanced at him, her heart tightening. For Harry, the world had opened again. Hogwarts, friends, and a chance to be himself beyond these gloomy walls. But for Sirius, Grimmauld Place remained his prison, the door swinging shut behind Harry as he returned to a life Sirius could no longer share. That evening, the kitchen at Grimmauld Place was brighter than Hermione had ever seen it. Mrs Weasley had conjured a veritable feast, the table groaning under dishes of roast chicken, potatoes, treacle tart, and more. Fred and George launched into a dramatic retelling of Harry’s “trial of the century,” embellishing wildly, while Ron laughed so hard pumpkin juice nearly shot out of his nose. Ginny leaned across the table, eyes shining, eager for every detail Harry actually chose to share. Hermione sat beside him, smiling so wide her cheeks ached. For the first time in weeks, Harry looked alive again, his grin tugging higher every time someone congratulated him. Relief poured through her like warmth from a fire. Hogwarts was waiting. Lessons, common rooms, the bustle of the Great Hall, it all felt within reach again. At the far end of the table, Sirius raised his glass in a silent toast, a proud smile on his lips. But as the chatter grew louder, his gaze drifted away, settling on the dark corners of the kitchen. The light from the candles caught the silver in his hair, made the shadows around his eyes more pronounced. Hermione noticed how his fingers drummed restlessly against the table, how his smile faltered when Harry laughed about returning to the castle. She understood then, with a quiet pang: while they were all celebrating Harry’s freedom, Sirius was reminded of his own confinement. Harry’s return to Hogwarts meant another year without him, another year in this house that still whispered with his family’s bitterness. When Harry caught his eye and grinned, Sirius straightened, the easy, reckless smile snapping back into place. “Enjoy it, pup,” he said, lifting his glass higher. “Every minute of it.”
But Hermione, watching from her seat, saw the way his shoulders sank as the noise of celebration swelled around him. And though her heart swelled with joy for Harry, a small thread of sorrow tugged at her for Sirius. Left behind once more, with only the shadows of Grimmauld Place for company. A few days slipped by in a blur of cleaning, shouting portraits, and restless waiting. The heavy gloom of Grimmauld Place seemed a little lighter now that Harry’s return to Hogwarts was certain, but the house still felt like it was holding its breath.

One morning, a flurry of owls rattled against the grimy kitchen windows, letters tied neatly to their legs. Hermione’s heart leapt the moment she saw the familiar parchment. She tore hers open with trembling hands, scanning the neat black script. Relief washed over her at the words confirming another year at Hogwarts, but then her eyes caught on a gleaming badge tucked inside the envelope. A sharp breath escaped her. A prefect’s badge. Her name was written alongside the title, the ink shimmering faintly in the morning light. For a long moment, she just stared, stunned, pride swelling inside her chest until it nearly burst. She had hoped, worked so hard, spent so many nights bent over books, but to actually see it, to know she had been chosen… Clutching the letter and badge to her chest, Hermione hurried upstairs. She couldn’t keep this to herself, not even for a moment. She found the door to Ron and Harry’s room half-open and pushed it gently, stepping inside. Harry was perched on his bed, a badge gleaming in his hand. He turned as she entered, and Hermione’s heart soared. Of course, it was Harry. Who else could it be?
“Oh, Harry!” she exclaimed, rushing forward. “I knew it! Congratulations!” Her smile was so wide it almost hurt, pride and affection bubbling in her voice. “You’ll make a wonderful prefect.” She reached into her pocket, pulling out her own badge. “I got one too!” she said breathlessly. “We’ll be prefects together.” The thought of it made her chest flutter with excitement. But Harry’s expression shifted, awkward and hesitant. He rubbed the back of his neck, then glanced toward the other bed. “Er—Hermione… it’s not me. It’s Ron.”
The words hit her like a jolt. “Ron?” she repeated, her voice sharper than she intended. She turned, and there was Ron, sitting up in bed, his ears turning a brilliant red as he clutched his own badge. He looked as though he couldn’t quite believe it either, his grin wavering between pride and embarrassment. Hermione froze, badge still clutched in her hand. She had been so certain—so certain it would be Harry. Her eyes flicked back to him, searching his face. He only gave a small, wry smile, as if to say see? even I’m surprised. For a moment, Hermione’s thoughts tangled, pride for Ron warring with the shock of her mistake. Then she drew herself up, smoothing her expression into a smile. “Oh. Well—congratulations, Ron,” she said firmly, moving closer. “That’s wonderful. Really.”
Ron’s grin widened, awkward but pleased, as Harry clapped him on the shoulder. Hermione smiled too, though inside she still reeled from the surprise. She had imagined herself beside Harry as a prefect. But perhaps. Perhaps this was better. Before Hermione could gather her thoughts, a loud crash of footsteps thundered up the stairs. The door burst open, and Fred and George spilt into the room, identical grins plastered across their faces. Fred and George exchanged a glance, then burst out laughing.
