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Chapter Text

GRIMMAULD PLACE - LONDON 

WEDNESDAY 21TH JUNE 2006

“What do you mean, you touched his lips?!” Pansy questioned manically, trailing Hermione out of the ensuite, on the third floor of 12, Grimmauld Place. “Granger, you can’t just drop an informational dung bomb like that and walk away,” she called after the retreating form of her friend, following her quickly down the hall to her office. “Was it some soft, romantic touch, or did you pull some Gryffindor stunt and shove your hand in his mouth?”

In response to Pansy’s questioning, which she knew wasn’t about to let up until the witch got her answers, Hermione halted the emotionally anxious stride she’d employed, and pivoted on her heel to face the apparent interrogation. “We were just walking along the main corridor of the Manor,” she explained, reliving the entire experience over in her mind, for ten-thousandth time since it happened a week ago. “He was directing me to the west wing, where he intends to build a new Library.”

“Well, that all sounds perfectly platonic. Get to the good stuff,” Pansy demanded excitedly, her hands on her hips and her foot tapping with impatience as she waited. It was the look on her face that made Hermione deflate slightly though; in complete opposition to her words, Pansy looked concerned. 

Plonking herself down on the settee in her sitting area, Hermione discarded the armful of parchment she’d been carrying and put her head in her hands. “I could tell he was anxious; the right side of his face pinches like he’s bracing for something, whenever the past is mentioned, even when he’s barely in earshot of the conversation.” 

Pansy sighed and joined her reluctantly confessing friend on the sage green settee. “And as sure as I am that that is all valuable information, which can be used for our mutual benefit later, if you don’t get to the ‘touching his lips’ part in the next three seconds, I will hex you. Now, this touching, was it done with your own lips or…?”

“Merlin, save me from the pervy needs of your dirty mind; he is a married wizard, Pans” Hermione huffed. “Of course, it wasn’t with my lips, and no matter how much I may have wanted it to be, I would never disrespect the marriage vows that he or Narcissa took. Gods, why did I tell you this?” 

“No idea, but you did and you can’t take it back now so you might as well spill,” Pansy teased. “And as for his marriage; well, from what I’ve heard, that’s all over except for the paperwork. Great-Uncle William is their lawyer, don’t forget and he’s told me that a preliminary date has been set with Gringotts to get things moving. So, my delectable little friend, there is nothing holding you back from using more than your fingers on those plush, Daddy Malfoy lips.” 

Hermione groaned. This was not the first time she’d been exposed to a ‘Parkinson pick-up’ as she’d termed it last summer. It had been usefully employed however, when the misguided acceptance of a date, with Timothèe Collins-Bucket (pronounced ‘Bouquet’, apparently) had found her in the simpering, cloying company of, she shuddered at the memory, a fan. Thankfully, her raging boner of a lesbian friend, Pansy, had been only too willing to mount a jealous girlfriend routine and see a sharpish end to aristocratic wannabe’s attentions.

“You really need to knock that off, I’m wound tighter than bowtruckle in a snit, and…”

“Just say the word, love, and I’ll drag you into that bedroom across the hall and make sure you never think of another wizard again,” Pansy offered with a smirk, continuing before her friend had a chance to protest. “You’re a sexy little package, Granger; great assets and a smart mouth. Who wouldn’t want-”

“I only used my fingers to stop him from speaking, ” Hermione interrupted quickly, feeling a little flushed by Pansy’s barrage of compliments and not wanting her to notice it. Of course, what she was blurting out changed the tone of the conversation… “He’s so like Harry sometimes; taking on hefty weights of guilt that are not his to claim,” she explained, lamenting into her palms.

“Wizards,” Pansy complained, a little of her usual revulsion for the masculine of their species, weaved  into her bored drawl. “It's particularly interesting to note that you’re aware of such things about him, though. It means you’ve been paying closer attention to Daddy Malfoy than I realised,” she teased.

Hermione shifted onto one hip, so that she was facing the confronting witch more fully, and gave her a playful shove, as she moved loose curls away from her face. “Must you make it sound so… torrid. Ugh! It wasn’t even close to that sort of moment; we were out in the open, and he focused solely on the work we were doing to the Manor afterward, so I think it might have scared him off,” she grumbled.

“I sincerely doubt that,” Pansy offered genuinely. There was no way, in Pansy’s mind, that Lucius would be scared off by something so non-threatening as a couple of fingers on his lips, no matter who they belonged to. She did muse over the possibility that he didn’t want to stop there but had to though; pureblood fidelity vows were not pleasant things when broken.

“Think what you want,” Hermione replied miserably, grabbing her abandoned research from beside her and standing from the settee. “All I know is, I don’t get it… Ever since the wedding, he’s been acting weird; like he’s mad at me but trying to hide it, or ignore it. I can’t explain it any better than that; he just been- off, and I can’t pinpoint why, and it’s driving me mad. You don’t think he knows I fancy him, do you?” 

Pansy stood too, joining Hermione in the centre of the room and linking their arms, before directing the frazzled witch toward her office. “Wizards are often completely oblivious to a witch's desires, darling; even Slytherin ones lack the subtlety to recognise what is right before their eyes. And that is what we have here; I personally suspect he's still working through the changes that are about to happen with family. It’s important to remember though that he’s only had a year and a half to adjust to the new way of things, and if you consider how long it took Narcissa and Draco, he’s doing pretty well.”

“I understand all that, Pans, and that’s part of why I’ve been so forgiving with him-” Hermione began, not wanting her friend to get into the whole spiel about all his progress being to do with her. In all honesty, she doubted she had much to do with it.

“That, and you can’t stop thinking about wanting to make him bark like a sea lion…” Pansy interrupted with a cackle as they were both reminded of a recent trip to Longleat Safari Park, where the ‘barking’ of the sea lions on Half-A-Mile lake, had had Harry exclaiming that they sounded just like Draco when he came. Ever since then, the joke had been ‘like father, like son’, not that Lucius was aware of it.

“Pans, stop, seriously,” Hermione warned, even if she couldn’t keep the slight smirk off her lips at the memories brought forth by her reference. “And I get what you’re saying about him still adjusting; I even agree with you to some degree, but this feels like something else. He’s not avoided me like he did for those three days after the wedding, in eight months. In all that time, he’s been attentive, friendly, and literally so fucking generous, I could melt at just his thoughtfulness. I mean, I honestly thought Draco was going to have kittens after he bought everything off the list I gave him in Feb. That was right after they all had that big argument about the press at the wedding, remember?”

As they entered the chaotic space known as Hermione’s home office, Pansy chuckled darkly, leaving Hermione in the entrance, and making a beeline for the globe wine bar in the corner. “Draco did have kittens over it, darling; though not in the way you’re thinking. That drama queen doesn’t care about Daddy dropping galleons on you; he’s ridiculously happy that you got the DILF off mood stabilising potions; an excessive book budget is a small price to pay for such a worry being off his mind. In fact, and bear in mind I haven’t told you any of this, because if you ruin it for Draco I’ll hex you bald.” Pansy levelled her with a look whilst pouring a dark red merlot into a large glass. “But, Draco created a department at Malfoy Industries specifically to manage a vault and investment portfolio which now solely fund yours and Lucius’ little literary habit.”

“What?” Hermione asked, her eyes suddenly focused on her friend as she held her hand out for a glass of wine too, and completely ignored the thing about Draco’s vault meddling. “He’s been on them for this long? Who is Lucius's current healer? What kind of fool has kept him on mood stabilising potion for that long? Fucking morons! His stomach will be shot to hell from prolonged exposure to the fire kelp.”

“Awww, it’s sweet that you care so much,” Pansy mocked. “But I’m sure they have it handled. Lucius doesn’t look any worse for it, does he? In fact, wouldn’t you say he’s fit as fuck again now, and in a far better state than he’s ever been. I mean, even I, if I had any interest in real cock, would be putting my name in the hat for-” Pansy cut herself off taking a large sip of her wine as she put up one finger in the universal gesture of ‘wait, i’m not done’. “Next Lady Malfoy.” 

“You get it regularly enough already; I, however, am in the worst dry spell of my entire life, and am in desperate need of something to take the edge of,” Hermione grumbled, accepting the glass of dark red nectar that Pansy offered, and giving her a curious look. The research got added to the pile of notes on the longest worktable, joining the collection of work-related files from the last three years. “Pans, I know we often joke but I am seriously this close…” She indicated a tiny hair's width of space between her index finger and thumb. “-to ‘pulling a Harry’ and asking you out. Toys only work so well, and I’ve grown bored of them all,” she finished exasperatedly, shoving her fingers into the tangle of wild curls cascading around her head. “I miss connection, human contact, and… snuggling.”

“Don’t tease me, Granger. You know I’d ensure you were a satisfied witch for the rest of your days,” Pansy said, giving her a meaningful look as she pulled a herbal fag from her minuscule handbag and lit it. “And, I’m an excellent snuggler. You'd have been tied up a long time ago if I thought you had even 5% interest in vag, luv.” Pansy pulled her wand and waved it over Hermione’s head, fixing the wild curls that frizzed out maniacally in response to being yanked on. “Alas, you are strickally dickally, and I must live with the disappointment of never getting to swim through the enchanted waters of the Gryffindor Princess.”

“You were a great kisser, you know,” Hermione offered, feeling a little bad that she really couldn’t find it in herself to ‘try witchcraft’, as lesbianism had recently been termed. “It’s just that…” She sighed and shrugged, as if powerless. “I have a thing for snakes. It’s just never been this long before and I… Well, I swear if you mention this to anyone, I’ll deflate your tits, but I even considered… Blaise.”

Pansy gasped. There was absolutely no world in which that was a good idea. “Don’t you dare,” she scolded with a glare. “I know patience has never been a Gryffindor virtue but you just need to hold on for a while longer; I swear, I can get you into Lucius’ pants once the divorce is through. For now, just take a deep breath and, I don’t know… maybe give fantasy Lucius a ride with that pink toy I told you about.”

“Don’t get my hopes up, Pans; I can’t bear it. And he’s not interested in me that way, anyway” Hermione grumbled as she shifted a stack of books that needed to be put away and searched for a particular piece of parchment. There were a couple of equations she wanted to run based on information from her latest research with the Ortega collection. She could not allow her thoughts to linger in the places that Pansy wanted them to.

“Don’t get me wrong, Granger; I doubt he’s ready to jump your bones yet. I mean, he might be but either way, he’s probably still a bit delicate from Azkaban, he’s got a divorce to deal with, and then there's the whole ‘won’t leave the house’ thing that needs addressing. It’s going to take some work, but think of it like how Harry was with Draco five years ago.”

Hermione sighed, thinking back to just how angst-ridden but electrifying the two wizards’ journey into courtship and love had been. “Just for argument's sake then, if we did somehow pull off this miraculous feat of impossibility where Lucius wants to bed me, how am I even supposed to follow in the footsteps of a witch like Narcissa?”

“Oh, that’s simple… you don’t. For Merlin’s sake, you’re Hermione Granger; how you have this odd misconception that you are not one of the most stunning, beautiful witches to grace the magical world, is beyond me. How is it even possible that that huge brain of yours doesn’t comprehend how you’d be just as big a prize to our favourite Lord of the Manor as Cissy ever was?”

“Why, Miss Parkinson; you’ll turn my head with such attentions,” Hermione joked with a deep southern, American accent, quintessentially English in the embarrassment she felt at Pansy’s teasing. The accent was a reminder of the Westerns her dad used to watch when she was a child, whilst the words she’d borrowed from Lucius, when he said something very similar to her last week.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “The truth of the matter is, Granger, that you are utterly insane for letting such thought patterns enter your head. The age difference should hardly bother you considering you dated Severus, and even though we both know he’s an emotionally stunted specimen, you kept up with him otherwise. Lucius would hardly be much different; there’s five years between them, max, and well, what middle-aged wizard wouldn’t want a gorgeous witch in her twenties bouncing about on his balls.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Hermione accused with a snort, even as a blush crept into her cheeks at the proffered imagery and she gave up searching for the set of arithmancy equations she wanted to find. “And don’t be so vulgar,” she scolded, imitating Narcissa’s voice now. “It is unbecoming of a lady.”

At this, they both burst into howling laughter, Hermione dropping the pile of journals in her hand and putting both hands on hips; the sternness she was aiming for proving elusive in conjunction with the giggles.“They are as different as night and day, and I don’t just mean their hair colour,” she attempted to explain, breathlessly; the amusement continuing beyond how funny the impression was, as jokes sometimes do with a good friend. They were laughing more at each other’s laughter as she continued. “I was not following directly in the footsteps of another witch with Severus.”

The reminder of why she and Severus broke up, or at least part of the reason, sobered the mood immediately, and Pansy nodded her agreement with the other witch’s statement, not wanting Hermione to feel the need to bring it all up again just to prove a point. The Gryffindor witch had been significantly troubled by the memory of Lily Potter when she was with Severus, often lamenting that the spectre of his first love was again haunting her lover's eyes when he was brooding. “You don’t have to-” Pansy began, but was cut off by Hermione's continued monologue.

“Well, you know what I mean… Competing with a dead witch was a much sweeter potion to swallow than even the idea of replacing a literal living Slytherin Queen. It’s utter madness to further entertain this stupid infatuation with him more than I already have, and as one of my best friends, you should not be encouraging it. In fact, I implore you not to do so anymore, for the simple fact that my mental health is already becoming affected. I mean, just look at me… I’m drinking in the middle of the day and talking about shagging the father-in-law of my brother, not to mention the husband of a friend. What sane witch does that?”

“Oh, don’t pull the insanity card with me; not in this house,” Pansy scolded, pulling at her herbal fag and blowing a cloud of odorless smoke into the air as she glared at Hermione. “What do you think? That the infamous Black family mentality is somehow creeping out of the walls and fucking up your brain? You’re acting like Lavender Brown, and I’m going to hex you stupid in literally two seconds if you don’t grow the fuck up.”

“You take that back about Lavender… I would never be that simpering and sappy over anyone; even Lucius. And as for hexing me, I’d like to see you try!” Hermione volleyed back with a scowl. “I have the fastest shields this side of Hogwarts, and you know it. Even Severus can’t-”

“I’m not taking back the truth; I was raised better,” Pansy chastised. “Now, bestie, as we’ve established you’re ‘wand over cauldron’ for Daddy Malfoy, you need to listen to me… Go take a bloody calming draught, get your fit arse in  that Library and spend time with your friend. I can practically guarantee that the rest will play out, not only exactly as it should, but how you want, as well.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, letting out a deep, rumbling growl of frustration as she glared back at Pansy. “Haven’t I done the blasted friends thing enough? I even grew those despicable things you call ‘feelings’ for every last one of the bastards I call my friend, and do you know what happens every single time? Do you know why I’ve never given in to that tiny little bit of curiosity I have about the idea of sleeping with you? Why I don’t give in to this ridiculous infatuation with Lucius? Because each and every time I cross that line with ‘a friend’, I am the one who is inevitably left… miserable, alone, and pining.” Closing her eyes to fight the tears, Hermione erected three fingers, and one at a time, as she listed her former friend-to-lover failures, she put them down again... “Harry, now with Draco; Severus, forever dedicated to Lily, except when it comes to perfect Narcissa; and Victor, married to Mils. Do you know what this track record tells me?”

Pansy shook her head, not really wanting to hear what Hermione was about to say - she could practically guess - but knowing, as a good bestie, it was part of her job to listen to the whining, then set her on the right path, hopefully back to the library at Malfoy Manor. 

“It tells me that I’m not good enough; not good enough to hold down a good man. Not good enough to stop from turning Harry gay, which yes, I know is ridiculous and not the way that works and technically he was always gay, or maybe bi, I don’t know. I just… I wasn’t enough. Then we come to Severus… dark, brooding, tragic war-hero, Severus; forever pining for the first person to ever show him kindness. Of course, I could never compare, and I was okay with that. But then perfect Narcissa comes along and he’s suddenly as happy as a pig in shit; finally abandoning the ghost of that unforgiving, red-headed bitch who broke his heart and forced him into a lifetime of darkness and regret, with his best friend’s wife, no less. Why wasn’t my gorgeous arse and brilliant intelligence enough to do that, huh? 

Pansy didn’t know what to say; Hermione never unloaded like this on anyone. She was always so ‘together’. In the silence that followed, as Hermione breathed, necked her wine and poured another, Pansy thought about the man on Hermione’s ‘failure list’. She hadn’t mentioned Victor yet, or ever really, and what had gone on there. “And Victor?” she asked, almost timidly, not wanting to bring anything back that was too painful; although, she had a feeling that ship had sailed.

Hermione laughed at that; a cold, empty sound that was actually a bit reminiscent of Bellatrix and made Pansy shudder at several memories it brought forward. “Victor was the worst one of them all,” Hermione admitted more quietly than before. “Because I knew it wasn’t right and yet I fell for him anyway. I honestly thought, after Severus, I would never let my guard down again, but along came Victor, with his love of Quidditch, dark, mysterious eyes, and muscles… oh, God, Pans, the muscles. Looking back, he was a rebound; I know that, but still… he’s a good man; they’re all good men. Why am I so incapable of holding onto a good man?”

“Do you know what I think?” Pansy asked, again, unsure if she really wanted the answer but knowing she was stuck in the conversation until Hermione felt better; this was the life of a Slytherin who had a Gryffindor for a bestie. Honestly, she thought Severus might have been better off after that fifth year fight he had with Lily; not that she’d ever tell him so. She valued her life.

“Tell me,” Hermione said simply, plonking herself back on the sofa.

“You, my dear, spend far too much time around Draco. I mean, Salazar’s Pants, not only are you being as dramatic as he is during one of his ‘nothing to wear’ snits, but the world doesn’t owe you a happy relationship,” she snapped, getting frustrated. “If you want one, you have to go and grab it; isn’t that what Gryffindors are meant to do anyway? Charge after what they want with wild abandon. Luckily for you, there is a man at Malfoy Manor who absolutely adores you, shares your interests and will be available in a few short weeks, so go grab him like a bloody portkey and find out all the bookish, orgasmic, maybe happy places he can take you.”

“Fine then. Clearly, this is another friendship I can’t rely on. At least my feelings for you are platonic; I’m not going to get my heart broken by you being a bitch,” Hermione replied nastily, necking the second, large glass of wine and putting it on the table, before swanning back toward the door. “I don’t need any of you, or your stupid advice. I was better off before I got involved with bloody Slytherins.”

“Fine!” Pansy spat, finally losing her temper properly. “If you’re going to be a Puff about it all, keep them pathetic, lonely hands to yourself and stop whining. All you needed to do was be patient anyway, but I know that’s difficult for a Gryffindor. Things are shifting to get you what you want regardless of whether you find your roar or not; just… the pureblood way.” Pansy sniffed haughtily, pulling on her fag a final time and putting it out. That was a bigger slip than she’d intended - a later floo-call to Narcissa might be necessary for some advice on damage control - but dammit, why did this witch have to be so pure-hearted about everything.

Hermione's face scrunched up in confusion and disgust at that, and she turned on her heel at the door, glowering at her friend. “What exactly is that supposed to mean? What’s the pureblood way? I hate pureblood ways; they’re antiquated, barbaric-”

“No, no, no, you didn’t want to listen to Auntie Pansy or her pureblood advice, so you’ll just have to go find another one. I hear there’s some posh, blond guy in Wiltshire who might know a thing or two. Although, as you’re too chicken shit to tell him what you really want, I suggest you take a very large dose of calming draught, get your toy box out, and go play pretend instead. Anything to get that giant broomstick from up your arse whilst the antiquated, barbaric things work in your favour for a change.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue back, but was interrupted by a rather loud wolf whistle coming from the open door to her small suite of rooms. Whilst they’d been arguing, Draco and Harry’s apparent return had gone completely unnoticed, and now, the boys were walking through the main doors to her suite of rooms, dressed in their Auror uniforms. “Hold up, ladies; if there’s going to be a cat fight, at least wait until I’ve had time to sell tickets. You two going at it would make us a small fortune,” Draco commented with a smirk.

“Charming,” Hermione countered, crossing her arms across her chest and giving the pair an annoyed look as Pansy walked across the room to greet both boys with air kisses; apparently she could snap her temper back into place whenever she wanted. Unfortunately, the past hurt of Harry’s rejection was still simmering just under the surface, and seeing his just post-honeymoon face was a bit much. ‘Gods, what is wrong with me?’ she asked herself, attempting a smile. They were obviously back from the honeymoon early for work, and her natural curiosity was kicking in, bypassing her shitty mood. “I thought you weren’t due back until Sunday?” she asked shortly, her voice not quite ready to give up the mood as she followed Pansy’s footsteps and hugged the honeymooners.

“Had to come home early,” Harry informed her as he released her from a tight hug. “One of our joint cases took a turn and demanded immediate attention. Now, my turn… What were you two arguing about?”

“Nothing,” they both said at once, and Hermione was grateful that at least, in not telling Draco about the falderal and fiddly-dee of trying to set her up with his father, the other witch had her back. Although, it felt more like she had Draco’s back. “Just too much wine, I think,” she added as an excuse. “Sorry, Pans.”

Pansy nodded at her before turning back to the boys. “The pair of you have more galleons than sense and do not need to work. Why on earth you would let work interrupt honeymoon sex is beyond me,” Pansy commented, sniffing her haughty little sniff as she moved back to Hermione’s messy desk to collect her wine. Hermione noted that she didn’t apologise back.

“That would be ridiculously boring. What do you take me for, my father?” Draco scoffed, wrinkling his nose at the very idea of not working. “I’d actually rather eat pussy than live in a library for the rest of my days…”

“Blasphemy,” Hermione commented with a huff as Harry patted his new husband on the backside as went to sit on the sofa, stage-whispering, “you’ll never have to do that again, love,” to his new husband as he went.

Pansy stepped forward, deftly redirecting even the possibility of an argument between Draco and Hermione before it could begin… “So how long have you been back?” She doubted Hermione really wanted to get into a debate about vulgarity, considering what they’d just been arguing about. Her temper was way too frayed and when that happened, the Gryffindor lost all filters and just said whatever was necessary to win. Some things needed to not be said right now.

“Portkey got us to the Ministry about three hours ago, and we’ve been dealing with case stuff since then,” Harry explained from the doorway, before making his way up the stairs to get changed. “I’m starving now, though,” he called back. “...and I doubt there’s even owl treats in the kitchen. Anyone fancy a takeaway?” 

Hermione discarded her work, and fell into step behind the others as Draco and Pansy made suggestions for takeaway, all of them heading out of her work room. “I went shopping yesterday, actually,” she stated categorically, slightly put out by everyone’s assumption that she’d forget; although, it was possible, that was just her bad mood talking. “Was just thinking about putting some dinner on, when we got interrupted by your return. What do you fancy… chicken, lamb, fish?”

“FISH ‘N’ CHIPS!” Draco shouted, his excitement for the muggle treat echoing along the staircase as he pinched Harry’s bum and dashed ahead to the lower landing. “And curry sauce.”

“OI!” Harry squealed, chasing after his husband. “I don’t want fish ‘n’ chips, Hermione,” he called back, just as he also reached the lower landing and ploughed into Draco, tackling him to the floor.

Amused, Hermione shook her head. “I mentioned fish, but I said nothing about chips. Something more like Salmon En Croute was what I had in mind,” she explained, as the boys play-wrestled on the floor. “Baby roast potatoes, a nice bed of garlic greens; maybe a yummy dill sauce too?” 

“Ooo, that sounds divine,” Pansy chuckled, linking arms with Hermione, which the Gryffindor witch knew to be her friend’s form of apology. “And like it’ll sit right on my arse if I have more than one serving of it.”

Hermione grinned. “As if I’d feed any of you something that even might live on your hips for the next ten years; I’d never hear the end of it from Prince Draco,” she defended happily, tightening her arm that had linked around Pansy’s, by way of accepting the silent apology. “I also have a new white chocolate mousse recipe - low fat, of course - that I’ve been looking for a reason to make; it has an apricot coulee centre.” 

“It doesn’t sound low fat,” Pansy complained pedantically. “How am I supposed to enjoy a double helping of this delectable sounding sweet, if I’m worrying about my fat and sugar intake. Does sound fancy though.”

“Your figure will remain unaffected, I promise. The mousse has a skimmed cream base, so you’ll be able to work it off in about twenty minutes with whoever you’re shagging at the moment - I’ve lost track - and it uses fruit sugar, which I’ve explained before, is completely natural. The apricots are even sourced from Malfoy Manor garden; they’ve been soaking in champagne since autumn, so the whole thing will have a really nice kick. And the fanciness comes from the fact that now I have posh friends like the Malfoys, I need to practise my fine-dining skills in the kitchen.”

From a slightly breathless Draco, there came an appreciative, “Sounds great, Mi…” as the two witches reached the bottom of the stairs, stepping over the floor-strewn wizards. “Very posh.”

“Yeah, why don’t we invite Mama and Papa Malfoy to test your posh-o-metre cooking skills?” Harry added, his two Knuts bringing memories back to Hermione’s mind that had her fighting not to blush. In this company, such an involuntary bodily function would be noticed and made fun of, and she’d been needled enough today.

“For the love of all that is magical, don’t call them that, H; they’ll kill you,” Draco interjected, his voice a mix of warning and humour, at Harry’s playful nickname for Narcissa and Lucius ever since their engagement had drawn a mix of reactions.

Harry didn’t miss a beat; teasing back as they helped each other up off the floor. “Nothing I haven’t survived before,” he announced proudly, reminding Hermione a lot of their ‘but I am the chosen one’ moment, back in 1996. “And you know they love me… probably more than you, actually.”

“Don’t,” Draco issued quickly, practically slapping a hand over Pansy’s mouth as he found his feet; the exaggerated gesture a clear sign for her to discontinue whatever ‘egging on’ comment had been poised on her lips. “Don’t get him going.” 

Pansy sighed but nodded, and Draco moved his hand away. Amusingly, at least to Hermione, that hand swung around the back of Harry and grabbed his arse. A much softer exchange between the two of them followed, full of affection, but punctuated by slobbery, sucking noises as they headed toward their bedroom.

“Dinner in two hours,” Hermione announced loudly, and received barely a wave of acknowledgement from the amorous couple as their door was slammed shut with a foot. Hermione and Pansy stood alone in the hallway, staring at the door for a moment, before bursting out laughing at the muttered “yes, Potter,” they heard through the solid oak barrier.

“Don’t forget the silencing charms…” Pansy yelled with a laugh, before she and Hermione headed for the next floor down, still arm in arm. “And you,” she added, addressing the other witch more seriously, “don’t forget what I said about Lucius.”

“Yes, mum,” Hermione snarked, as they reached the lower floor quickly, releasing Pansy’s arm. “Speaking of Lucius, now that they’re coming to dinner, you should probably let them know whilst I get cooking. Don’t forget, Narcissa is at Andi’s though.”

“Yes, Chef,” Pansy answered enthusiastically, giving a humorous salute as she headed for the beautifully restored Black family Library, wondering who to call first. ‘Probably Narcissa,’ she decided silently. ‘At least that way I can warn her about that little slip I had.’

Rolling her eyes, Hermione sighed under her breath as she continued down several more flights of stairs, making her way to the kitchen. “I never should have introduced that witch to Gordon bloody Ramsey,” she grumbled, mentally listing all the ingredients she was going to need for the evening feast.

Chapter Text

GRIMMAULD PLACE - LONDON 

WEDNESDAY 21TH JUNE 2006

Pansy entered the elegant library with purposeful strides, and headed straight for the floo, which had been reconstructed onto a huge, yet ornamental, chimney breast column in the centre of the room. She had to admit that though she was hardly as fanatical about libraries as Hermione, or Lucius, Harry and Draco had done a marvellous job on this one. The soft mellowness of golden afternoon sunlight spilled through tall, Victorian windows, casting a plethora of dancing light cascades onto the intricate Persian rugs that were scattered around the hearth. It was peaceful, warm, and utterly magical; the kind of thing a sappier witch would consider… romantic.

Of course, Pansy knew exactly who that sappier witch was, and amidst this soft atmosphere, an idea sprouted in her mind and she decided it would be best to speak with Lucius first about the dinner invite. Pausing at the fireplace, she looked back to the open door, and to ensure privacy in the quiet space, she deftly waved her wand at it, muttering the spells to close and lock the glass panelled door. ‘On second thoughts,’ her brain supplied, as a secretive smile tugged at the corners of her lips, whilst mischief sparkled in her eyes, ‘probably best to avoid being seen altogether.’ 

With silent steps, she ignored the floo that sat so conveniently situated on the fireplace, and crossed to the small room that constituted Harry's study, passing seamlessly into the space that would afford her a more intimate level of privacy for her purpose. It would be best, if no one overheard the conversation she was about to have with Narcissa, even if the one with Lucius would be negligible.

Harry’s office was as chaotic as its owner, or that of its owner’s best friend. A stack of books on various interrogation techniques propped the door open, whilst the single bookcase behind the messy desk, had more Quidditch paraphernalia on its  shelves than expected items. As she reached the mantle, reaching across the various moving photographs to gather a pinch of dark green floo powder from the pot into her palm, her heart quickened with anticipation.

She was still a little sore about Hermione’s comments earlier, but the witch was one of her best friends, regardless of how stubbornly she clung to the low self-esteem that made her feel not good enough. What Pansy was about to do next, was, in her own mind, an apology for ever contributing to that feeling by being part of the anti-muggleborn brigade in the past. It didn’t take a genius to know that Hermione’s feelings of inadequacy stemmed from the pureblood dogma that she’d been persecuted with from the age of eleven. 

This was how Pansy knew to make up for her part in it, despite already having been forgiven, and it felt like the least she could do really. So, with a mixture of excitement and nervousness churning in her belly, knowing that with a little careful manoeuvring, she could set Narcissa’s plan in motion, Pansy gracefully lowered herself into a kneeled position on the plush rug before the fireplace and  threw the powder, and her face, into the still glowing embers.

“Malfoy Manor,” she called confidently, having done it countless times before; her voice held a touch of mischief with the knowledge of what was to come, but she carefully concealed any undercurrent of her clever scheming as the flames flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls and Lucius’ face came into view.

Sitting in his leather wingback chair, adjacent to the fireplace in his office, Lucius raised a solitary eyebrow in surprise, and surveyed the flaming face that was staring at him. “Miss Parkinson,” he addressed tonelessly, feeling a flurry of guilt swirl into his conscience at the sight of his son’s best friend. They’d been as close as uncle and niece in her younger years, but since his release from Azkaban, he just couldn’t conjure any level of comfort with her presence to return to that loving equilibrium. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Pansy chuckled in the flames. “Oh, Uncle, must you be so utterly stony when we speak?” she asked cheerfully, not phased by his gothic attitude at all as she powered through. “You sound more and more like Severus - in his teaching days - every time we speak, and you’re lucky I’m not easily offended by it.”

Internally, Lucius cringed to know that she’d noticed his change in countenance toward her, but it was also at being likened to Severus; that particular name cut close to the quick at the moment. Not altering his tone, he replied to the accusation she had laid at his feet. “My apologies, Pansy. I am feeling a little short tempered today,” he explained, attempting to excuse his behaviour. “If I have appeared too formal in our previous conversations, I’m afraid I was not aware of it, but I apologise for that too.”

“That’s okay, Uncle. You’re a tortured soul now; I get it,” Pansy teased, smirking at Lucius’ responding horror struck expression. “It sort of suits you, actually; and it has the added benefit of having brought you your very own bleeding heart Gryffindor to fix you. It’s sort of cute really… you and Draco have a matching set of heroes.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes at that. It was a cute picture, but someone else remarking on the closeness of he and Hermione, likening them to a married couple even, was just a bit too suspicious too. “Have you been talking to Narcissa?” he asked, feeling his frustration rise. He remembered his wife speaking about recruiting Severus to her cause at the wedding, but had she mentioned Pansy too? He’d still been in too much shock over her decision to take it all in.

“Oh, you know how close Aunt Cissy and I are, Uncle,” she volleyed flawlessly, a look of perfect innocence painting her dark brown eyes (just like her mother) and well-shaped eyebrows. “It’s sort of why I’m calling actually… The boys are back early because of a case, and were complaining of empty stomachs, and because Hermione is incapable of not catering to everyone’s needs other than her own, she’s playing kitchen elf for the evening, cooking up something yummy for us all. You and Aunt Cissy are invited too, of course, which is why I have been relegated to the duties of an owl and am here with a verbal invitation for you both.”

“I see,” Lucius replied in as neutral a voice as he could muster, wondering what sort of case could have called his son back from the Seychelles. He regretted the way he was speaking to Pansy, even as he continued to do so; his burdens of guilt for not protecting her when the Dark Lord was around, were not her fault, but the chipper delivery of every word she uttered, in conjunction with the knowing glint in her eyes, was, both were starting to grate on his nerves. “I shall pass the invite along to Cissa, and no doubt we shall see you tonight. Did Miss Granger happen to indicate a time to arrive?”

“Erm… a couple of hours,” she replied, a little distracted by the formality he was using to speak about Hermione now too. ‘Have they fallen out?’ she wondered, her brow creasing a little in confusion. ‘That would explain Hermione’s mood but… why didn’t she say anything?’ Smoothing her features into a more earnest expression, she tried to gather some sense of what was going on with him. “I’ll let her know you’re both coming then, shall I?”

“That would be appreciated,” he answered a little more kindly, making a slight effort for the first time in months to rebuild the familial relationship he’d once had with her. After all, she was Hermione’s friend too, and after being bold enough to agree to go to Zurich, additional steps toward once again being the man he used to be - the positive parts anyway - had to start somewhere. “Should we bring wine?”

“Just your dazzling smile and charming personality,” she answered, an indulgent smile spreading across her face at the slight thaw in his weird, cold facade. “Although, she’s doing salmon; so, whatever works well with that,” she added informatively. “I’ll… see you later then… Uncle?”

“I’ll see you later, flower,” he agreed with a nod, reverting to the nickname he’d used when she was just a little witchling, learning to fly with Draco.