“Well, would you look at that,” Fred said, nudging George. “Our ickle Ronniekins, wearing a shiny badge. A prefect, no less!”
George clutched his heart in mock astonishment. “And here we thought Mum’s only hope rested on Bill and Percy. Never in our wildest dreams did we think you’d follow their footsteps, Ron.”
Ron’s ears went scarlet, but he couldn’t stop grinning. “Shut it, you two,” he muttered, though he held the badge a little tighter.
Hermione raised her chin. “There’s nothing wrong with following in Bill and Percy’s footsteps. It’s a mark of responsibility and trust, and Ron earned it.”
Fred snorted. “Responsibility? This is Ron we’re talking about. The same Ron who knocked over a suit of armour in first year just by looking at it.”
“Or the Ron who tried to curse Malfoy and ended up throwing up slugs,” George added with relish. Harry laughed, and Hermione pressed her lips together to hide her own smile. Ron was glowing, standing taller than she’d seen him in ages, his grin a mix of embarrassment and pride. Fred leaned over to clap him on the back. “Well, I suppose every family’s got to have its oddball.”
“Next thing you know,” George said, eyes dancing, “they’ll be giving us badges for innovative rule-breaking.”
Hermione shook her head, though her heart warmed at the sight. Ron looked so pleased, and even with the teasing, there was no mistaking the pride glimmering under his brothers’ jokes. The twins’ laughter and Ron’s awkward grin still echoed in her mind when Hermione quietly excused herself. She slipped out of the room with her badge clutched in her hand, but the pride she had felt earlier now sat strangely heavy in her chest. Once alone, the thought struck her with sudden force: she hadn’t written to her parents in weeks. Not since the day Lucius’s ring had changed everything. Guilt swept over her in a crushing wave. They must be wondering, worrying. Her sudden silence was a wall between the world she had grown up in and the one she was trapped in now. In her room, she pulled out a sheet of parchment, smoothing it with trembling fingers. The quill hovered above the page, but the words would not come. How could she explain? How could she possibly tell them why she hadn’t come home to visit once, why she hadn’t even written?
Dear Mum and Dad, she wrote, the words blurring as she stared at them. Her throat tightened. She couldn’t mention what happened at Malfoy Manor, or Lucius’s punishments. She couldn’t tell them how desperately she missed their warmth, their ordinary life, their love. Tears pricked her eyes, and she forced herself to keep writing something. Anything. That she was safe. That she was well. That she was learning new things. All lies, carefully chosen to soothe rather than alarm. When she finished, she folded the letter with shaking hands, holding it tightly for a long moment as though the paper itself could bridge the distance between them. Her heart thudded as the realisation struck; writing was the easy part. Sending it was another matter entirely. If she used her own owl, Lucius would insist on checking the letter before it would arrive at their house. He would read every word, and perhaps even decide her parents should never see it.  Perhaps, she could ask Harry if she might borrow Hedwig. Hedwig was loyal, quick, and less likely to draw suspicion. It might be the only way to reach her parents without Lucius interfering. Hermione tucked the folded letter carefully into her books, hiding it among the pages of Arithmancy for Advanced Students. Her prefect’s badge glinted faintly beside it, but the achievement felt strangely hollow. What was the worth of honour and responsibility, when she couldn’t even freely write to the people she loved most?

Chapter Text

The rhythm of cleaning, sweep, charm, catch, repeat, became almost meditative. For Hermione, it was a small anchor in the chaos of the world outside Grimmauld Place. Each jar of Doxies secured, each shelf polished, each broom stroke was a tiny victory against disorder. And watching Harry, finally engaged rather than caged by frustration, made her feel that maybe, just maybe, they could all find a measure of control here, no matter how fleeting. Hermione had barely set down her broom when Sirius’s voice whispered behind her. “Hermione. Come with me. Now.”
She followed him through the twisting corridors of Grimmauld Place, her stomach tightening with unease. The kitchen door was already open when they arrived, and inside the room, she found Remus sitting quietly at the table, Mr Weasley shifting nervously near the counter, Moody leaning against the wall, and… Snape, standing motionless, black robes perfectly in place, eyes sharp as ever. Sirius gestured for her to step inside and closed the door behind her. Sealing it with spells to avoid eavesdropping.  Snape’s dark gaze swept over her, and the air seemed to grow heavier. “Granger,” he said, his tone clipped, precise. “I am here to bring you back. Both Lucius Malfoy and… the Dark Lord have requested your immediate return to Malfoy Manor.”
Her chest froze. “I—I can’t—” she began, but the weight of all the adults’ eyes silenced her. Sirius’s expression was tight, Remus’s calm but stern, Mr Weasley worried, and Moody’s magical eye was unblinking, calculating.
“You are expected,” Snape said, each word deliberate. “This is not optional. You will comply.”