Nodding back, Pansy smiled more brightly at the silly nickname from her childhood, and pulled herself from the floo, watching as Harry’s office came back into view. Their conversation had been, as expected, brief, and in the manner that had become characteristic of his attitude toward her since the end of the war. He had become so very careful in their interactions; every word measured to create the least impact, no breath wasted on something that need not be said in his concise responses. It all carried such a depressing air of mystery, and Pansy couldn’t help but wonder exactly what he’d been accused of at his trial to make him behave in such a way. 

‘At least he was a little warmer at the end, there,’ she thought, trying to shake off her worries with the power of positive thinking as she returned her focus to Narcissa’s plans. The anticipation of scheming was heightened by the idea that perhaps, if everything worked out, in time, Lucius would have the peace and happiness he deserved. Now, all she needed to do was work out exactly which pieces of information she’d gained over the last hour were likely to be important.

As conversations went, the one with Lucius had been mostly like an empty cauldron; lacking substance, but standing up from the hearth rug and dusting the soot from her hair, she knew there was much more to report on her chat with Hermione. Thankfully, the library had remained quiet, so, with a certain amount of Slytherin finesse, she slipped a silver compact case from her pocket and tapped it twice with her wand, waiting for it to pop open. 

It had been a coming-of-age gift from Narcissa after the war; intricately carved with runes and holding a powerful charm on the mirror inside to allow private communication between them. It had been a very generous gift, and deeply appreciated by the then seventeen year old Pansy, who had lost her mother during the battle, and her father to Azkaban. That compact had seen both of them through some very depressing moments, when all either of them had needed was someone to quietly sit with, even though house arrest had prevented the physical company.

The lid popped open as soon as her wand left the metallic top, and opening it, Pansy revealed the charmed two-way mirror. “Narcissa,” she whispered, staring at her own reflection and waiting. Several long seconds passed before the image in the mirror changed to that of Narcissa's face, a knowing smirk delicately painting her beautiful features.

“Pansy, darling… How are you? Tibbs just popped by to inform me that we've been invited to dinner,” Narcissa greeted, her voice tickling with a playful note as her eyes sparkled with the same mischief that was reflected back at her. “That will be all, Tibbs. Thank you.”

Pansy’s smile dropped a little though, as she remembered Hermione’s near breakdown from earlier. “I think we might need to take this more slowly,” she confided to the older witch. “Hermione is… well, she’s not as ready for this as I thought she’d be. When we were talking earlier, I think she almost pulled her wand on me, just for teasing her a  little bit about fancying Lucius. She went into his huge rant about never holding onto a man and not feeling good enough for a good one. It worried me a bit because she’s always so sure of herself and this was like… I don’t know, Narcissa; one false move with this and I think she might have an actual meltdown. Like Janus Thickey ward worthy.”

“Okay, calm down. It can’t have been that bad,” Narcissa replied, worried but hopeful. “We’ve always known her to be a highly strung witch, but once Lucius pulls his wand out of his backside and turns on the charm, I think the problem will go away. In the meantime, we’ll monitor their interactions as carefully as we can, and make sure she doesn’t-”

“This is her whole life we’re messing with, Narcissa,” Pansy interrupted, needing to denote the seriousness of the situation. “Scheming and manipulation is fun when you know the target can take it but, with Hermione, I’m not sure she can. And when she finds out how much we, for the want of a better word, Slytherined her into this, we’ll be lucky to escape her wand alive. It’s fun to mess with her and wind her up, but this is different, and I’m just… I’m having second thoughts.”

“She was that mad at you?” Narcissa asked curiously, trying to quell the rising fear that all was lost if she couldn’t secure Hermione’s interest in Lucius.

“Yeah, and that’s not all…” Pansy took a deep breath, not really wanting to say the next thing she needed to say, but knowing it was necessary for Narcissa to see the weight of  her doubts. “You know I’m rarely one to consider my conscience, or dwell on the war but, all these feelings that she spewed out at me… They’re partially our fault. My fault.”

“Oh, Pansy; you mustn't think that way,” the Malfoy witch advised softly, her motherly tone full of the same sympathy, and the same guilt the younger witch was expressing. Every time she saw Hermione, she dealt with the same issues, but with the shame of knowing she was an adult who should’ve known better. It had faded with time, and Hermione’s kind forgiveness, but it always lingered in the background…. Regret.

“How can I not?” Pansy argued, not having felt this much guilt in a long time, if ever. It had been growing steadily worse since Hermione’s rant and now, she felt so awful for her friend, that even scheming to pull her out of the sad, lonely, depressed hole she was apparently in, wasn’t working. “Reading between the lines of what she said, it’s like she thinks she doesn’t deserve love, or isn’t good enough for it, or something. When I think about how Draco and I were at school, telling her that she actually didn’t deserve it, that she wasn’t good enough… Merlin, we were so horrible to her.”

Pansy was getting worked up, and that was not a good thing. Narcissa knew she needed to calm the witch down before the long-term exposure to Gryffindor friends had her saying something along these lines to the wrong person, and ruining everything. “Okay, let’s say for a moment that you’re right, and she did, in some deep dark part of her mind, blame us for the way she feels about her life; don’t you think the best way to make it up to her, is to give her the love of a good man like Lucius; to show her, prove to her that we don’t feel that way anymore by inviting her to find love with the richest, snobbiest, most elitist (at least her mind) pureblood bastard that ever was? And all the changes in him are because of her; if she doesn’t know it already, we’ll make sure she does by the end of tonight, yes?”

Something relaxed in the younger witch as she stared at the older, wiser one, who had been like a second mother to her for over twenty years, and an absolute rock since the end of the war. “Alright,” she agreed, nodding along and trusting that Narcissa had Hermione’s best interests at heart. “I’m still worried though.”

“I know, sweetheart, and it makes me so proud that you feel this strongly about Hermione’s wellbeing - you are a good witch and a good friend for fretting for her - but we are doing the right thing, for Hermione and for Lucius. You have to believe that.”

Pansy nodded, and thought about how to get her head on straight for dinner. She needed a good angle to get her mind back into scheming; something that could blot out all the feelings. Thinking about Hermione’s menu, she focused on the dessert, remembering from the many dinners she’d had at the Manor that Lucius used to have quite the sweet tooth, and a penchant for anything involving white chocolate. ‘Hmmm…’ she wondered, thinking of the delicious sounding sweet that Hermione had described earlier.  “Lucius still loves white chocolate, right?”

“Absolutely. Azkaban certainly didn’t rob him of his sweet tooth,” Narcissa answered automatically, wondering where the change of subject had come from but happy that Pansy’s doubts seemed to be appeased, for now at least.

“The dinner that Hermione is making tonight? She has a special dessert planned that she’s been wanting to make for a while apparently. She said it’s white chocolate based, and apparently low fat too.”

“Splendid,” Narcissa responded, a twinkle in her crystalline silver eyes. “I should head back to the Manor and find something suitable to wear; it’s been forever since I went to a dinner party at Grimmauld Place. Keep your mind on the end goal and all will work out as intended. Now go find a pretty dress and do your make-up charms; we’ll see you shortly,” she said confidently before ending the communication.

Closing the compact and slipping it back in her pocket, Pansy felt a bit better. The guilt was still there but, essentially the plan was coming together, and Narcissa seemed so confident that helped to settle her nerves.  “We’re doing the right thing” she reassured herself, turning away from the fireplace to go check on Hermione and the preparations for dinner. 

Almost past the desk, a sheet of parchment with her name on it caught her eye, and she turned back curious to see what it was. Anything that could take her mind off of Narcissa’s plans and Hermione’s emotional welfare would be a wonderful distraction. Plus, what would Harry be listing that had her name on it anyway?

Looking down, she realised that even with her innate seer powers and a million years to guess, she wouldn’t have landed on the right answer… Sitting there, bold as brass, in big capitals letters, were the words ‘SURROGATE WITCH POSSIBILITIES’ and four names down, under Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, and Lisa Turpin, there she was; Pansy Parkinson. There were several other witches' names on there too, witches she knew to be married or in some sort of courtship, who had already been crossed off. 

Wandering back through the library, now more distracted than ever by the knowledge that Draco and Harry were considering a child, she couldn’t help but picture a child with Draco’s blond hair, Harry’s green eyes, and her cute ‘button’ nose. All thoughts of Hermione had vanished from her mind now, as that list had triggered something a bit dangerous for a witch like Pansy - hormones.

Chapter Text

GRIMMAULD PLACE - LONDON 

WEDNESDAY 21TH JUNE 2006

Hermione hummed a tune that she didn’t know the words to as she meticulously added the final touches to her dill sauce, savouring the mouth-watering aromas that filled the air of Grimmauld Place's cosy kitchen. The distinct crackling of the floo network in the front room, followed by muffled voices, indicated the arrival of their ‘esteemed guests’ and she checked her watch again - 6.30pm - they were right on time. 

Pansy had been playfully ousted from the culinary domain ages ago, due to the return of multiple quips and jests about the infatuation with Lucius. It backfired however, when Hermione had threatened to roast her - cajun style - if she didn’t go, and live up to her surname by parking herself elsewhere. That was how the Slytherin witch had found herself stationed in the living room, eagerly awaiting the new arrivals.

It crossed her mind, as she stirred in the last ingredient - ground Himalayan pink salt - to maybe infuse a few drops of calming draught into the sauce too; even if only to help quell the butterflies in her stomach and prevent Pansy from making her blush all night. Leaving the thick, creamy sauce to simmer for a few more minutes, whilst the salt did the flavour-infusion thing, she moved to the magical version of a refrigerator - a cupboard with cooling charms -  and checked on the apricot coulis for her mousse. 

It looked delicious as it was, just in the jug, and the subtle scent of champagne wafting from the soft, peachy orange-coloured goo, had her longing for something stronger to drink than the water she was consuming, so as not to be completely blotto by dinner time. Placing the jug of coulis on the rustic wooden kitchen table, she went back to the cooling cupboard and collected the tray of individual sundae glasses, which were full of dessert.

An hour ago, she had poured a gooey, vanilla and white chocolate sauce into each base of the six dishes from her mother’s collection of glassware. It was a rich, sugarful treat, sinfully hidden beneath the thick, white chocolate mousse from the recipe, which she’d layered on next. They’d needed to set at that point, so with a longing look, she’d left them in the cooling cupboard. It was always the hardest part, when she made desserts, to not devour the lot. It was already completely indulgent, but now she was adding the tangy, sticky coulis, it would be completely sumptuous.

“Perfect,” she announced to no one, swirling apricot liquid on top of each portion, before topping each one with half a handful of chopped, dried apricot pieces and crushed hazelnut pieces. “Absolutely perfection,” she confirmed, popping the tray back into the cooling cupboard. “Now what?”

Consulting her list first, she saw that it was time to check on the main course, and bending down to look inside the glass-windowed aga, she saw the six, lightly golden parcels, beautifully expanded with enriched layers of puff pastry, crisped up nicely and ready to remove. The original recipe had called for the dill sauce to be encased inside the pastry with the salmon, but knowing of Draco’s allergy to the herb, she’d chosen to make it more of a condiment. 

The pastry had actually been her first task when she’d hit the kitchen, and amidst a playful dispute she’d engaged in with Pansy, after the Malfoy invite was done, she’d rolled out the buttery dough, arguing over who would be entitled to the remnants on the spoon versus the mixing bowl's contents once dessert had been made.

Hermione crouched into a squat when she noticed they were ready, and pulled the large oven door open, immediately blasted in the face by the fragrant hot air. “Mmmm,” she hummed with a pleased smile, removing it from the oven. The parcels were perfect, the thin layer of cheese she’d coated the inner salmon with, just oozing and bubbling through the cracks she’d scored in the top of pastry, but for now, she left it alone. There was leek in there too, but as much as she wanted to start plating up, knowing her guests were presents, she had learned that the trick to cooking any protein source was to let it rest before serving.

“Okay, dessert, done; salmon, done, potatoes, done and under status. Next… Vegetables,” she instructed herself, checking off her to-do list as she glanced at it once more. “No, no, the sauce,” she suddenly remembered, spinning around to remove the slightly over-thickened dill sauce from the heat. With one more quick stir, she brought the pan over to the big wooden table, where five mini sauce bowls sat, and lazily drizzled the sauce into each one.  

“Last leg,” she coached herself, knowing that the time to face Lucius and Narcissa, post-Pansy argument was drawing nigh, and even if she could project a calm and collected facade, cooking for these particular guests was turning what she usually considered a relaxing hobby, into chaos central for her nervous system. Internally, her entire body was running riot, complete with a racing heart, adrenaline dialled up to eleven, and an imagination that kept conjuring pictures of cooking this for just her and Lucius, as a prelude to romance. Anxiety and stress didn’t even cover it. 

‘Gods, it’s just dinner,’ she told herself, attempting to ease the inner chaos as she levitated a large heavy pot to the still lit flame of the hob, and filled it with boiling water from her wand. Petit pois, green beans and broccoli florets were eased into the hot water, just as it started bubbling, followed by two cloves of garlic being crushed and added, for flavour; all the vegetables had to be al dente, which was why they were the last thing to cooked. ‘ Pause and take a deep breath, Granger,’ she coached, feeling ridiculous for getting so worked up. It had been an emotional day though.

Standing in the middle of the kitchen, and knowing she had a few minutes before there was anything else to do, Hermione braced herself against the back of one of the rustic chairs that matched the table, and followed her own advice. ‘In…. annnnd, out,’ she instructed mentally several times, allowing the influx of oxygen and the beautiful aromas of dinner to calm, at the very least, her heart rate. ‘ You can handle a family dinner; it’s no different than all the others you’ve had with them. You know these people… You love these people… These people are your people…  The only difference now is that… well, you’ve accepted the fact that you fancy the pants off Lucius, and you’ve gotten all up close and  personal with his very, very attractive body on the dance floor.’

After several minutes more of mental rambling, Hermion shook off her nerves, and took three more calming breaths - just to make sure -  before moving to the dining room, and preparing the perfect atmosphere for a comfortable dinner party of six. She couldn’t help but hesitate slightly as she pointed her wand at the lights to dim them; Harry had had electricity installed at Grimmauld during the remodel but the sconces were still used more than the overhead bulb. ‘Stop being stupid,’ she told herself sternly, making herself walk to the candle dimmer and do it by hand, just to prove a point. ‘ This is a family dinner, not some romantic soiree for couples,’ she added with relish, making herself overcome her foundationless fears. 

A few more waves of her wand, had all the table things conjured, each obeying her magical command effortlessly and gracefully arranging themselves across the round dining table. A light, sage green runner laid itself out first, followed by a white lace overlay, the two pieces of fabric rolling like waves, or lovers, before settling in place. Again, Hermione mentally scolded her mind for the fantasies it conjured - all with her and Lucius featured as the stars as they emulated the movement of the paired runners - and silently cast the spells for two delicate floral centrepieces to leave her wand. The pretty scents, intentionally chosen to compliment her menu, wafted from the wild-looking blooms as they arranged themselves, settling in the crystal vases that had been conjured with the cloths.

Nodding in satisfaction at the soft, friendly ambience she’d created, Hermione headed towards the door that led back to the kitchen, leaving the cutlery and glassware to magically arrange itself. As she walked, still trying to calm her racing thoughts, she reminded herself over and over again that everything was ‘fine’; that nothing had changed; that all she had to do was keep things as they always were during a family dinner. 

Just as she reached the door, she spotted Harry’s old gramophone - collected from the Potter vault almost three years previously - perched on a stand behind it. A slightly hesitant wave, and the wonderfully intact antique started softly playing Vivaldi to complete the picture. The cello was Draco’s favourite and he always turned down the lights and put on a concerto LP. It wouldn’t do to deviate, lest the change garner unwanted attention.

Eyes closed, Hermione whirled herself into the kitchen to the dramatic sounds of Concerto for Two Cellos, in G Minor, completely unaware of Pansy entering from the hallway, accompanied by Narcissa and Lucius. She loved classical music; it reminded her of rainy weekend afternoons when she was a little girl, years before she became a witch, and her father dancing around the living room with her mother, or herself. Clearing her mind of all other thoughts, and took herself back to those joyful, wholesome days, conducting the music with her wand.

Silent sniggers erupted from her small, unseen audience, each attempting to hide their amusement with a clenched fist or a hand across their mouth. Lucius actually went so far as to look away in order to control himself, suddenly concentrating on the floor and finding his shoes very interesting. She made a delicious sight, as delectable as the tray of desserts on the counter that he could hardly wait to try.

Unfortunately, Pansy was not so adept at control, and whilst Narcissa only allowed the slightest of titters to escape, the younger witch had had her fill of suppressing the hilarity she found in Hermione’s maestroship. A bark of laughter escaped her, with an attached snort, which had he and Narcissa giving up their attempts to conceal their own mirth and joining in, even as the conducting witch spun around to catch them all.

“Holy Mother of Merlin!” she gasped, bringing a hand up to her suddenly racing heart, as she took in the three individuals who stood barely inside the doorway, looking as if they were the victims of a rictusempra maxima barrage; their level of gaiety never before seen on a Slytherin. “What are you all thinking, creeping up on me like that? You’re lucky I didn’t hex first and ask questions later,” she commented, wiggling her wand at them to indicate the high probability of how that could have happened.

“My apologies, Hermione,” Narcissa said, regaining her equilibrium first; her amusement was still apparent in both her voice and expression though. “I don’t believe any of us have seen you so… animated in a long time. It was… a surprise.”

Lucius cleared his throat and tipped his chin towards Pansy. “ Sincere apologies, Madam Granger; I’m afraid I was just following this one's lead,” he finished with a smirk, throwing Pansy under the proverbial Knight Bus and handing over two bottles of wine. “Here… This will pair wonderfully with the salmon I’ve been told you is for dinner.”

“Don’t play innocent, Uncle. It’s a worn out defence, especially for you,” Pansy quipped back, testing the density of the thin ice their relationship had been skating on for the last nineteen months. When no answer was forthcoming, she turned back to Hermione. “When’s dinner? It all looks gorgeous and I am ravenous, Chef!”

Hermione wasn’t listening to Pansy’s comments; her stomach was too busy doing gigantic flips over both Lucius’ appearance and the way he’d called her ‘Madam Granger’. As she watched, he ignored Pansy’s provoking remarks too, crossing to the table instead and claiming a seat; his cane being discarded in the breakfast nook along the way. 

“Almost ready to serve,” she offered with a cheerful smile, looking down at the wine in her hands, all by way of moving the conversation on from her escapades with a wand (when she thought no one was looking) and Lucius’ worn out excuses. “Just about to plate up actually. Oooo, Chablis. Nice! Why don’t you all go and take a seat in the dining room?” 

Turning her back on the party, she uncorked a bottle of the wine, leaving it to breathe, and attended the vegetable pot on the stove, hoping the steam would act as a suitable excuse for her reaction to Lucius in a three-piece suit. ‘Damn, he looks so good. Why would he dress up so for a family dinner?’

“This all smells wonderful, dear,” Narcissa complimented, her voice enveloping the room as she drew closer to the salmon, and offering genuine appreciation. The older witch waited as they all watched Hermione strain the greens and portion them onto each plate, then, as soon as the hot pan was back on the stove, and the flame was doused, pulled Hermione into a warm one-armed embrace. “Pansy and I are considering a shopping trip to Milan next month. You should join us.”

“Thank you, but I think I’ll leave shopping to the professionals. Pansy knows what I like and apart from a four inch height difference, we’re about the same size,” Hermione answered distractedly, pulling on every ounce of self-control she possessed to not look at Lucius. Again. Narcissa’s gentle and caring nature made Hermione feel all the worse for the thoughts she’d just been entertaining about the witch’s husband. Even if they were getting a divorce, Narcissa was a friend and it felt so disrespectful to… ‘Oh, quit antagonising over enjoying the man's presence in a fitted suit. The occlumens of our incestuous little group isn’t here; you can think whatever you want.’  

Hermione was completely aware of the fact that she was now actively aiding and abetting her internal struggles over her desires for Lucius, especially as he mind conjured the image of him naked on her table, whilst she covered him in her yummy white chocolate mousse (and made him cover her in his). It was beyond help now, and she knew it. ‘Not worth a complete mental flogging when I still have to get through this dinner. Just S T O P fantasising about him at every turn, and you’ll be fine.’

“I’m not your personal shopper, Granger,” Pansy stated objectionably, her tone haughtily indicative of her posh upbringing, even if the sight of her swiping a finger through the remnants of the apricot coulis was at complete odds with it.

“Yes, you are,” Narcissa and Hermione said together, resulting in all four of them sharing a laugh. “And bear in mind, whilst you’re browsing all that fancy garb, I need something nice for Harry’s birthday next month,” Hermione added.

“Oh, fine. I am your personal shopper,” Pansy admitted with a pout and an eye roll. “Now, what else do you want? What needs a good refresh? Robes? Shoes? Bags? Lingerie ?”

“Don’t forget Zurich,” Lucius reminded, the image of Hermione in couture lingerie floating into his mind with Pansy’s prompting. ‘Damn witch,’ he cursed mentally; now was not the time for his imagination to run wild. “However, we are only away for ten days, Pansy. Please try to remember that when you attempt to break Hermione’s vault with your purchases on her behalf.”

“Oh, of course… you’re off to Zurich next month,” Pansy exclaimed excitedly. “How could I forget? Ten glorious days in the land of chocolate magic. I’m practically green with-” The looks that passed between Narcissa, Lucius and Hermione had her halting her words to work out what she’d missed. Studying each face in order, she saw that Narcissa looked practically gleeful; Hermione, a little bashful, and Lucius… looked… guilty? ‘Oh, this is perfect,’ she thought, knowing there would be very little for him to feel guilty about unless he’d manipulated his way into going to Switzerland with her, and that meant… “He’s going with you?” she asked Hermione, before spinning her mock accusatory glare toward Lucius. “You’re going with her? To Zurich? Oh, Draco is gonna go spare. He said you’d never leave the Manor again, not even for books.”

“You got him to agree to go to Zurich?” Narcissa asked the silent witch in question, who, granted, hadn’t been able to get a word in edgeways, pulling her into an unexpected hug. “You, wonderful, sweet witch. I’ve been so worried. How on earth did you get him to agree?”

Lucius cleared his throat to break up the witchfest. “In case none of you have noticed, he is still here, which, coincidentally, is also ‘out of the Manor’. I would thank my nearest and dearest for remembering that, when discussing me as if I was an untrained elf, whom only Madam Granger could tame.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione offered with a cringe, as Pansy and Narcissa offered similar, less genuine apologies at the same time. “The truth of it is, we simply struck a bargain; and before either of you warn me about the pitfalls of ‘dealing with the devil’, so to speak, I assure you, I am getting more out of this than he is.”

“Books, galleons, eternal gratitude…” Lucius proffered, a sarcastic, if rather accurate example of Hermione’s apparent gains. “But please be assured that no one in this room would warn you of not bargaining with me; whilst I am a skilled businessman, you wielded your own tactical  talents perfectly to win your little betting pool. In fact, were it not for your inability to hide an emotion, I daresay you would’ve made a good Slytherin.”

“Thank you,” Hermione expressed warmly, a slight blush returning to her cheeks. “It was a worthy deal, on both sides, and the effort needed was minimal on my part; it’s already mostly done, in fact. Now, all of you really should head into the dining room so we can get this dinner served.”

“Oh, right; dinner; and don’t worry about what you need for your trip. I know exactly what to get, and will make sure Gurdy comes over to pack for you too,” Pansy  explained, happy to accept her role with little fight, especially as she now planned to add a lot of lingerie to the list of items Hermione would need , as well as some figure hugging dresses. “My personal shopper skills are not free, however; you know how strict Gurdy is about wardrobe maintenance and you’re going to need her for about eight hours before her trip.”

“Don’t you dare lumber me with that little… menace,” Hermione warned. Even being as fond of all house elves as she was, and wanting what was best for them; some, like Pansy’s wardrobe manager, was a right little battleaxe. “The trunk is kind of a tip right now, and I’ll never hear the end of it,” she groused, turning back to the dinner and moving each salmon parcel onto its bed of greens.

“Where are the boys?” Narcissa asked, cutting off any further conversation about Gurdy. Hermione needed a very specific wardrobe now that she was to be alone with Lucius for ten days, and if she knew Pansy as well as she thought she did, that wardrobe would absolutely pander to Lucius’s tastes. In fact, as Narcissa was to be on the shopping trip to Milan too, she’d make sure of it.

Hermione looked confused as she tried to remember when she’d last seen Harry and Draco, but realised it had to be before she started cooking. “I’d send a house elf to grab them if I were you. I haven’t seen them since they got back, which means I wouldn’t want to walk in on them, if you know what I mean,” she explained, adding the baby roast potatoes to each plate as Narcissa swiped at the remnants of dill sauce in the pan by the sink. 

Pansy and Lucius chuckled at the implication of Hermione’s words, even though Lucius, as a rule, chose to not think about his son’s sex life. The laughter was soon interrupted however, by a rather sexual sound coming from Narcissa…  “Ohh, my!” she gasped quietly; her delicate, practically ageless features, puckering softly as her eyes closed. “That is positively delicious, and Pansy dear, you were right, this is quite fun; I feel like a child again.” 

“I sincerely doubt the kitchen elves at your parents’ estate would have allowed you to do that, Cissy. I know ours would never have allowed it for me and- erm, us,” Lucius commented, turning away from the group and straightening the non-existent kinks from his suit. 

“It’s such a shame you all grew up in such rigid households. There’s so many things you missed out on,” Hermione added without looking, now adding the small pots of dill sauce to the plates. “Just so everyone knows, the one without sauce is Draco’s. The last time I made this, we had to shove a bezoar down his throat, the reaction to the dill was so bad.”

“I didn’t know about that,” Narcissa accused, swiping the spoon from the counter that had a thick layer of white chocolate sauce on it. Dipping it into the remnants of apricot coulis in the jug, she slipped it into her mouth, and just held it there, savouring the combination of sweet flavours. The sounds that  escaped her now, as she pulled the spoon from her mouth, were not suitable for the public ear. “Clio, Thalia, Urania and Calliope… that’s good,” she breathed, a soft sigh leaving her lips, followed by a hum. “Lucius, you simply cannot wait until after dinner to try this.”

“Wow, she’s invoking the muses; it must be good,” Pansy whispered to Hermione. “The last time I heard her do that, her effervescent roses had just bloomed for the first time.”

“I possess great self-restraint, dear wife; evidently more than yourself,” he commented, the slight distaste in his voice evident, and though no one said anything, they all knew he wasn’t referring to his appetite. “Sometimes the delay of satisfaction of enjoying one's desserts after a well executed meal is the best way to enjoy the creation, and to compliment the chef,” he added softly, the slow patronising lilt clearly aimed at his wife, though the last, he said directly toward Hermione, including a seductive wink. 

And every single one of the countless butterflies in her stomach burst into explosive somersaults at the shiver-inducing tone that she remembered so well from her past. It wasn’t fear that she was shaking with however. “You make dinner sound like an adventure, or a journey,” she commented, trying to shift the conversation a little, and not particularly expecting a response as she popped the tray of mousses back in the cool cupboard.

“And dessert is our final, delectable destination,” she heard Lucius respond, setting off a multitude of reactions - oozing lust, swooping stomach and melting into a puddle of white chocolate mousse - had her gripping the counter where she stood, and trying to limit her outward response down to nothing but the blush that heated her face.  

‘Oh, Gods, please hide the seven shades of Hell’s decor that my face is turning right now, ’ Hermione thought,wishing for the earth to open up and swallow her whole, lest she have to turn around and face them all. Even Narcissa was joining in with innuendo-filled banter - Hermione doubted the mousse was that good - but… why? What had induced this teasing side of her out? Was it a game she and Lucius liked to play? Were they still sleeping together, despite the planned divorce? 

‘Is it some type of retribution?’ she wondered helplessly, her brain storming through a myriad of questions, just hoping to land on the right one as her knuckles turned white against the counter edge. ‘Is she in a snit over the latest remodel and playing along with Pansy’s teasing to torture him or… me? Why would she be trying to wind me up though? It’s not possible she knows about this stupid crush, is it? Dear, sweet Merlin, does she know?!’ 

Her stomach sank at the very thought, and she had to consider whether Pansy had enough virtue to keep her confessions from the man’s wife. ‘ No, she couldn’t have. She wouldn’t… She… She’s… Oh, I am so fucked. Of course, she did. She’s Pansy.’ With that little mystery solved, and a determination to do something dastardly to her best female friend - although perhaps it was time that that situation became vacant again - Hermione returned to her obsession with Lucius’ teasing; the words he’d used about delayed gratification had her wanting to run upstairs to her room and  escape into a fantasyland where he kept her on the edge of bliss. ‘Later,’ she promised herself. ‘For now, just admit to being a hopelessly smitten witch, get your mind out of the gutter and get through dinner.’

Pansy reached for a clean spoon, obviously intent on keeping up the mischievous antics as Hermione decided the best thing to do was ignore them all for as long as possible, waving her wand to put a stasis charm over the plates, before moving onto the washing up. Some things would always be better the muggle way; scourgify just wasn’t as hygienic as soap and water, in her opinion, and perhaps a vigorous scrubbing of the pans would help dispel some of the frustrated sexual tension that had been building up for the last fifteen minutes. 

“You have no idea what you’re missing,” Narcissa teased with a lipsmack, and Hermione fought not to squeak as Pansy sidled up beside her whilst the older pair of snakes antagonised each other.

“Nor do you, “ Pansy whispered in her ear with a throaty chuckle. Whether the witch was referring to their earlier discussion about wanting to fool around with Lucius, or not fooling around with her , Hermione wasn’t sure, but either way, she had to bite down on the inside of her cheek, to continue to ignore the banter.

‘Well, that does it,’ she decided, running the scrubbing brush around the dill sauce pan with vigour. It was absolutely time to have the boys run interference for her. Turning around, she dropped into a squat and leaned under the table. “Hey girl,” she said happily to their half-sleeping dog, Shadow. “Collect the boys for me,” she asked, inciting the large black dog to do nothing but stretch and yawn. “Please…”

The grim-like animal slowly gave in, belly-crawling her hulking size from where she was, before rousing herself to her feet. Before leaving the kitchen for the hallway, she stopped at both Hermione’s legs and Narcissa’s, bumping her head against them in affectionate greeting on her way, then ambled through the door, and broke into a run up the stairs. The sound of massive, clunky paws climbing steps was soon joined by Shadow’s customary, yet off-key howl for attention that echoed loudly through the entire house. 

A laugh from Pansy and Narcissa, as Lucius looked on with confusion - having not been to Grimmauld since his release, or met Shadow - was all Hermione needed to find a modicum of calm, and she joined in happily. Some things, like Shadow's ‘musical’ cry, would never be altered by all the changes that were happening in and around the family, and that gave Hermione an incredible amount of comfort. Come what may with all this silly talk about her and Lucius, and whatever happened with Lucius and Narcissa’s divorce, Shadow could always be relied upon to make that awful sound. And having that constant right now, was a beautiful thing. 

Feeling relaxed for the first time in hours, Hermione shared an amused glance with Pansy; she should’ve known all she needed to calm her was an interaction with Shadow. “I love that dog,” she declared with a smile, looking at Pansy but mostly to the room at large. “I feel bad for her though, not having a mate. Maybe I should talk to the boys about getting her boyfriend.”

“Projecting a little there, Granger?” Pansy laughed, elbowing her friend gently as the sound of movement from upstairs indicated the imminent arrival of the rest of the household.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Don’t start,” she scolded, elbowing the other witch right back, but with a bit more oomph; a warning in disguise. “I am not in the mood to take advice on my love life tonight, from you or anyone else. It is my business and if people know what’s good for them, it’ll stay that way.”

Lucius sensed a little tension between the two younger witches, though the playful camaraderie between them was evident in all of their interactions. He wondered what Hermione had meant by the gently issued threat, and whether Narcissa had already roped Pansy into her crazy schemes. There was a sneaking suspicion that she had, and that the undertone of annoyance he sensed from Hermione was the result of already being pestered about her thoughts on him.  

Dwelling on the particulars of what that might mean though, seemed like more energy than he had to expel at the moment, already feeling slightly off kilter because he was away from the manor, but more especially from seeing a dark omen beast amble past him and climb the stairs of his son’s home. He hadn’t even known the thing was there, sitting at his feet beneath the table.

From his seat, he had a clear view of everything, including the sly glances his wife kept passing back and forth with Pansy whilst Hermione wasn’t looking. After a particularly gleeful look on Narcissa’s face after Hermione’s comment about getting Shadow a boyfriend, and Pansy’s smug one, he was absolutely convinced; the pair were scheming. Part of him felt almost touched that they both cared enough to broker him someone as lovely as Hermione, but the rest of him was appalled on Hermione’s behalf, because, at the end of the day, they were manipulating her.

The presence of that ominous beast unsettled him too; surely it was a sign of what his wife’s meddling would bring to the family. Clearing his throat, Lucius chose his words carefully, needing to burst Narcissa’s gleeful little bubble of schemes with Pansy before they got any more out of hand. “I wasn't aware that Harry’s familiar is a Grim,” he inserted lightly, knowing everyone walked on eggshells when it came to any subject that brought up when he was away, and judging by the sudden quietness in the room - so quiet in fact that he could hear the shower running upstairs, his little comment had done exactly what he had intended. 

Narcissa swallowed hard around the last of the hazelnut pieces she’d just snatched out of the grinding mortar on the table, and Pansy began to fuss with a towel, drying the jugs and pans that Hermione had left to drain and dry. He kept his shrewd eyes on the one witch he knew would break under the awkward silence; the only one of the trio with a heart of gold, rather than Slytherin ice. 

His gaze locked with Hermione’s as she appeared to scramble and search for a ‘nice’ way to respond, with words that didn’t have the potential to upset the mood of the entire evening. He watched her glance to either witch beside her, only to see them avoid her gaze entirely. And the awkward silence grew, almost to the point of snapping before the blissful sound of footsteps descending the stairs broke it. Shadow preceded the boys’ entrance, returning to her belly-crawl position as she approached the table and shuffling back to her spot after a job well done, completely ignorant of the mild turmoil she’d caused. 