Hermione’s mind raced. “But—can’t I just… stay here?” she asked, her voice shaking but firm. “I could go to Hogwarts with Mr and Mrs Weasley. It’s only three days. I don’t need to return to Malfoy Manor first." Snape’s expression remained unreadable, but the weight in his gaze intensified. “Granger,” he said slowly, each word measured, “your presence at Malfoy Manor is not negotiable. Lucius insists. The… Dark Lord insists. Hogwarts alone is irrelevant. You are expected to report immediately. That is your instruction.” Hermione swallowed hard, her throat tight. She looked around the kitchen, at Sirius’s tense stance, Remus’s calm but firm expression, Mr Weasley’s uneasy glances, and Moody’s unblinking scrutiny. No one would help her argue; no one could change what had been set in motion. “But I—” she began again, only to be cut off by Sirius, his voice low and urgent. “Hermione, don’t. You know it’s not negotiable. You can’t defy them safely.” Remus gave a small nod of agreement, his calm voice firm. “She must go. There is no safe alternative.” Hermione’s shoulders slumped, the last spark of protest flickering out. Her hands clenched at her sides as a cold, sinking realisation settled over her. She had no choice. Not really. Not if she wanted to survive what was coming. She drew in a shaky breath, meeting Snape’s piercing gaze. “…I understand,” she whispered, barely audible, her voice heavy with reluctant acceptance. Snape inclined his head once, satisfied. “Prepare yourself. We leave immediately.”
Sirius stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I wish there were another way, Hermione,” he murmured, the warmth in his tone barely masking his frustration. “I truly do.”
Hermione gave a small, bitter nod, unable to meet his eyes. She felt the weight of his disappointment, of his desire to protect her, and it only made the inevitability of what she had to do feel sharper. Remus placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “You will be safe enough, Hermione,” he said softly, his voice calm but firm. “It won’t be pleasant, but we’ll do what we can to ensure it.”
Hermione swallowed, the lump in her throat growing. “I—I just… I don’t want to go back there,” she admitted in a small voice, almost to herself. “I don’t want to—”
Moody’s unblinking eye swept over her, assessing, calculating. “Feeling that way is natural,” he said gruffly. “But emotions won’t change orders from Voldemort or Malfoy. You do as instructed, Granger.”
Snape’s gaze didn’t waver, cold and precise. “Enough discussion,” he said. “Pack what is necessary. You leave immediately. Time is of the essence.”
Hermione nodded, her hands tightening into fists at her sides before relaxing again. She felt the weight of every glance, every judgment, every silent measure of her will to resist. And then, with a quiet determination she barely recognised in herself, she straightened her back, squared her shoulders, and drew in a deep, shaky breath. “I’m ready,” she whispered. Sirius gave her a brief, almost imperceptible nod. Remus and Mr Weasley stepped back slightly, their expressions a mixture of concern and resignation. Moody’s eye continued to track her, never leaving her movements. Snape inclined his head once more, and without another word, the room seemed to contract around her, carrying the full weight of the journey she had no choice but to undertake. Hermione followed Snape out of the kitchen, her stomach tight, each step feeling heavier than the last. The hallways of Grimmauld Place seemed darker now, the familiar dust and shadows suddenly oppressive. She cast a glance at Sirius, whose jaw was tight and shoulders stiff, and she felt a pang of guilt for leaving. Snape’s robes swirled around him as he led her through the front door, out into the morning air. The cool breeze bit at her cheeks, a sharp contrast to the stifling corridors inside. They Apparated in the park, Hermione holding tightly onto Snape's arm. The sudden shift in scenery made her stomach lurch. The trees swayed gently in the morning breeze, their leaves rustling like whispers in the silence. Hermione blinked rapidly, trying to shake the residual dizziness from the Apparition, and she took a tentative step forward. The sprawling silhouette of Malfoy Manor appeared through the trees. The estate’s towering spires and cold stone walls loomed like a sentinel, reminding her that there would be no reprieve. Hermione’s grip on Snape’s arm tightened reflexively, but she forced herself to draw a deep, steadying breath. As she reached the threshold, the doors of Malfoy Manor swung open before her, revealing Lucius waiting inside, his pale eyes cold and calculating. Narcissa stood slightly behind him, serene but watchful. Snape’s presence remained just behind her, a silent shadow of authority. “She is here,” he said quietly, inclining his head. “As required.”
Lucius’s gaze swept over Hermione like a measuring rod, and she forced herself to meet his eyes. “You’ve returned,” Lucius said smoothly, his voice cold but controlled. “Tell me,” he said smoothly, his tone cold but deliberate,  as he stepped closer, his tone lowering to something sharper, edged with authority. “about this… power of yours. The barrier you cast at Malfoy Manor. Was it merely instinct? Or can you control it?”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “I—I practised,” she admitted, her voice trembling. Lucius’s pale eyes darkened with icy disappointment. He raised a hand sharply across her face, and the sting burned. Hermione pressed a hand to her cheek, blinking back tears.
“I told you to give it everything,” he said, voice low but cutting, “and yet you disappoint me again. Do you think the Dark Lord will tolerate half-measures? That your excuses will suffice? You will show him the full extent of your power, or you will suffer the consequences of your weakness.”