The giant dog stretched once she was in position, letting out a deep groan, and pulling Hermione’s attention from the blond across the room. A fond smile tilted the corners of her lips and something sharp fell from the renewed rigidity of her shoulders. “Shadow was a gift to Harry four years ago,” she informed, keeping her eyes on the apparently beloved beast beneath the table. “She was found by another Auror during a raid and was gifted to Harry; I assume because someone remembered Sirius’ animagus form. It was touch and go for a moment whether he’d appreciate the reminder but it turned out he was ecstatic. We think she’s actually a mixed breed; half Giant Schnauzer, half Grim, but she’s the most gentle giant, and really loving.” 

“All due to Harry’s loving nature and care, I assure you,” Narcissa inserted, having also taken a liking to Shadow over the years. The large black dog had been of huge comfort during the later years of her solitude at the Manor, and so she had become first choice for dog sitter when both Harry and Draco were away on assignment, rather than leaving the beast’s care to Kreacher and Draco’s elf.

Pansy snorted. “A bleeding heart, just like most Gryffs,” she added, her trademark smirk firmly in place as her nose tilted into the air, playfully mocking the disdain she once had for the house of lions. “You’d never find a Slytherin acting so soft.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermione chuckled. “I've seen my fair share of Slytherins proving they have a heart, and to be honest, I have no idea why you all try to hide it so much. It’s sort of endearing really, when it shows,” she added, sharing a poignant look with Pansy.

It was a sweet story actually… Everyone just knew that Draco was the Auror who had given Harry the abandoned puppy, and how that tender moment had turned into a significant milestone for their relationship. It seemed, however, that no one had thought to inform Lucius of the significant but not obvious little detail. Hermione hoped the retelling helped Lucius to feel included, even though it circled around the fact that he wasn’t around to see this turning point in his son’s life.

His time ‘away’ was still a sore point and it always paid to tread very lightly when discussing events that he wasn’t present for; it just couldn’t always be avoided and many arguments had seemingly erupted out of nowhere in the early months of his return home. Hermione hoped this would not be one of those; they were far less common now, and Lucius had picked up on a lot more of what he’d missed just by being observant. She knew everyone was still careful though, because there were things about all of their lives that seemed inconsequential to them, but were heart-breaking reminders to Lucius that he’d missed six years of his son’s and wife’s life.

Harry and Draco arrived before any real reaction was thrown out, and with their timely entrance, the atmosphere of the kitchen immediately brightened. Draco walked straight to his father at the kitchen table, and greeted the man with an arm around the shoulder and a squeeze, which seemed to soothe the tension that lingered there. “Looking good, old man. Almost as good as me,” Draco snarked, sensing the mood shift with their arrival and wishing to lighten it further with a humorous and well-placed barb.

“Mind your cheek, Draco,” Lucius scolded, his imperial tone reminding both Harry and Hermione of the small encounter they had with ‘the Malfoys’ at the beginning of the Quidditch World Cup. “You are not too old to go over my knee.”

“Yes; don’t boast, Draco,” Hermione added, employing the sneer she’d been trying to perfect ever since she became friends with a bunch of Slytherins, and quoting Lucius verbatim from that small encounter in 1994. She had mastered the dry, cultured tone and the level of disdain he used to emit; to a ‘scary degree’ according to Harry. “There’s no need with these people.”

She laughed in the next second, just to assure Lucius, who seemed unsure how to take her mimicry, that it was simply good-natured ribbing. Everyone else seemed to share her mirth and burst into fits of laughter too, so after a few seconds, he played along and nodded his head in acceptance of the fun-making she’d used at his expense. ‘At least it’s something he was present for,’ she thought to console herself. ‘And he has to grow a sense of humour about the past at some point. It’s been years.’

Of course, Pansy had to make it worse… “And I think the spankings fall under Harry’s job description now, Uncle,” she managed to inform through an extended fit of laughter.

“Will you stop telling people, especially the parent people, that I let Harry spank me,” Draco growled. This was not the first time such a claim had been made by Pansy; although to be fair, she had witnessed it. “Even if it was true, which it categorically is not, it’s not something I would wish to share with the group, and I doubt they’d want to know either.”

A glance at ‘the parent people’ told everyone that Draco was speaking the truth, but Hermione couldn’t help but continue the joke just a little further. Basking in the false sense of security from the lightened mood, her mental filters were somewhat numbed. “Aww, did we finally find something that little Draco doesn’t want to boast about?” she asked gleefully, revelling in the victory when Draco blushed.

“Kindly desist, the lot of you,” Lucius requested as Hermione and Pansy high-fived. “I fail to understand how this needs to be stated so plainly amongst the cultured, intelligent minds we have in this room, but I have no interest in knowing what my son and his husband get up to in the privacy of their bedroom.”

“Oh, it’s not just the bedroom; right Hermione?” Pansy questioned, clearly not knowing when to shut up. “How many times have you caught them at it? In the lounge room? On the stairs? In here?”

Hermione laughed. “Oh, loads,” she answered, smirking. “And don’t look at me like that, Harry. First of all, if you cared about your privacy, you wouldn’t use public areas of the house, or you could at least remember that nifty invisibility cloak that you have in your possession; second of all, Draco, I have no idea why you’re so embarrassed about a bit of slap ‘n’ tickle; from what I remember, it’s hot as hell and really fun to play tug of war with power dynamics. Also, you’re literally newlyweds, so everyone just assumes you’re at it like nifflers, whether they want to admit it or not.” At the last, her eyes skewed to Lucius, silently telling him not to bother arguing with an eyebrow lift.

A subtle heat simmered there, causing something inside her to quake in response, but with a blink, it was gone, and she had no choice but to chalk it up to imagination. It wasn’t like her visualisation skills hadn’t been well exercised lately. 

Harry rolled his eyes, ignoring the banter and moving toward Narcissa; not even slightly embarrassed by the conversation as he greeted his mother-in-law. “You look lovely tonight, Cissa,” he complimented, kissing both of her cheeks. It had become something of a habit, to always say something sweet to her when they saw one another, though it wasn’t always on her appearance. 

“We’re already married, my love; you don’t have to butter mum up anymore,” Draco said with a smirk, happy to turn the conversation away from his sex life. In a similar action to Hermione earlier, he squatted at the table and gave Shadow some love, ruffling the fur on her head and tickling behind her ears. “There’s a good girl,” he cooed as Harry replied from above. 

“It is for the good of a wizard's health that he always compliments the witches in his life,” Harry quipped from beside Narcissa, twisting at the waist to look back at his father-in-law. “Back me up here, Lucius.” 

“Always on the right side of things, you are, Mr Potter,” Lucius murmured as Draco stood up again and moved to the counter to peek into the jug of leftover coulis; a nod and slight smirk to his son-in-law subtly indicating he was not just speaking of the current conversation. 

“Thank you, Harry, dear,” Narcissa commented warmly, embracing her son-in-law from the side, whilst reaching around him to swat Draco’s hand away from the still half full, jug of apricot coulis that only moments ago, she’d been dipping into herself. “Fingers out, Dragon.”

Hermione gave Draco a smug smile as he gave her a put-upon pout, no doubt hoping that ‘ Chef’ would overrule his mother’s command. Hermione shrugged, mouthing ‘too bad’ at the blond, before waving her wand at the plates and sending them all to the dining table in the other room. “Dinner awaits everyone. Let’s move to the dining room,” she instructed with a smile, holding back to let everyone else go through first. 

“Not that I’m complaining, but why are the pair of you home so soon?” Narcissa asked, taking the lead through the connecting door, with Harry as her escort.

Unbeknownst to Hermione though, who was putting the leftover coulis in the cool cupboard, Harry glanced back at Draco and subtly shook his head at his husband before turning back around. She heard Harry clear his throat in response though, and listened carefully for any information on what case had dragged them from their original four-week honeymoon in the Seychelles. “We just had to cut the trip short due to a fresh lead in a case we've been working on for months,” Harry explained evasively.

They always kept the information of their cases confidential, of course, but she’d picked up on one that they seemed to be completely tight-lipped about around her, and it was starting to piss her off. In what world was she untrustworthy? She knew the answer to that, and so did they, which meant she was either somehow indirectly involved or they were trying to protect from something. Whether that was a potential threat or just something hurtful, she didn’t know, but what she did know was that she was sick to the back teeth of being kept in the dark.

“Which is clearly a capital offence. Who would intentionally end all that honeymoon fun, just for work; especially since they have an absurd amount of gold and and don’t even need to work in the first place,” Pansy stated, apparently rather ticked off herself as she followed after Harry and Narcissa.

Draco sniffed before taking her arm and entering the dining room, leaving Lucius to escort Hermione. “It’s no different to what happens at home, Pans,” he explained with a smirk. “And catching all the baddies with Harry is something to keep my adrenaline habit hotter than dragon fire.” The blonde smirked over his shoulder, hiding the information that catching all the baddies was a personal reminder to him, that he wasn’t one. 

“Don’t forget the wine, H,” Hermione heard Pansy call, giving her a very convenient excuse to delay taking Lucius’ arm when they joined the others. There wasn’t enough occlumency in the world to keep her blush away when she inevitably ended up doing that. She felt completely inept as a Gryffindor as she put off a thing she’d done at least ten times before. ‘Come on, Granger. Where’s your backbone?’ she scolded mentally, but it was all for naught. Things were just different now, and her body wasn’t going to let her forget it.

“Hey, Pans, I have an idea,” Hermione baited, unable to resist at least one line of defence against whatever provocative things her friend would say through dinner. “If you can resist indulging until dessert reaches the table, I'll make a few extra portions for you to take home,” she challenged loudly, pulling a basket of fresh rolls from the warming drawer and placing them on the wooden table. Lucius stood then, clearly assuming she was ready to go through and grabbing the wine to save her a job. “Thanks,” she told him quietly, when he levitated the wine glasses through the door to the dining table. “I just have one more thing to do.”

“You have yourself a deal, Granger!” Pansy called, taking a carefully chosen seat, as she and Narcissa coordinated the seating arrangement with nothing more than looks and nods.

Lucius was just about to make his way into the dining room when he was waylaid by Hermione, stopping in front of him at the Welsh dresser behind the door. Clearly oblivious to his plans to leave the room, she bent herself  in half, right in front of him, and reached out to pull one of the low drawers open. She was at a bit of an awkward angle though, it seemed, and he watched with amusement as frustration prickled at the edges of her determination. Each jiggle-tug she made to the handle, caused her breasts to sway deliciously, and completely available to his vision from where he stood; her top gaping like a champion. He couldn’t be sure whether the flush creeping up her neck and cheeks was from the effort she was exerting or knowledge of his view, but either way, it was a lovely thing to witness. 

Being the gentleman he was raised to be, after a minute or two of her failing to open the drawer, Lucius bent to assist. “Allow me,” he offered chivalrously, smiling as he crouched beside her. Even with him at a third of his height, in the undignified position of a squat, her head was almost a foot below his, meaning she had to turn and peer up at him to say ‘thank you’. 

Finally, when he placed his free hand over hers, she figured out it was her position that had led to the awkward angle and lack of leverage. Feeling a little ridiculous for not realising sooner, she bent at the knees and joined him in a crouch. The warm, dry texture of his hand was a shock though, and so, whilst her knees gave way easily, her hand, suddenly spooned and dwarfed by his, was unable to move.

For Lucius, that frozen extremity on the handle was an anomaly to Hermione’s intellect, so gripping it tighter, he twisted both her wrist and his, giving the drawer a firm tug, and joking with her that, “it usually helps to turn the handle, Granger.” 

She laughed along to cover her embarrassment as the drawer slid open smoothly. “So much for my lauded brains,” she commented self-deprecatingly, grabbing one of the cloth napkins that lived in the stupid thing as he stood again. “How did I forget it had a latch function? Draco’s bloody handiwork, that was; remember his DIY kick last month? This was probably the only thing he did that worked.”

“Don’t remind me. Whilst I have learned to accept, and even like, a lot of things produced by the muggle world - yourself included - ‘do it yourself’ is not one of them. My grandmother’s antique fainting couch has not recovered from Draco’s reupholstery attempts. It runs to the attic and hides whenever he’s at the Manor.”

Hermione chuckled, quickly covering the bread with a cloth napkin, which she shoved closed with her knee, a touch forcefully that was necessary. “At least it wasn’t just here that suffered,” she commented with a smile as the glassware in the upper display section of the dresser rattled ominously.

“Hmmm,” was his only response as he watched the flush on her face deepen, hoping it was because he’d admitted to ‘liking’ her. A bubble of excitement ran up his spine as she tried to cover the pinkness, turning her face down whilst she tucked the napkin around the top of the rolls. There was a slight hesitation, as if she’d quickly considered fleeing before thinking better of it, and taking just a further moment to gather herself. 

Lucius witnessed a slow rise and fall in the motion of her shoulders from the calming breaths she was clearly employing. The evidence was mounting that Narcissa’s theory - of Hermione harbouring an attraction for him - was correct; so as she turned back to him, he took a subconscious step closer, curious if he could garner anything more concrete than her frequent blushes. She was hardly a shy individual, to warrant the regular beetrooting of her face, but he was yet to be convinced that he or his proximity was the cause.

It was the worst kind of predicament, trying to balance what he knew with what he wanted. Hermione had shown him a tremendous wealth of kindness since the rekindling of their acquaintance, but he was not blind, and saw all too clearly that she gave such kindness to many others, as well. He’d seen it in action with his own eyes, not even a fortnight ago, at Draco’s wedding. Her forgiveness was unparalleled, her ferocity unmatched, but most assuredly, her kind heart was her gift to the world, magical and muggle alike. He refused, even as he could not help but subtly take in the scent of her hair, to mistake her kindness for more, and ruin the friendship they had built. 

It was all so very tempting though… the allure of knowing the truth. He simply had to test the theory; he had to know if Narcissa’s claims were truthful. Did the beautiful Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age (or any age if his opinion mattered), and most intelligent creature he’d had the gift of becoming acquainted with, harbour amorous feelings for him? It seemed too good to be true if she did.

The look of surprise at his closeness, and the slight intake of breath that accompanied it, was most certainly another hit of dopamine, and as close visual proof as he was going to get, for now, that his soon to be ex-wife’s belief was not fallacy. It was hard to feel completely convinced though; attraction was easy, and no one could really deny that he was an attractive man. The problem lay in the knowledge that Hermione Granger was as far removed from easy as it was possible to be, and it would take far more than mere physical attraction to hold the attentions of a witch such as her. 

‘Why was I foolish enough to waste so many months not paying closer attention to all of these little expressions and mannerisms? Surely I should be the shame of Slytherin for losing and House Malfoy, for losing my once powerful skills of observation. Such secrets unfurl themselves in that melted honey gaze...’ Hope bubbled in his chest, and like a giddy fool, eager for the joy he’d been starved of, he latched onto the idea of her undying devotion to him, like an oasis in the arid deserts of Egypt. ‘Zurich is going to be far better than I expected,’ he decided, turning his ‘charming smile’ on the intriguing witch before him. Granted, it was rusty with years of being underutilised, but that would not remain a problem, now that it was going to be a permanent fixture.

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat as something in his smile changed; she couldn’t discern a difference in the curve of his lips or the quality of the emotion behind it, but something had definitely shifted because whatever was happening behind those swirling mercurial eyes, had her wanting to shudder with pleasure, right there. Of course, the now undeniable part of her that was totally in love with him, swooned into a puddle of goo, as thick and decadent as the white chocolate sauce she’d made earlier.

Unbidden, her internal muscles clenched with desire, at both both his very close by body and whatever that unnameable shift had been, and as her heart sped just a little more, she knew the sensible thing to do, the wise choice, would be to take a step back. That way, she would at least free herself of his intoxicating cedar, oak and bergamot scent. ‘Gods, I want to bathe in just the smell of him,’ she admitted only to herself, jostling the bread basket in her hands, as she took a step back and gave him a shaky smile.

He was nowhere near done with this experiment however, and as she moved away, he stepped closer again, closing the distance. He could feel his wedding band warming; a slow, rhythmic pulse of a warning, and he played the dangerous cat and mouse game he’d begun. It felt like they were dancing, almost… when she moved, he moved; predator and prey locked into their roles until an inevitable conclusion. He just wondered what would happen if she called him on it. 

‘What is he doing?’ she wondered skittishly as he closed in, a flutter of anticipation in her stomach indicating that her body knew exactly what he was doing, even if her mind refused to acknowledge the possibility. Even now, as she focused on making her mouth work, uttering a shaky, “thank you” for his assistance with the drawer, she felt her knickers dampening. 

He nodded once in acceptance of her gratitude before taking another step closer to her, eliminating the distance to little more than the small relief the bread basket afforded her. The tightening of her fingers on the basket - in nerves or anticipation, Lucius did not know, but he’d not missed the action - found the snitch of hope that he was holding so tightly to, soaring eternally upward. Nor did he miss the unconscious peeping of her tongue from the closed pillows of her soft-looking lips, leaving an inviting trail of moisture in its wake.

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, alarm bells rang, but he couldn’t help but seize the moment; he had to know for sure before truly considering the pursuit of a love life after his divorce. Hope may have blossomed at the recognition of an apparently very requited physical attraction but… ‘Does it hold substance?’  

It was a million galleon question, of course and, though he feared the correct answer as much as he desired it, the numbers would have to result in a resounding yes for him to truly pursue her. With any other witch, he would accept whatever was available and continue his existence as it was, but from Hermione Granger…? He could accept nothing less.

He knew himself well enough to know a true meeting of the minds, hearts and souls, was the least he would want from this witch, and with that in mind, Lucius leaned in ever so slightly closer, allowing his desire to shine openly in his eyes as he stared at her in wonder. Everything he showed was reflected straight back; like a mirror of everything their life could be if they only got over themselves and admitted… ‘This is it!’ 

It was so much, too much, and at the burning sensation on his left hand, he allowed his eyes to drop down to the bread basket in her hands, clutched into her abdomen like a life buoy, right below what he imagined to be the perfect, handful-sized breasts. Clearing his throat lightly, he managed to form words… “Is cooking the Muggle way your preference?” he inquired gently, amused that the unexpected and seemingly innocuous question had caught her off guard.

It took a moment of staring into the beautiful face of her devastatingly handsome ‘friend’, but eventually, it dawned on her what was happening and a playful spark lit her eyes. In the quiet, intimate setting of the Grimmauld Place kitchen, Hermione leaned in, and in hushed tones, only loud enough to be heard over Shadow’s snoring, issued an unlikely devastating secret…“Absolutely. It’s not so different from brewing potions.” Knowing he could neither brew potions well or likely cook, even by magical means, she took great pleasure in pointing out the deficiency in this way that wouldn’t be deemed offensive.

Lucius’ shrewd grey eyes sparkled brightly at her jesting, alighting with playfulness as he pretended to take a hit to the chest. She loved that he was playing along, loved that he was not, or was no longer, the stiff, bigoted aristocratic that she’d known him to be. It was wonderful, and she liked to think she had something to do with it; that she had influenced him positively, for the good. It was unsurprising therefore, with these things swirling, uncatchable, in her mind, that Hermione could feel that odd, swooping tug behind her belly button, ‘the tingling tug’; her libido was knocking, and despairingly, she knew it wasn’t possible to  answer the door with this wizard Not yet, at least, and maybe never. 

It was a simple fact that she had to stop tormenting herself, and she knew that; finding Lucius attractive - ludicrously attractive, if she was honest with herself - didn’t change the fact that he was still married, and regardless of whether this ‘flirting’ behaviour was real and could lead to something later or just a bit of fun, she had to protect their friendship from her blasted hormones. To that end, she quickly scanned her mind for something she could interest him with, and shifted into a new, safe topic; safe enough to not make him suspicious of her… “Did you see the notification in The Prophet about ‘Charmed Novels’ moving their rare book sale up by a week, this year?”

The smouldering sex god slowly retreated at the mentioned books, an area where they were certainly safe, and was replaced with the gleeful enthusiast who never failed to let her penetrate slightly further beyond his vast emotional walls. She was both the demolition crew and the creator of new foundations. “I did, and…”

“Talk about old books later,” Pansy interrupted with a cheeky wink, popping her head around the door frame from the dining room and inciting a brand new flush to erupt on Hermione’s cheek, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. “I’d like to get to the dessert course before cronehood kicks in, if at all possible.” 

“Sorry, Pans. Just coming,” Hermione replied, following Pansy and once again clutching the basket of bread rolls like it was going to stop her from jumping Lucius. With each step she took, she could feel his presence, just a pace behind her. Between the weight of his eyes on her and the smell of him lingering in her nostrils, betwixt the scent of warm herb-baked rolls, she was amazed she was able to stay upright. ‘For fuck’s sake. You are not Lavender Brown. Get a fucking hold of yourself.’

Passing into the dining room just as Pansy made herself comfortable next to Narcissa, she clocked the remaining seats available and determined that some sort of conspiring had taken place. The only spaces left for Hermione and Lucius to eat would seat them side by side for at least the next hour… At the medium-sized round table, Harry was seated between Narcissa and Draco on the far side, facing the door to the kitchen, leaving just the two open spots, right next to each other between Pansy and Draco. If they were a party of six children, or even four adults, there would have been plenty of space, but with six adults…? It was going to be a little intimate.

On the one hand, Hermione was rather thrilled to spend the next however long, bathing in the delicious scent of Lucius as they ate, on the other hand… ‘I’m going to hex you bald, Pansy Parkinson!’ she grumbled mentally, imagining how delightful it would feel to throw the rolls at her meddling friend. ‘Oh, how fun it would be to fulfil the almost lifetime fantasy of pelting Pansy in the head over and over again…? Actually… why the fuck shouldn’t I?’ she questioned, before lowering one of her permanent shields a bit and, without even looking - because Severus had taught her several fun tricks like that - sent the devious little cow a vision… 

Except it wasn’t bread rolls she was throwing at all. The freedom of making it a mental attack, meant she could upgrade the ammo; so instead, just as she passed behind the conniving Slytherin witch, she placed a hand on Pansy’s shoulder - for implied innocence -  and sent Fred and George’s ‘Dreadful Dungbombs’ hurtling through the ether. From mind to mind they travelled, delivering the smell of rotten eggs directly into the sense receptors of her best the other witch’s brain. 

Taking the open seat next to the dark-haired witch, Hermione pinched Pansy in the side and placed the basket of rolls onto the table for everyone to partake. “You’ll pay for this,” she whispered out of the side of her mouth, just as Pansy choked slightly on the smell that was only detectable to her. It was difficult to hide her amusement at her little trick, but managed, just about.

“I’d like to see you try, poppet,” Pansy murmured back, reaching for her water glass. Anything that would help kill off the vile scent that was attacking her olfactory senses would be a blessing. “You’ve haven’t caught me off guard since 1998.”

“Ahh yes, I did best you rather well that day, didn’t I?” Hermione responded smugly as she watched Lucius uncork the bottle of wine and fill everyone’s goblets. “One armed, as well, if I remember correctly. Good times!” 

“Can’t we just eat? I’m starving,” Harry interrupted, as oblivious as ever to all the underhanded tactics at work around the table, bless him. “Although, I think we should start by thanking our wonderful chef,” he added with a smile, picking up his wine goblet and raising it toward Hermione first. 

A chorus of “cheers” went to Hermione before Lucius finally took his seat - causing her to rapidly suppress a shudder of desire - and everyone settled into their food as Harry regaled them all with honeymoon tales… Draco playing with dolphins outside the oceanfront bungalow they’d rented, and the near-miss they had with a sailboat whilst on muggle jet skis.

The evening had gone well, so far; everyone had finished dinner with no major incidents, each commenting at different moments about the deliciousness of the flavour, or the inventiveness of muggles; En Croute not being ‘a thing’ in the magical world. Hermione’s only complaint would be Pansy’s occasional foot nudges, which in response to, she’d had no choice but to move her feet further and further away from Pansy to the other side of her; the Lucius side.

The infuriating witch had just done it again, but this time, with her counter move toward Lucius, she accidentally kicked him in the heel. “Oh, excuse me,” she said, covering the faux pas by pushing her chair back. “I think we need another bottle of wine. Even getting through the two you brought with you, and what I had with Pansy earlier, I’m getting way too sober to endure more honeymoon sexcapade tales, à la Potter-Malfoy.” 

Lucius stood swiftly at her exit; years of ingrained etiquette making it an automatic response. Though, it was also thanks to his ingrained manners that he did not default to asking a house elf to bring the wine. Having gotten to know Hermione rather well over the last few months, he knew the muggleborn witch would not appreciate such a gesture; more importantly however, by keeping his mouth shut, he would be able to seize the opportunity to - covertly - look at her rear end as she walked away. ‘Or this? This works too…’ he thought, as the witch almost landed in his lap.

With such limited space around the table, and having already shifted closer to Lucius to avoid Pansy’s invading foot, Hermione found she had no room to step back; losing her balance and toppling a little to ‘the Lucius side’. His reflexes were immediate, so that within seconds, she was held upright, pinned between the gorgeous male specimen to her right and the back of her chair. 

Heat rose in her cheeks as she turned her head a little to give Lucius a brief glance, the air suddenly charging with a frisson of very specific energy as she let out a little laugh. “Sorry,” she muttered, twisting her body very carefully to avoid brushing against him too intimately as she righted herself. Gripping the back of the chair, she blessedly managed to manoeuvre herself enough that she had some breathing room and a bit of distance from Lucius’ heat. 

Then, just as Lucius dropped his hold of her, and she was about to enact her plan to exit the table for a few seconds to collect herself, Narcissa spoke, and the entire escape was thwarted. “Lucius, dear, why don’t you go find a dessert wine to pair with that irresistible-looking, white chocolate mousse Hermione made for us?” 

“Of course, dear ,” he offered indulgently, having come to the conclusion that Pansy was most definitely involved in his wife’s schemes; now, he would help them along too. If he had to deal with Hermione’s ire later, when she discovered she’d  been manipulated…? ‘Well, surely a multitude of orgasms as I devour her will help in returning me to her good graces.’ Stepping out from the side of his chair, he offered a hand to the beautiful witch…“Would you lead the way to the wine cellar, Miss Granger?” he asked, formally. 

Pansy was ecstatic with tonight's manipulation of the circumstances. Whilst Harry and Draco were wrapped up in a mini conversation about something completely irrelevant to everyone else, Hermione headed for the lauded Black Wine Cellar, Lucius trailing behind her, being about as covert as an Erumpent. She could barely hold her giggles in as she shared a look with Narcissa; Lucius was not watching where he was going, but rather unsubtly concentrating on the pendulous sway of Granger's delectable arse in her fitted trousers. ‘Ummhmm…’  she thought smugly, delighted that the scheming was working well. They already seemed closer. ‘At least he has good taste in witches. It’s just a crying shame she doesn’t cast for witches. None of this would’ve been necessary.’  

Narcissa softly cleared her throat and gave the younger witch a wink. In return, Pansy exchanged a smug, knowing smile with the woman who was like a second mother to her. The atmosphere at the table had perceptively shifted with Hermione and Lucius’ departure, leaving the remaining four in an almost conspiratorial silence.

“Pans… what’s going on?” Draco asked, his eyes cutting to Narcissa, accusatory and speculative at the same time as he tried to work out why he felt so ‘in the dark’ all of a sudden.

“I know nothing,” Pansy commented dryly, picking up her wine and taking a small sip; dinner was over, so they were technically in the vicinity of the dessert course, so she was allowed her wine, and would be demanding her extra dessert from Hermione to take home. She recognised now, with Draco’s curiosity, it was possible she’d been a touch too obvious in her literal pushing of Hermione, but if Draco was asking, he didn’t know the reason for it, so surely, it wasn’t that bad.

“That much has always been clear, but you are far easier to break than my mother,” Draco smirked, before sipping from his own goblet. “So, spill the beans before I start digging… with Auror resources at my disposal. Maybe I’ll even ask Hermione to help me sniff it out; she’s good at that sort of thing, isn’t she?”

Draco felt satisfied when he saw a touch of panic in Pansy’s eyes and the almost imperceptible look that his best friend of fifteen years subtly gave his mother. ‘Definitely something to do with Hermione then,’ he concluded as his peripheral vision saw Narcissa shake her head slightly.

“You know I’m never responsible for starting anything,” the raven-haired witch answered after a few seconds, ostensibly throwing his mother under the proverbial Knight Bus.

“Settle down now children; no games at the dinner table,” Narcissa said smoothly, effectively ending the conversation before it could get going and changing the subject. “Harry dear, how is your cousin doing?”

“He’s fine,” Harry responded but was not to be swayed from the change in atmosphere; it reminded him of the summer before fifth year, when he was being kept out of Order meetings. “Draco, love,” he began, trailing off and sounding perplexed as his eyes shifted between his husband, his mother in law and Pansy, causing the confusion to grow. He was not as proficient at translating the Slytherin modus operandi as Hermione was but he definitely had a feeling it all had something to do with her… Well, her and her his father-in-law. “I feel like I’m missing something a bit obvious here,” he said innocently, before turning to Draco and giving ‘the smoulder’; the one that Draco admitted made resistance completely futile.

“Oh, no fair…” Pansy bellowed across the table, seeing the move Harry was making for what it was. “You can’t manipulate information out of him with dirty tricks like that.”

“Yes, he can,” Draco answered for his husband, completely lost in his verdant green eyes and unwilling to look at who he was addressing. “If I knew anything, I’d tell you everything, my love,” he added sappily to Harry, like he was a lovesick puppy.

A slightly disgusted look crossed Pansy’s face as she took in the loving couple; it was so sickening how mushy they got sometimes. As much as she adored her single life, a small part of her wished someone was calling her ‘my love’; although, if anyone made that sappy face at her, she’d hex them stupid.

“Pansy, sweetheart; would you take the dishes through to the kitchen and bring out the desserts ready for Lucius and Hermione’s return?” Narcissa instructed, needing to have a word with her son about keeping his very nosy nose out of her plans.

“Yes, mum,” Pansy teased, standing from her seat and pulling her wand out to float the dinner plates to the sink.

Chapter Text

GRIMMAULD PLACE - LONDON 

WEDNESDAY, 21TH JUNE, 2006

The wine cellar had mostly escaped the ‘Great Renovation of 2001’; with the exception of Bill Weasley’s assistance to remove any dark magic that lingered in the walls, racks and barrels, the space still strongly resembled how it looked a hundred years ago. The only addition to the structure was a large fake-window - much like the fancy offices at the Ministry - to provide the appearance of natural light. It was all much better maintained now too, than it had been in the past, and not a single cobweb clung to a corner. 

In the low lighting, Lucius and Hermione walked row after row of elaborately carved wine racks, taking in the curves and corks of meticulously arranged bottles, some of which, Lucius knew, had been sitting there since he was just a boy himself. A tense silence of necessary conversations, deliberately not being had, permeated the atmosphere between them the entire time, even though the temperature was cooling to her remaining blushes and as wavering shadows danced upon the walls, reflecting oddly off the bottles, wizard and witch continued to ignore the gigantic pink elephant of sexual tension. 

Instead, they both steadfastly focused on the task at hand and allowed the stark contrast between the cellar’s cool air and the stifling warmth of the Grimmauld Place dining room above, to wrap them in a cocoon of denial. For Lucius, it had become impossible to know for sure how to act around the witch who was captivating his thoughts during every waking moment. She was unlike any witch he had ever known, and particularly in light of the need to place a name in his divorce contract, the usual rules of engagement no longer applied. Everything would be different this time, because he was different; the macrocosm of society had shifted, but so had the microcosm that was Lucius Malfoy. He was navigating uncharted waters. 

In a mere eleven days, Lucius had grappled with, and come to accept, how undeniably captivated by her he was; how, it was in their quiet, shared moments that his interest evolved beyond friendship and respect. For the chance of reciprocation, of a life with this little dynamo… There was little he would not do. However, all the revelations in the world, about his foolish heart’s folly, barely scratched the surface of their history. No matter which way one looked at it, the stark reality remained: she was a woman half his age, and her allure could draw the attention of any wizard she deemed fit. 

Narcissa’s orchestrated plans, even as well-intentioned as they were, could hold no guarantees when it came to a witch like Hermione Granger. A tower of independence who was immovable in the face of manipulation would not be coerced by preaching pureblood tradition; nor would she make a decision this long-lasting and life-changing without due consideration. Knowing such things about her, led to a terrifying conclusion… The connection that already existed between them would have to evolve on its own, guided by mutual consent and a shared vision of what they could become. 

The scent of aged oak and subtle hints of wine bouquets wafted through the air, arresting his senses and mingling with the pretty scent of Hermione’s perfume; the combination was almost as worthy of drowning in as that of his library after she’d lingered all day. ‘By Merlin’s mercy, I am besotted,’ he thought helplessly, adjusting his belt in an effort to shift the not-quite-so-soft evidence of his arousal. The reaction in his trousers had become commonplace since his initial suspicions of attraction, but there was nothing to be done; it was the inevitable side effect of losing control of one’s ever-wandering gaze when she was in sight.

The atmosphere was positively thick with need and anticipation; their unspoken desires clinging to the space between them like a tantalising promise, drawing them ever closer to a no doubt clinching, dramatic embrace. There was little wonder in why Lucius couldn’t help but let his gaze travel longingly down the back side of Hermione’s soft, feminine form, just as he had done days before when he'd last seen her. Finding the courage to be in her company however, without feeling like an unworthy , lecherous old man, was going to be a challenge.

‘One for another day,’ he decided, pushing all of the self-deprecating guff to the back of his mind, lest Hermione scold him for it. She had become rather too adept at reading him since their acquaintance had sweetened to friendship, and whilst he wasn’t ready for her to completely see his infatuation, she was still managing to ensnare his mind and heart. It was completely thrilling to let himself contemplate having those feelings for another witch, but terrifying too, that she had so unsuspectingly found her way into every facet of his life in a short eighteen months, and was, by some unimaginable magic, unravelling the walls he'd erected to protect himself decades ago. 

‘You’ve let her under your skin, boy… thoroughly.’ His father's voice, as it echoed in his head, sounded extremely unimpressed in its judgement, and Lucius knew that was something else that needed to be locked down before it said something unkind about Hermione. Blinking several times, he locked the sound of his sire back in its occluded prison, and to shake the fixation he had with Hermione’s rump, Lucius turned his attention to the nearest long row of wine bottles, trailing a finger across the cool curvature of the glass as they searched for the vintage Pansy had mentioned. 