Hermione swallowed hard, nodding, her hands trembling around her wand. “Y-Yes, father” she whispered. Lucius’s pale eyes narrowed as Hermione’s footsteps echoed across the stone floor. “Enough words,” he said sharply. “We depart at once.”
As they stepped out into the courtyard, Snape fell in silently behind them, his expression calm but unreadable.
“Severus?” Lucius asked, his tone edged with curiosity and a flicker of suspicion.
“I have something to report to the Dark Lord,” Snape said smoothly, his voice measured. “I can accompany you to him.”
Lucius’s eyes flicked between Snape and Hermione, a faint crease appearing on his pale brow. He said nothing for a moment, then inclined his head slightly, cold approval in his gaze. Hermione swallowed, clutching her wand tightly, feeling the tension coil around her like a spring. The wind tugged at her robes as Lucius raised his wand, preparing to Apparate, and she braced herself for the journey that would take her directly into the Dark Lord’s presence. The world twisted violently around her, and Hermione clutched her wand, stomach lurching. When the spinning shadows stilled, she found herself standing on rough, frost-bitten grass beneath a grey, open sky. The air was cold and sharp, carrying the faint scent of earth and something darker; fear, power, and expectation. Lucius’s hand rested briefly on her shoulder, guiding her forward, but his eyes never left the figure waiting at the far edge of the clearing. Snape shadowed her silently, his expression unreadable, a silent promise of protection. They entered, the heavy doors closing behind them with a resonant thud. The room inside was dimly lit, the air thick and suffocating. Voldemort stood at the far end, tall and pale, eyes like molten rubies piercing the shadows. His presence pressed down on her, and Hermione’s hands tightened around her wand.
“Look at me,” he hissed, voice commanding. Hermione froze, muscles tense. Slowly, reluctantly, she raised her gaze, meeting the unblinking red eyes. The verbal command was enough.  Voldemort’s lips curved in a thin line. “So. You have returned. Show me the extent of your power. “
Hermione’s grip on her wand tightened. Every nerve in her body screamed with fear and anticipation, but beneath it, there was a spark of resolve. She would not falter. She would show Voldemort what she had learned. With a quiet breath, she raised her wand. A soft, golden shimmer appeared at its tip, steady and deliberate, not the sudden, reactive flash of her instinctive magic before. Slowly, she extended it outward, and a translucent dome began to form around her, steady and unyielding. Her protective barrier is shaped by her will as much as by her instincts. Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, red and cold, as he waved his own wand. Dark, slashing spells shot toward her, faster and more brutal than before. Hermione’s shield flared, absorbing the impact with a hum of defiance. Sparks danced across the surface, but the dome held. Her confidence growing, Hermione thrust her wand forward, sending a jet of magic streaking toward him. The blast was sharper, more focused than anything she had managed before. Voldemort deflected it with a hiss, and the air between them crackled with power.  Lucius’s pale eyes gleamed with a mixture of impatience and expectation, and Snape stayed just behind her. Voldemort’s voice sliced through the air like a blade. “You are stronger, I see. But still… not enough. Show me the full extent!”
Hermione’s pulse quickened, but she forced herself to draw on everything Dumbledore had taught her: awareness, control, the rhythm of her magic flowing from instinct into conscious strength. She extended her shield further, feeling it expand and thrum with power, then sent another series of bursts from her wand. Each shot was deliberate, precise, a mixture of force and intent, pushing against Voldemort with the controlled power she had honed over weeks. For the first time, she sensed the difference; not just instinct reacting, but magic directed by her will. Each shielded block, each retaliatory spell, was an extension of her awareness, of her core strength. Voldemort’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, a flicker of something—approval?—crossing his cold face. He hissed sharply, sending another barrage, testing the limits of her shield. Hermione wavered for a moment, but Snape’s shadow close behind her, subtle and protective, allowed her to steady her focus. With a steadying breath, she reinforced her barrier and countered with a final, concentrated blast. It struck Voldemort with a crackle of raw power, and for a heartbeat, he paused, watching her with that unyielding, measuring gaze.
“You are improving,” Voldemort said, voice low and menacing, yet threaded with that unsettling, calculating interest. His red eyes flicked to Lucius. “Malfoy, ensure she continues to be guided and restrained, if necessary. Her potential is… considerable, but she must learn obedience alongside strength. Do not disappoint me.”
Lucius’s pale features remained carefully neutral, but a faint, imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest trace of pride. He inclined his head slightly, a silent acknowledgement of the Dark Lord’s command, then straightened, his composure returning instantly. Hermione’s chest heaved, both from exertion and the oppressive weight of the command. She lowered her wand slowly, aware of every flicker of Voldemort’s gaze upon her.