There was a desperate need to give himself a little visual relief, so, pausing his stride at the next gap in the aisle, he slipped through, momentarily distancing himself. The respite was absolutely necessary, he told himself, just to regain his composure. Otherwise, he’d do something so debauched, it would have his wedding band burning his whole hand off. “So,” he began, his voice huskier than he'd anticipated, though whether from not speaking for several minutes or the undischarged desire in his veins, he refused to say. Clearing his throat, he tried again, masking his emotions this time. “You and Pansy seem to have quite the camaraderie?”

Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the questioning lilt behind his words, even as her laughter carried a hint of bashfulness. From across the top row of dark bottles between them, Lucius relinquished his reprieve and was quickly engulfed in the light of her golden-brown eyes, sparkling with mirth in the low light that reflected warmly off the glass. “Ah yes. Well, Pansy has a knack for adding drama to even the most mundane of circumstances, and as embarrassing as I sometimes find her commentary, she’s amusing enough to keep around.”

Lucius' lips curved into a smile, his gaze resting on her with a mixture of intrigue and something deeper vying for supremacy in his chest. “It appears you also possess the same talent as Miss Parkinson for orchestrating situations in your favour,” he accused wryly, the mirth of his observation dancing in his eyes.

Hermione's face softened with a contemplative smile. “I thought you’d be more appreciative of my more Slytherin approach to things; seizing opportunities when they present themselves,” she offered, her expression turning slightly more feral as she lightly poked fun at his Hogwarts heritage and slid easily through the small gap in the wine racks to ‘his aisle’. “Have you visited Zurich before?” she asked, knowing it was better to change the subject than let him get into an argument about Slytherinness. “It will be my first visit, so I looked into what’s worth doing. There’s a chocolate museum on the Muggle side, you know? It’s calling to me already so it’s definitely on the to-do list.”

From Lucius’ vantage point, which had him hovering more than a foot above her curly head of hair, Hermione’s simple ivory blouse revealed an inviting hint of cleavage, and his heart rate picked up with each subtly stolen glance at the quarter-inch crevice. The situation was made no easier by her delicate fingers - with neatly manicured nails - reaching across the distance between them and swiping a bit of soot from the front of his vest. Even after all these months, the reality of her intentionally touching him seemed improbable, and ironic considering his unwillingness to touch her in his previous incarnation as a bigoted bastard. 

Swallowing around the aroused anticipation that rose from her touch - ‘and must remain unanswered,’ he reminded himself - Lucius took a small step back from the seductress before him. “I have been to Zurich,” he told her stiffly, trying to create at least the illusion of control over his feelings. “Several times, in fact. You must remind me to introduce you to the true chocolatier of the Swiss. I believe your requirement for a single tour outside of the auctions would be best fulfilled by a private showing of the Saveurs de Magique.”

“I believe that will meet the requirements nicely, Mr Malfoy” Hermione replied, a cheeky grin lighting her face as they continued to pass rack after rack. “And look at you, doing extra credit; anything involving chocolate will always earn you tremendous amounts of House points with me.”

“Did you never consider teaching as a career? Hogwarts would have been lucky to have you,” Lucius commented, accepting her sarcasm and enthusiastic nod as a good sign, before finally putting any effort into finding the wine they’d been sent to retrieve. The magically extended aisles (courtesy of his companion, no doubt) were vast, and as much as he wished to linger here in the low lighting, with the pretty witch, he knew they would draw unnecessary speculation from the others if they were much longer.

His occlumency worked double time as he awaited her answer; the effort to contain his own excitement at the prospect of a day filled with very good wine and even better chocolate, was a chore, even for his well-practised shields. So many food fantasies chased each other through his mind and trousers, stirring of his cock increasingly difficult to ignore, as it threatened the straight line of his placket. The unspoken thoughts that danced around them with an alluring promise of what lay beneath the veneer of polite interaction, was almost as intoxicating as what his imagination did with them.

“I thought about it, and Minerva tried to convince me a few times, but it wasn’t something I felt called to do,” Hermione explained, so grateful that he was asking about something from the time he was away, even if indirectly. It was so unexpected though, and she had wanted to bring him up to date for so long that the word vomit erupted like a volcano… “To make a long story short, I did the Ministry thing for a while, just for something to do, but when my redheaded love life took a nosedive, I quit. Not something that is generally in my nature but at least not being at the Ministry every day, I wouldn’t have to see him.”

“I see,” he commented, curious to know more about her past, especially as whatever came next would involve Severus, but still feeling reluctant to dig too deeply. He had gathered quite early on in their reacquaintance that something unpleasant had happened with the youngest Weasley lad, but had been unwilling to push for details, much like now. All he knew was that Harry no longer spoke to the rousse third of the golden trio. “And then… your Mastery, I assume. From what I gather,  you spent time in France?”

“ Masteries , plural,” Hermione corrected absentmindedly, pulling a random bottle from a rack to her left and reading the label. “And yes, France was an almost immediate move after Ron and I split. All set up by Narcissa, Harry and Minerva actually, so that I could do Potions and Sorcery with Severus. It was the best thing I ever did, listening to my friends and making that move….” She trailed off then, replacing the bottle in her hands and wandering further down the aisle contemplatively.

Lucius slowed his pace to not overtake hers, and heard their footsteps fall into a harmonious rhythm, echoing along the backdrop of the unspoken emotions swirling between them. ‘What else have her friends been advising her on, to cause her to trail off like that? Him?’ he wondered, though not what he asked. “This is what brought you so close to Draco and Cissa?” he inquired instead, having gotten increasingly curious over the last several months to know exactly how Hermione had become so ingraciated with his family. It was nowhere near the realms of wanting to complain, however; not now. He simply wished to know to whom he was indebted for the treasure he now possessed.

Her dark, intelligent eyes turned up to look into his, causing the positively joyful spark, that her undivided attention always left him feeling, to practically shut down his lungs, leaving him feeling winded as it pierced deeper. The soft smile she gave him before turning her attention back to the wine bottles ignited a battle with his libido and his will power to keep a tent from pitching in his trousers. “Yes,” she breathed with a tender reminiscence, running a single fingertip over a line of dusty glass bottle bottoms. “It would have been hard to not grow close considering we all lived with each other; Draco and I worked together a lot too, and socially, most of our leisure time was spent in the same company too.” 

Lucius let out a small chuckle. The idea of watching Narcissa, Draco, and Severus adjust to the constant presence and proximity of this little witch was something he wished he’d been around to witness. And like always, when he was reminded of how much he’d missed out on, the urge to flee and indulge in his own self-loathing reared its ugly head, but with a breath, he pushed the feeling back. He’d been working on doing so for a while. He wanted to conquer the dark feelings that made him want to run and hide. The first step had been agreeing to go to Zurich, the second, attending this dinner party, and now he would listen to Hermione’s tale of her indoctrination into the friendship circle of his family. “Thank you,” he said quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder to imply more than his words. “Thank you for forgiving them.”

“Everyone… well, almost everyone deserves a fiftieth chance sometimes,” she explained with a teasing smirk, quickly placing her free hand over his, on her shoulder, though not daring to look back. It would not be a good thing to swoon when surrounded by so much glass. Instead, she kept talking… “Andi and Cissa took me under their collective wings and gave me a whole wealth of knowledge, which really, every witch needs in order to be successful in the ‘wizarding world’ ,” she commented cheekily. 

“‘Witchy world’ doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Lucius replied dryly, having had this conversation with Narcissa several times. “I can’t say I’m particularly offended by the lack of equality in what should probably be called ‘the magical world’ anyway, but I’m sure you understand that adjusting from millenia of a patriarchal society to the rise of what I believe the muggles call ‘women’s lib’ is going to take time.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh; the idea of Lucius Malfoy reading about the work of the suffragettes and the marches for the vote, or even Lady Godiva, had her wanting to blast ‘Wannabe’ and ‘Stop’ by the Spice Girls, with the volume turned up full. “You’ve learned some fancy muggle terms when I wasn’t looking. Tell me, have you been made aware of ‘girl power’ yet?”

Lucius snorted, shaking his head a little, as if to clear an errant thought that had popped in. “Unfortunately, yes. Draco plays many - far too many - of those silver disc things that muggles store their music on. ‘Wannabe’ isn’t even a real word, or if it is, it shouldn’t be. And that ‘2 Become 1’? Why must muggle music be so… vulgar?”

“I never took you for a prude, Lucius,” Hermione commented without thinking, her internal need to defend feminism coming to the fore, ready to fight. “Surely you realise that women have just as much right to claim ownership of their sexuality and pleasure as much as men do. That’s all the songs are about and…”

“Ah, there it is,” he interrupted, spying the bottles they had been searching for several feet ahead, and allowing his mind to wander over what she might look like, claiming ownership of her sexuality and pleasure. On quick feet - with the hope of relief from both this conversation and the narrow quarters they were confined by spurring him on - he arrived at the correct rack in seconds and reached out for the bottle. 

Unexpectedly, Hermione mimicked his movements, and as his fingertips glided over the cool glass, the smooth bottle was not the only thing he felt. Her fingers brushed against his, sending an electric thrill up his arm and causing his magic to react with ferocity; the accompanying jolt that lit up his senses like a Christmas tree heightened his desire to levels he hadn’t experienced since he was a much younger wizard. Another reaction was simultaneous with these more enjoyable ones too… His wedding band heated rapidly at the brief touch, a clear indication that his magic was just as enamoured with the beguiling Hermione Granger as the rest of him.

Hermione gasped softly as an alien sensation ran up her arm when their pinky fingers touched; confused and a little startled by it because even though she knew her nest of curls could generate quite the charge of static energy, this was different. It was a spark that had ignited a fire within her veins, and her magic was responding to the merest touch of his flesh. ‘Is there popping candy in my veins?’ she wondered as her heart raced faster. 

The only thing she could legitimately blame, if he felt it too… ‘and how could he not have?’ was her hair. A nervous laugh escaped her, and heat rose in her cheeks as she considered telling him what she thought it really was. “Sorry, the nest tends to collect a lot of static,” she explained with a slow exhale, hoping he would buy the mostly true fib. “It’s apparently not fun to be in the discharging range.”

“That is quite alright,” Lucius purred, his smooth, aristocratic tenor floating flirtatiously between them as he pulled his hand back from hers in what felt like excruciatingly slow motion. The air was charged again, with an intensity that made the space between them feel as if it were pulsating with potential. It was alive with possibilities.

“Now we can enjoy dessert,” she managed, her voice a little more throaty and sultry through her shy smile, betraying hints of the cyclonic, lust filled emotions that swirled within her. Wrapping her hand around the wine bottle in a very deliberate way, now that his wasn’t there, she tested her own waters as her heart continued to race, the thud echoing in her ears. ‘OH. MY. GOD! I’m flirting with Lucius,’ she announced loudly in her mind, as if her blasted brain wasn’t responsible for it, or throwing images up of his hands all over her.

“I can hardly wait,” Lucius smirked, clicking his heels together, and giving her a slight bow. With his far hand, he gestured for her to precede him to the exit, allowing her to pass by him and lead their way out of the underground labyrinth back to the gaggle of family that awaited. It was an honest statement that he could hardly wait for the dessert - he loved white chocolate - but his mind was more focused on the reaction she’d had to his touch; he wanted to contemplate it now, whilst he could still feel the tingling sensation of it himself, but for the sake of not appearing an obsessive, he filed it away for further introspection later. The promise of a marvellous dessert, followed by whiskey in the library, was calling, and who was he to deny such a tempting and pleasant evening.

Hermione nodded politely and quickly stepped past Lucius, slightly holding her breath so as not to take in any more of his scent, lest she lose her good sense. As the witch responsible for the obvious bulge in his trousers, it was not the time or place to make her feelings known. With the bottle in her grasp, she hastened for the door, the weight of the moment hanging between them like a secret on the cusp of revelation.

The reminder of their Zurich trip had a new excitement zinging through both of them too and to Hermione, it was a sizable spark of good fortune that Lucius had agreed to go with her. ‘Perhaps I’ve earned favour with the Gods,’ she considered, though was unconvinced; divinity, much like divination was something that she lacked faith in. Either way, she  knew that breaking him away from his comfort zone, and making him push the limits of his self-imposed hermitry, would be a wonderful experiment in them spending more time together one on one, and testing Pansy’s theories. 

Hermione couldn’t help but wonder, knowing that the trip would involve both private and public settings, how he would treat her when they were at the auction, but it was only a habitual response from her past with him that had her doubting his manners. Her gut, as well as the knowledge she’d gained of his character in the last eighteen months, told her it was not something that needed to be stressed over. 

“Hermione…?” Lucius called after her quietly, just before she reached the door. His voice seemed tentative as he interrupted her thoughts but instead of leaning into the occasional lingering doubt about him, that told her his friendliness was a ploy to gain her trust, she leaned into the trust, and turned to face him with a smile.

“Yeah?” she responded happily, now looking forward to her mousse and completely oblivious to the words that circled his mind as they tried to construct themselves into the right order for what he wanted to say. His face clearly showed the internal struggle, and with concern Hermione’s brow furrowed as she moved a little closer to him, placing a hand on his arm in support. “Lucius…? What is it? Are you okay?” she asked worriedly.

The fear in her voice - fear that he was for some reason in pain or hurt - startled him out of his quest for the right words, and he let them fall from his lips as they were… “Oh yes, I assure you I am quite healthy. There’s nothing to worry about on that front. I just wanted to tell you… to let you know, really, in case you haven’t figured it out, or didn’t know to look for it, that I have become… very fond of you.” At this he took a breath, and tried to re-order his mind again as she let the brightest smile he’d ever seen glow from her face.

“I know,” she told him softly, warmly, squeezing his arm where her hand still rested, even as her heart rate picked up, feeling as though it was going to throw the vital organ right out of her chest. She wasn’t lying to him, she absolutely knew he had grown fond of her, but something about him actually saying it, gave her hope that maybe Pansy’s teasing wasn’t just for the sake of it. “I’m a very observant witch.”

“You are indeed,” he agreed with a small chuckle, trying not to get too distracted from the point he was trying to make. “But you misunderstand me…” He was speaking slower now, with more purpose. “You are cherished, Hermione, whether here at Grimmauld Place, at Malfoy Manor, or in Zurich. You are cherished, and I want you to remember that; no matter what happens in the future, I have been in awe of you for a long time.”

‘Yep. Definitely nothing to stress over,’ she thought sarcastically, even as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn’t speak even if she wanted to, so she just nodded, handed him the bottle and gestured for him to go ahead of her.

Lucius did as he was bid, taking the bottle of wine from her and giving her a moment to gather herself. The tears in response had been unexpected but he doubted her other ‘friends’ said such things to her often; Harry and Draco often only had time for each other and work, whilst Pansy was not the type to be so open with her affections. Slytherins rarely were.

Putting on a broad smile, even though his mind whirred with interpretations of Hermione’s reaction, he reentered the dining room, wine bottle held out like a prize. “I have returned victorious,” he announced, too loudly to hear the whispered ‘I love you’ from several feet behind him.

Chapter Text

GRIMMAULD PLACE - LONDON 

WEDNESDAY 21TH JUNE 2006

As the floo flames died, signalling Pansy’s departure, Hermione slumped onto the sofa in the receiving room, bemoaning, “I’m too drunk and too tired to move.” The end of the dinner party was a triumph; everyone had oo’d and ah'd over the creamy, fruity, luxurious dessert, making her blush. She’d also promised to make it again for Lucius’s birthday, with the addition of raspberries. 

“That makes two of us, love,” Draco said drowsily, sitting down beside her. Given the late hour, even his impeccable posture had drooped; Pansy had insisted on a drinking game after Lucius and Narcissa left, so it was now nearing midnight.

“Oh,” she exclaimed poutily, turning to Draco. “I was going to ask one of you to carry me up to bed.” In unison, they both looked to Harry, identical hopeful faces displaying the full-on pleading of puppy-dog eyes. “At least carry me up to bed first, please?”

“But I’m his husband,” Draco whined. 

“That’s exactly why I need to go first,” she explained, as if it was obvious. “If he carries you up before me, then I’ll end up sleeping here unless I walk myself up to bed. There is literally no chance Harry would leave your bed once you’re both in it.” 

The room sat in silence for half a heartbeat as the boys considered her argument. It didn’t take long for them to concede her point, and  both Draco and Harry shrugged in unison. It also seemed fair, and important to Draco, in this moment, to verbally recognise... “You may have a point there, Granger,” he offered, his eyes not leaving Harry as they started to smoulder. He sounded a little more alive now too; at the prospect of sex. “Although, you could always carry us both, love. I’ve seen what you press at the Aurory gym.”

“I have no doubt he could, Drakey-poo, but that sounds suspiciously like the beginning of a gratuitous yet pointless smut scene and whilst such things are sorely missing from my life at the moment, I have no wish to give Pansy even more reason to take the piss,” she argued lazily. It would be a good way to ‘flush the pipes’ - as her muggle friend, Cara, called it - but she was definitely too drunk to make that decision rationally, and Draco was not the blond she wanted.

“Fine. Carry our Princess up to bed first,” Draco conceded, a dramatic sigh leaving his lips as he flopped sideways onto the empty sofa seat. “Just don’t be too long or I’ll fall asleep and we won’t be able to finish our honeymoon properly.”