“You may be dismissed,” Voldemort said sharply, voice cutting through the tense silence. The word was both a release and a reminder of her precarious position. Lucius stepped closer, offering the briefest, almost imperceptible nod toward Hermione, a signal that the session was over for now. Hermione exhaled quietly, trying to shake the tension from her shoulders, and followed Lucius toward the exit. She quickly caught a glimpse as she passed Snape, but his face gave no expression. Her mind swirled with both relief and dread as they returned home to the manor.  The heavy doors of Malfoy Manor closed behind them with a dull thud, echoing through the vast, silent halls. Hermione’s shoulders sagged as if the weight of the Dark Lord’s scrutiny had followed her all the way inside. Lucius’s cold eyes flicked over her briefly, then he swept past, leaving her standing in the grand hallway. Draco appeared almost immediately, emerging from the shadows like he had been waiting for her. His usual composure wavered as his gaze met hers, a mixture of relief, longing, and something darker she could not yet name.
“Hermione,” he breathed, stepping closer. His hand hovered uncertainly near hers, then, in a sudden impulse, he pressed it lightly. She flinched at the touch. Not from pain, but from the intensity of his attention.
“I… I missed you,” he murmured, stepping closer, the words barely audible. His fingers brushed hers again, firmer this time, and Hermione’s heart fluttered at the contact. He drew a shaky breath, lowering his gaze to the floor. “I—” His words caught. He swallowed hard, jaw tightening. “I don’t… I don’t know how to… with you… after… everything.”
Hermione’s chest tightened, but she reached out, gently lifting his chin so their eyes met. “Draco… it’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” Her voice was soft, steady. “I… I understand how you feel.”
For a heartbeat, the tension between them thickened, palpable and almost suffocating. Then, in a sudden, impulsive gesture, Draco pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was brief, tentative, almost questioning, as if he needed reassurance as much as he wanted to give it. He pulled back instantly, biting his lip, eyes wide and troubled. “I—I can’t… I don’t know if I—” His hand fell away, and he stepped back slightly, shaking his head. Hermione nodded, still tense, still wary, but the barest trace of relief softened in her expression. Draco ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I just… I want to be close to you,” he admitted, voice low. “But… it’s… hard, knowing… that it was him first.”
Hermione’s fingers brushed his hand, a grounding gesture, and she smiled faintly, though her chest ached with empathy for him. “I know,” she said gently. “We’ll… find our way. Together. Slowly.”
Draco’s shoulders relaxed fractionally, the storm of conflicting emotions still there but tempered by her words. He looked at her, searching her face, and for a moment, the weight of tradition, power, and the past seemed to hang between them, but so did a fragile, tentative trust. The following days at Malfoy Manor passed in a fragile rhythm. The vast halls were quieter than usual, the house subdued after the tension of Hermione’s return from Voldemort’s presence. Draco remained close, silently protective in a way he hadn’t before. They spent hours together in the smaller, sunlit rooms of the Manor, speaking softly about mundane things at first—books, lessons, even the way the wind rustled through the garden. One afternoon, they found themselves alone in the library, Draco perched on the edge of a desk, Hermione seated on a chair opposite him. Words came easier now, softer, more natural.
“Draco,” she started softly “a lot has happened this summer-“ She bit her lip and thought carefully of her next words “I miss how we kissed each other before summer. I want us to start again.”
Draco’s grey eyes widened slightly at her words, a flicker of surprise and uncertainty crossing his features. He ran a hand through his hair, as if trying to gather courage from somewhere deep within himself.
“I—” he began, then stopped, swallowing hard. The tension in his jaw softened, and finally, he let out a quiet, shaky breath. “I want that too,” he admitted, his voice low, almost vulnerable. “I… I missed you, Hermione. More than I thought I could admit.”
Hermione’s chest warmed at his honesty. She leaned forward slightly, bridging the small space between them, and let her hand brush against his. The contact was tentative at first, testing, but Draco’s fingers twined with hers, firming their connection. For a long moment, they just looked at each other, the weight of the summer and all its cruelties and fears held at bay by the fragile trust slowly rebuilding between them. Finally, Draco’s hand cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing over her skin with careful reverence. “I don’t know if I can ever forget… everything that happened,” he murmured, his voice heavy with emotion, “but I want to be with you. I want to start again, exactly like you said.”
Hermione’s eyes glistened, and she nodded, pressing her forehead lightly against his. “Then let’s do that. No fears, no ghosts of the past. Just… us, here, now.”
Draco closed his eyes briefly, then leaned forward, capturing her lips in a soft, searching kiss. It was gentle, tentative at first, but gradually grew steadier as they both allowed themselves to feel, to trust, to be close again. When they finally parted, they remained close, foreheads touching, hands clasped, sharing quiet breaths. The Manor around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the fragile, newfound warmth between them.

Hermione woke to the pale light of dawn spilling weakly across the canopy of Draco’s bed. The room was quiet save for the soft rhythm of his breathing beside her. For a moment, she lay still, her cheek pressed against the pillow, the faint burn of yesterday’s strike pulsing with every heartbeat. She reached up, fingertips brushing the tender skin, and winced. Beside her, Draco stirred. His grey eyes opened slowly, narrowing as they caught the shadow on her face. He didn’t speak but his gaze lingered, sharp with unspoken questions. Hermione turned her face away, pretending not to notice, unwilling to invite his pity or his anger on her behalf. A knock came at the door.
“Young Mistress,” piped a house-elf’s tremulous voice from the corridor. “Master requests your presence in the study. At once.”
The air seemed to grow colder. Hermione’s stomach clenched as she sat up, gathering her robes with stiff fingers. Draco watched, expression unreadable, but he said nothing as she slipped from the bed. The manor’s hallways stretched long and hollow, their portraits following her with silent, accusatory stares. Her footsteps rang too loudly on the marble, her pulse beating in her ears. At last, she reached the dark, polished door of the study. It opened without her touch, the sweep of enchantment drawing her inside. Lucius was already waiting. He sat behind his desk, posture immaculate, the firelight gleaming off the silver serpent of his cane. In one hand, he held an envelope, the paper thinner and cheaper than anything that belonged in this room, the ink scrawled in a familiar, desperate hand. He rose as she entered, slow and deliberate, one hand slipping behind his back as the other displayed the letter between long fingers. His pale eyes narrowed, gleaming with contempt.
“These,” he said, his voice cool and edged like glass, “are from your… Muggle parents.” The word dripped with loathing. He stepped out from behind the desk. With a disdainful flick, he tossed the envelopes onto the polished wood, where they landed in a pitiful scatter. “Pathetic scraps of ink and paper. They still imagine you belong to their world.”
Hermione’s heart clenched. She recognised the handwriting at once. Her breath faltered, and before she could stop herself, her hand twitched as though to reach for them. Lucius’s eyes sharpened. “Do not deceive yourself. That world is beneath you. Filth. And yet you persist in trying to bridge it.”
Her throat tightened. The words slipped out, fragile and trembling. “They are my parents.”
The blow came swiftly and mercilessly. His hand lashed out, striking her cheek with a crack that sent her reeling. She staggered but caught herself, her lips pressed tightly together against the sting and the tears threatening to rise. Lucius’s hand lingered in the air for a moment before lowering with elegant disdain. His voice was quieter now, but no less dangerous. “You will remember that your loyalty lies here. With us. With the Dark Lord’s vision. Not with a pair of Muggles who cannot even comprehend what you are becoming.”
Hermione’s gaze darted once more to the letter, trembling with the need to clutch them, to keep them safe. But Lucius’s pale hand closed over them first. With deliberate poise, he crossed to the hearth. The fire roared as he held the envelope aloft. For one breathless moment, Hermione almost thought he might relent. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he cast them into the flames. She gasped, a broken sound caught in her throat, as the parchment curled, blackened, and was devoured. Every word, every plea, every fragile thread from her parents was reduced to ash in the blink of an eye.
“Enough of this nonsense,” Lucius murmured, his voice final, dismissing her with the faintest tilt of his head. “Go.”
The door opened at his will, a chill draught sweeping through and carrying the acrid scent of smoke into the corridor. Hermione bowed her head, clutching her robes as though she could hold onto what had already been lost. She stepped back, retreating from the study, her cheek still burning, her chest heavier than before. Behind her, the fire crackled, mocking her with the sound of their last words turning to nothing. Hermione’s steps were unsteady as she left the study, the heavy door swinging shut behind her with a dull thud that reverberated through her chest. She walked the long corridor back in silence, the portraits leering down at her. She thought of the words she would never read now. By the time she reached Draco’s room, her breath was shallow, her vision blurred with tears she had refused to shed in Lucius’s presence. The door closed softly behind her. Draco’s grey eyes fixed on her the moment she entered. His gaze flicked to the livid mark blooming across her cheek, but he said nothing. He didn’t have to. Hermione crossed the room quickly, as though afraid she might shatter if she stopped moving. She climbed onto the sofa beside him, her composure breaking at last as she buried her face against his shoulder. Draco’s arm slid around her, drawing her in without a word. Her tears soaked into his shirt, hot and silent, each one loosening the knot of grief strangling her chest. Draco rested his chin lightly against the crown of her head, his fingers absently tracing small, steady circles against her back. No words passed between them. None were needed. The fire had stolen her parents’ voices, but in Draco’s quiet, unwavering presence, Hermione found something else: a fragile refuge, a reminder that even in the cold halls of Malfoy Manor, she was not entirely alone. The silence between them stretched, steady and oddly soothing, until a gentle knock broke it apart. The door creaked open and Narcissa glided in, her presence like cool silk against the heavy air. She took in the sight of them together; Hermione leaning against Draco, his arm resting protectively around her, with one raised brow, though her expression softened almost at once. “Come,” she said, her voice smooth and measured. “It is time for tea.”
Hermione quickly sat up, brushing at her robes, though the redness in her eyes betrayed her. Narcissa noticed, of course, but chose not to remark upon it. Instead, she gestured gracefully for them to follow. Draco slipped from the bed and offered his hand, a silent courtesy Hermione accepted, and together they trailed after Narcissa through the long, gleaming corridors. The drawing room was bright with afternoon light, its tall windows spilling warmth across the polished floor and gilded furnishings. A silver tray of tea and cakes had been arranged with faultless care, the porcelain gleaming white against the dark table. Lucius was already there, seated in his high-backed chair with the air of a man presiding over a court rather than sharing tea with his family. The serpent-headed cane rested at his side, his fingers curled lightly against its silver. Narcissa stood behind the table, her every movement poised as she gestured for Hermione and Draco to sit. Hermione obeyed, careful not to let her gaze linger on Lucius. She folded her hands in her lap, her cheek still faintly stinging, though she kept her face composed. Draco lowered himself beside her with practised ease, his eyes flicking briefly to hers before settling forward. Narcissa poured the tea, the delicate clink of porcelain filling the silence until she sat, her expression serene. Then she let her gaze move between them, a faint smile softening her features.
“Now that you are both prefects,” she began smoothly, “we shall go into London after tea. It is only proper that you each choose a gift to mark the occasion.”
Hermione blinked, the words catching her off guard. Her eyes darted to Draco, only to find his gaze snapping toward her at the same moment. For a heartbeat, they simply stared, equally startled.
“You—?” Hermione began.
“You as well?” Draco cut in, his smirk quick to surface, though the surprise had not yet faded from his eyes. Lucius’s pale gaze moved between them, unreadable, though the faintest tightening at the corner of his mouth might have betrayed disapproval at their unguarded display. He tapped his cane lightly against the floor, silencing them before they could say more.
“The matter is settled,” he said coolly. “A prefect’s badge is not merely a decoration. It is a station. Your choices tomorrow will reflect whether you understand that.” His gaze lingered on Hermione a fraction too long before sliding to Draco with equal weight.
Hermione lowered her eyes quickly, her pulse thudding in her ears. A gift. Chosen freely, and yet not free at all. Narcissa, however, lifted her teacup with calm elegance. “It will be a pleasant outing,” she said, as though nothing else had been spoken. “I expect both of you to make selections that will endure.” Her smile was faint, but there was warmth in it as her gaze lingered on them both, Draco’s shoulders squaring with quiet pride while Hermione felt an unexpected flicker of belonging amidst the unease. The room settled back into silence, the faint ticking of the clock marking each second. Tea, cakes, and expectation. The last drops of tea were swallowed, the soft clink of spoons on porcelain fading into the quiet warmth of the room. Narcissa rose gracefully, smoothing her robes, and gestured toward the fireplace.
“Shall we make use of the Floo network?” she said, her tone light but firm. “London awaits, and you must select gifts worthy of your new station.”
Hermione and Draco exchanged a glance, each still coming to terms with the shared reality that the other, too, was a prefect. Lucius’s presence at the edge of the hearth lent the outing a formal air, but Narcissa’s guiding hand on Hermione’s shoulder, gentle and steady, eased some of the tension. With a single nod, she tossed a swirl of green flames into the hearth.
“Step carefully,” Narcissa advised. The fire crackled, and in the blink of an eye, they were standing in the busy bustle of Diagon Alley. The air was alive with the scent of herbs, ink, and polished wood, the chatter of witches and wizards weaving a lively background. Draco’s eyes flicked around briefly before settling on Hermione, who was scanning the shops with a keen, calculating gaze. Hermione’s pulse quickened as they moved through the throng of shoppers, Lucius a shadowy presence at her side, Narcissa close enough to guide her every step. Draco mirrored them, his gait steady and precise, but there was a subtle stiffness in his posture, as if the weight of their parents’ oversight pressed upon them all. They entered a small shop tucked between the larger buildings, its windows displaying neat stacks of parchment, quills, and enchanted notebooks. Hermione’s eyes lit up at the sight. She ran her fingers along the spines, noting the finely embossed covers, some with protective charms and others enchanted to track appointments or reminders.
“This will do,” she murmured, voice low, almost reverent, picking up a leather-bound agenda that shimmered faintly when she brushed her hand across it. She added a second, smaller notebook, practical for jotting down spell notes or observations. Lucius’s pale eyes flicked toward her briefly. Draco, standing beside her, had his gaze fixed on a display of leather-wrapped wand cases, each carefully partitioned for charms and potions. After a measured pause, he selected one dark case embossed with his initials and a small, reinforced compartment for tools and owl accessories. Narcissa smiled faintly, warm but restrained. “Excellent choices,” she said, her tone brightening the moment. “Both of you have considered usefulness and foresight. That is the mark of a prefect.”
Hermione glanced sideways at Draco, noticing for the first time the careful way he had approached his selection. For a heartbeat, there was an unspoken camaraderie, a shared understanding of responsibility, before Lucius’s cane tapped sharply on the floor, reminding them all that even in these small triumphs, discipline and order remained paramount. With their gifts selected, Narcissa led them back toward the Floo, guiding them carefully through the swirling green flames that would return them to Malfoy Manor. The city bustle fell away, replaced once more by the cold, familiar halls of home.

The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of dew and the rich perfume of roses from the gardens of Malfoy Manor. Hermione and Draco walked slowly along the gravel paths, their steps measured, trunks unpacked and waiting in the house. The summer sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows across the manicured lawns, yet the serenity of the garden could not fully erase the ever-present tension in Hermione’s chest. Narcissa had arranged a small tea, set on a delicate wrought-iron table beneath an arch of climbing roses. The silver tea service gleamed in the morning light, cups steaming gently as if the warmth itself might soften the severity that had always marked their mornings inside. Lucius stood nearby, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sweeping over the garden with the same precise scrutiny he brought to every corner of the Manor. Hermione and Draco seated themselves across from each other, the tea between them both a comfort and a reminder of the structured order that bound them. Narcissa poured the tea with a gentle smile, settling gracefully at the side.
“Before you return to Hogwarts,” Narcissa began, her voice both warm and measured, “you must remember the responsibility your new station carries” Her gaze flicked to Hermione, then Draco “Prefects are entrusted not only with rules, but with the guidance of those under them. Organisation, foresight, and discipline will serve you better than pride or bravado.”
Hermione’s fingers tightened around her teacup, the sunlight warming her face but doing little to ease the knot of nerves. Draco inclined his head, his expression calm but alert, every muscle taut under the surface of controlled composure. Lucius stepped forward, the cane tapping sharply against the gravel. “Your OWLs approach,” he said, voice low and deliberate, carrying both expectation and threat. “You will study diligently. You will assist Miss Umbridge, and you will enforce her instructions without hesitation or question. Your loyalty is not optional.”
Hermione’s throat tightened. “Yes, Father,” she whispered, voice steady though her heart hammered. Draco’s jaw tightened, and he inclined his head in agreement, the sunlight glinting off his pale hair. The last sips of tea were taken in near silence, the gentle clink of porcelain against saucers marking the passing moments. Narcissa rose first, smoothing the folds of her robes, a small but approving smile curving her lips. “Very well,” she said, her voice calm but imbued with authority. “It is time to prepare. Your trunks are ready inside, and you must ensure everything is in order for your return to Hogwarts.”
Hermione stood slowly, straightening her robes, her mind already shifting to the careful inventory of books, notes, and prefect supplies she would need. Draco rose as well, his movements precise, almost ritualistic, as if rehearsed a thousand times. Lucius remained standing, observing, cane tapping sharply against the gravel. Neither dared begin packing until he gave his permission to move; the echo of authority was absolute. Inside the Manor, the trunks were already open, waiting. Hermione began methodically folding robes and stacking books, her thoughts split between spells, schedules, and the ever-looming OWLs. Draco worked beside her, organised and fastidious, a quiet rhythm forming between them. Each glance was measured, each shared space negotiated without words. Though their hands occasionally brushed, neither allowed distraction, both acutely aware of Lucius’s watchful presence. The quiet of the Manor settled around them as Hermione carefully closed a stack of textbooks, tucking them neatly into her trunk. Draco moved with equal precision beside her, the faint scrape of parchment and the soft rustle of robes the only sounds breaking the stillness. For a moment, it almost felt like a truce between them: two young prefects navigating the last day at Malfoy Manor, each absorbed in their own preparation. The sound of trunk lids snapping shut punctuated the room as they finished packing, each piece carefully arranged. Hermione leaned back for a brief moment, taking in the orderly stacks, and allowed herself a quiet breath. Draco’s gaze lingered on her for a fraction longer than necessary, and for a fleeting moment, the tension between them softened. Hermione rested her chin on her knees, watching the sunlight shift across the floor. For a moment, neither spoke, the quiet of the Manor wrapping around them like a soft, protective blanket.
“Do you… think we’re ready for the year?” she asked quietly, voice small but steady
Draco frowned, running a hand through his hair. “Ready? For… what exactly?”
“Our OWLs,” Hermione said, biting her lip. “We have so much to cover, and… well, with everything going on… I just… I don’t know if we’ll be prepared.”
Draco’s eyes softened. “We’ll be fine. We’ve always managed before. It’s just… more lessons, more work.”
Hermione let out a shaky breath. “I know, but—what if we mess up? One mistake, and—”
Draco shook his head, leaning back. “We won’t. We’re not… careless. And even if something goes wrong, we’ll fix it. You’ve always… handled things before.”
Hermione gave a small, grateful smile, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “You really think so?”
“I do,” Draco said quietly, his gaze lingering on her. “And… we don’t have to do it alone. Not ever.”
For a long moment, they simply sat there, the sunlight catching their hair, the room filled with the quiet comfort of being understood. The worry for the OWLs was still there, hovering at the edges, but somehow, shared between them, it felt… lighter.