“As long as you're naked by the time I get back down here, extending our honeymoon will not be a problem,” Harry bargained, leaning forward to grab Hermione by the waist, and wink at his husband. Her arms went around his shoulders once he was close enough, so picking her up was an easier task than he imagined, given that her drunken state could have made her a deadweight. Manoeuvring his petite sister a little once she was elevated, he threw her over his shoulder as though she were one of the ‘victims’ in a rescue drill during his Auror training days, and gave her a smack to the arse for good measure. 

“Hey, I already specified ‘no funny business’ and if you’re not going to finish that off with something more substantial, don't tease,” she hissed, pinching Harry’s bum in retaliation. “Oooo… Well, this has gotten proper fit since I last had a hand on it,” Hermione giggled cupping both of Harry’s arse cheeks and giving them a good squeeze. 

Harry’s laughter was the most beautiful sound she’d heard in a long time, and in her highly inebriated state, it made her heart sing that he had finally reached such freedom and contentment. It still seemed a bit hilarious sometimes that Draco Malfoy was the one to provide it, but the joyous sound didn’t stop, even as he ran round the furniture, leaping like his stag patronus over the gap between the sofa and chair, to the point that her head barely escaped a collision with the lamp that sat there.

Hermione screamed and laughed as she was held tight around the hips by Harry, happily playing his arse like a set of drums, and when Draco barked, “Hands off the merchandise, Granger,” goodnaturedly, they all laughed harder, with Draco getting up too, in order to spank Hermione’s arse in retaliation. It would have looked ridiculous to anyone looking through a window, if someone was capable of doing so, and so the antics continued until a loud knock at the door interrupted.

Immediately, the giggling trio came to a halt. “Who could that be?” Hermione asked, pushing herself up to look back at Draco, who was so close, she inadvertently gave his confused face an arseful as Harry diverted and headed for the still knocking door. 

“No idea. Gonna find out soon though,” Harry quipped as they passed by the hideous troll leg that still stood in the hallway. It reminded him of Tonks apparently and none of them had had the heart to get rid of it.

Hermione had been just about to flop against Harry’s back again, exhaustion gripping her even more than before, but then she remembered how that troll leg was right by the front door and it didn’t look like he was going to put her down before ‘he found out soon’. “Harry Potter, don’t you dare answer the door with my arse in the air-” she protested, but it was too late. 

The door was pulled open with her right there, over his shoulder as she fruitlessly wiggled and attempted to get down. Eventually, as Harry greeted their guest with a simple ‘hi’, Hermione managed to grip the wide band of his belt, and one of his elbows, gaining just enough leverage to shift herself a bit.  

Her view, as she peeked through the gap between his arm and side, was not informative. A pair of size eleven loafers below pressed, navy blue trousers did not an identity make, much to her annoyance. “Who is it?” she growled at Draco.

As Draco pursed his lips to answer, their guest spoke, and a shot of fear, shuddered through Hermione. “Good, your home -” the male voice stated stiffly, a slight urgency lacing the tone. The familiar voice was not who she first worried it was though; the shoes gave away that it was Percy Weasley, not Ron, who currently had an unhindered view of her denim-clad backside. “I need to speak with you and Auror Malfoy. It’s urgent.” 

Percy sounded more shaken up now, his voice was tenser than she’d ever heard it and from Hermione’s odd vantage point, there was a slight tremble to his trouser leg, indicating he might be in some sort of shock or coming out of an adrenaline surge. “Harry, put me down,” she instructed softly, patting his back to remind him of her precarious position in the sudden tension. 

“Why don’t you come in, Secretary Weasley,” Draco offered from a few feet behind them, his good manners taking over as he attempted to gain control over the increasingly awkwardness. Only the sound of wooden floor boards broke the silence as Harry stepped back from the doorway and bent forward to put Hermione down. 

Holding protectively onto her waist until he was sure she was stable whilst also stopping her from turning around, Harry nodded toward their visitor in greeting, but refused to take his eyes from Hermione’s. She stood completely stationary between the two, gaze locked on Harry’s but with her back to Percy; his emerald irises were as telling as always, reflecting the nauseating fear she knew they both felt, that a certain secret from the past was being brought out of the shadows by this ginger’s presence. 

“What’s this about?” Harry asked the Undersecretary gruffly over her shoulder, waiting several more heartbeats, until he was sure she wasn’t going to start shaking, before letting her go and stepping back further to let Percy enter their home. No one missed the way he’d intentionally kept Hermione from Percy’s view, and by the disgruntled look on the redhead’s face, the blatant protective hand on her side, and Draco moving closer too, in an act of constant vigilance, was just a touch insulting to their visitor. 

“I’m sorry for the late hour,” Percy blustered apologetically, visibly shaking as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “There’s been, erm…” His eyes quickly glanced at Hermione before darting back to Harry and Draco with a discernible amount of guilt on his face. “There’s been an incident.”  

Hermione’s stomach was churning from a multitude of emotions and stimuli; the second glass of dessert wine was causing a rapid spike in her blood sugar levels, whilst the odd sensation of being carried around by Harry as he ran around like an idiot had just made her feel sick. On top of that, the adrenaline of fear that was always released at the sight of red hair these days was pumping her heart faster than she wanted Lucius to pump her. 

Needing an escape, and assuming ‘the incident’ Percy spoke of was Auror business, she put her feet into motion, keeping her back on the late night guest. With the exception of his voice sounding like he’d swallowed an elocution guide, it was uncomfortably familiar in pitch to Ron’s . “I’ll make some tea,” she called over her shoulder, heading for the kitchen. 

“No, thank you,” Percy responded tersely, before he saw the surprise in Hermione’s eyes and cringed a little at his own insensitivity, his eyes softening as he took a seemingly calming breath. “I’m sorry, Hermione. It’s just that… this really shouldn’t wait and I think it might be best if you didn’t hear what’s about to be said,” he offered as another apology. His voice was smoother this time, and much less pinched, even as a deep shadow passed over his powder blue eyes. “It’s nothing personal, I promise. Mum wants to see you, though,” he finished wistfully, attempting a smile. 

There was no doubt in Hermione’s mind, as she attempted a small smile in return, that if he was making that suggestion, Molly was still awake and expecting her; even at this late hour. “Oh, okay; I’ll erm… go get changed then,” she answered automatically, changing direction and heading for the stairs. His words confirmed that this was likely something to do with his youngest brother, and even though she sort of dreaded going to the Burrow, it would be comforting to see Molly; she was definitely overdue a motherly hug.

Before she reached the stairs though, Hermione felt her curious nature wanting to take over, and she turned back to the trio of wizards, who still stood awkwardly in the entryway, her eyes darting from Harry to Draco, then back to the anxious man just inside the door. Things had been like this for a long time between Percy and her housemates, and it wasn’t really fair. As much as she wished Ron had been brought to justice, Percy had only tried to protect his brother. 

Empathy filled her heart for a moment, looking at the forlorn man, just as it had all those years ago when things with Ron had first turned… sour. It was impossible not to feel sorry for him, or the rest of the family, considering the position Ron had put them all in. “Are you okay, Perce?” she asked, pushing all the things that made this meeting awkward to the back of her mind, and tucking her hands in her pockets to avoid nervously picking at her cuticles. It was a bit of a struggle not to exhale with nervousness too, as her mind betrayed her, sending phantom sensations and goose pimples across her skin. He’d been friendly at the wedding, but something of an annoyance with his insistence that they dance; she’d reacted cordially, and thankfully she’d been rescued by Lucius but the interactions with Percy were never easy. She was worried about why he was here though.

“Not really, but I have no injuries,” he explained sincerely, letting the mostly untended but tentative acquaintance they’d maintained over the years look like friendship. “Thank you for checking though, Hermione,” he added, the almost smile from before trying to resurface. It was brief however, as the reality of what had brought him to their door re-entered his mind, and he turned back to Harry with a serious look. 

“Is that…?” Harry asked, gesturing with his eyes to the red, Auror case folder in Percy’s hand, his face growing equally serious as he fell seamlessly into ‘Auror mode’. Despite his tiredness, likely horniness and slight drunkenness, Hermione watched his back stiffen with responsibility as his shoulders drew tight with the burden of it.

Percy’s nod was short and sharp as he thrust the folder at Harry. “Can we speak privately please?”  

“Hermione, why don’t you head straight to The Burrow?” Harry suggested, whilst guiding Percy further into the house and toward the stairs. “Don’t worry about changing; Molly won’t mind.”

Hermione hadn’t seen the folder when he first arrived, and instantly regretted not leaving sooner; instinctively, she closed her eyes and clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to assuage the rising need to vomit. Panic was coming, and in its wake, she found her neck and shoulders tensing up as her body was thrown into an immediate defensive response. The anxiety attack that had wanted to run riot before, at the first sight and sound of Percy, but had been suppressed by typical British politeness, was now visceral in its return. Combined with the lingering smell of red wine from dinner and the sight of ‘the red folder’, memories of that night were attempting to drag her back to one of the worst moments of her life. 

Going through what she had with Ron was the reason she had found it so easy to forgive the Malfoys in the first place, because no matter what she had suffered at their hands, after that night with Ron, she had always been through worse. Percy’s familiar voice, laced with undertones Ron’s had been so unexpected in her relaxed, drunken and joyful state, that it brought down her unprepared mental defences in one fell swoop.  

“This way,” Harry ushered, his voice cutting through the torrent of emotions she was battling just long enough for her to open her eyes as the bottom step creaked under their combined weights. Simultaneously, the need to unite her dinner with the toilet bowl, halted in its rise through her oesophagus at the sight of Draco’s broad chest right in front of her. 

“You, as well, Auror Malfoy,” Percy called as he and Harry cleared the first landing above her and Draco. 

“I’ll be there shortly,” Draco called after the others before turning back to Hermione with a ‘worried big brother’ expression written all across his face, despite being, at best, nine months younger than her. He let out a soft sigh and put his hands on her shoulders. “I don’t like the way any of this feels; will you go to the Manor?” he half-pleaded with her, his anxiety over the intrusion to the pleasant evening growing. 

“But Molly…” Hermione began, frowning at his insistence. 

“ Please Hermione…” Draco interrupted, gripping tighter to her shoulders. The care in his eyes obliterated the anxiety that still wanted to overtake her, and as he continued, she clung to it like a life saver. “Go spend the night in the library at the Manor. You feel more at home there than here or the Burrow from what I’ve noticed, so you’ll be happy, and I know you’re in a safe place with a million distractions.” 

As much as she hated giving in when one of them played ‘the protective routine’, Hermione could tell that it might be for the best given the sensitivity of the topic, if she was right about what the topic was. With a scowl that could hardly be described as acceptance, she received nothing more than a kiss to the crown of her head before he bolted up the stairs, two at a time, to catch up with Harry and Percy, leaving her with no chance to argue that she should stay.

“Yes, Father!” she muttered under a shaky breath, rolling her eyes as Draco ran off. Her fingers were still trembling from the almost anxiety attack; she could feel them. She ignored the ripples of unintentional movement however, reaching her hand out toward the stairs, and summoning both her purse and travelling trunk from her bedroom before heading for the floo. Malfoy Library was indeed her ‘happy place’, or one of them, at least, and in spite of being ‘handled’ into going there, she really needed a happy place to be right now. 

…

Upstairs, in Harry’s office, the three wizards present were all doing ‘the awkward shuffle’ as they attempted to get comfortable. Draco had walked into a veritable ice box of silence several minutes ago, and it was evident that Harry was occluding heavily, as was common in Percy’s presence. In confidence, Harry had confided that he’d never forgiven Percy for abandoning his family before the war, but what happened after the war - which was apparently about to be an issue again - had ensured ‘the boy who lived’ never forgave the stuffiest of the Weasley boys.

Draco knew something had to be done about the level of tension in the room, for any of them to get to the point and, knowing liquor was a sure fire way to ease the opening of sealed lips, he poured a drink for the other two first, before returning to the bar cart for his own. “I’m guessing some deductive reasoning on our part will get us off from the ground here so we know the size of the problem,” he offered softly into the stilted silence, taking a sip of his whiskey. “By the way you’re fretting, and your desire to close Hermione out - even though she has higher clearance than all of us - this has to have something to do with the brother that nobody likes to talk about.” 

Percy’s shoulders immediately dropped in relief, though why he couldn’t have explained even that much was anyone's guess. They all knew that Ron had become a duplicitous, drunken scoundrel ‘Fuck! I hate it when I’m right,’ Draco whined mentally, seeing the older wizard slump. Whatever was said next, he knew it was going to be difficult for his husband to deal with, but deep down, he also knew they would all be of the same mind - protecting Hermione was paramount.

Nodding, the fraught Weasley inhaled deeply, holding the calming oxygen in his lungs for a beat, before releasing unnecessary CO 2 slowly and taking a bolstering shot of whiskey. “It’s not that she can’t find out, and I won’t even be angry if she does, or even if she hunts me down because of it in the end, but the thing is… Harry, you were… right… about Ron. I was a fool to think it wouldn’t happen again; a fool to protect and try to help him, because no matter how many agents I kept on him, it didn’t matter. Somehow, he’s managed to do it again… the most despicable things… I believe there may be… others too.” At this point, Percy set the red folder down on Harry’s desk with vehemence, as if it was poison and he’d only just noticed his own grip on it. “He’s a… serial offender now. Merlin, I’m so sorry.” 

Harry approached his desk slowly, his eyes acutely focused on the red folder, and slightly exaggerated by the lenses of his glasses. “What is this?” he demanded with quiet anger, the hand holding his drink gesturing toward the inch thick file.

“Just… read it. Please! I… I can’t. It’s…” Percy stuttered and fumbled, the liquid in his glass sloshing with the severe shaking of his hands. The fidgeting was rather intense too, but he wasn’t acting like he was about to draw his wand; Draco thought that was a good sign.

“SPIT IT OUT, WEASLEY!” Harry roared, the nearly translucent scar on his forehead turning pink with the flush of anger in his face. “I told you this would happen! I told you that piece of shit would do this to someone else if he was capable of doing it to Hermione!” 

As Harry snarled, slamming his tumbler down on the polished desktop and causing whiskey to slosh over the rim and his hand, Draco lamented on exactly how bad it had to be to get his husband to react like this. He knew a portion of the rage was at the betrayal he still felt, for himself and on Hermione’s behalf that Ron would do such things in the first place, but also guilt at not following his instincts and doing something about it when it first happened.

“YOU, said it wouldn’t happen again,” Harry accused further, swiping the red folder from the desk and waving it in Percy’s face. “ You said Ron was traumatised from the war and needed time; that it was a one off. You promised me you’d get him help. DOES THIS LOOK LIKE YOU FUCKING HELPED!” 

“Harry-” Draco placed his hand on his husband’s chest attempting to get him to calm down, at least long enough that they could let Percy say what he needed to say. He understood the anger and frustration; he felt it too. Percy was clearly terrified already though and from ‘past experience’, he knew this wasn’t the best way to gain coherent information. 

“No!” Harry spat, angrily pushing away from both Draco and the desk, only to kick at the waste paper bin and let out an anguished growl. “You weren’t there, Draco. You don’t know. This bureaucratic bastard managed to convince everyone, including ME, to not press charges against Ron,” he bit in defence and accusation, almost as red in the face as the man he was pointing at. “Because of this sorry excuse for a human being, I betrayed Hermione. We all did… Even his own mother was ready to throw her pathetic son to the filth of Azkaban for what he’d done, and yet somehow, Mr goody-two-shoes here, who never met a rule he didn’t want to shoot his load over, managed to convince everyone that that gruesome act of defilement was just an anomalous blip in the otherwise impeccable character of Ronald fucking Weasley.” 

Draco held his hands out placatingly, reaching for Harry as he approached slowly. “I hear you, love, and you know what Hermione means to me.” Bringing his hands up to Harry’s face, he cupped the bearded cheeks he adored so much and lowered his voice.  “I am always on your side - since 1998…”

“Since 1998 and forever,” Harry completed in a whisper; the sentiment having been forged in the beginning of a friendship, when they finally shook hands after Draco’s trial; the last time it was spoken had been in their wedding vows, just a couple of short weeks ago. Now, it brought Harry a little perspective, enough to take a breath, at least; though his rage still simmered below the surface.

“She’s safe, Harry; I promise. I sent her to the Manor,” he reassured in soothing tones, bringing his hands down to rest on Harry’s chest and push soothing magic through their bond. “Everyone will look after her there, you know that; Mother, Father and the elves love her to bits. I swear to you she is safe, and right now, we need to regain our focus and get to grips on this new case.” 

“Potter, if I could go back…” Percy attempted to interject but was stopped by a growl from Draco.

“Not now, Weasley,” he growled, desperate for the ginger idiot not to incite further iterations of Harry’s rage. It was rare he got this bent out of shape about any case but when it came to Hermione… 

“It doesn’t matter that she’s safe now. I mean, it does but- The damage is done, Drake; she saw the folder and… The only reason he would show up now is if it was something to do with his stinking brother…” The last word was growled, guilt and anger warring in his voice over once considering the slug they were talking about a brother himself. 

It was heartbreaking for Draco to watch. The man he loved felt so much; had lost so much. “Hermione Granger is the strongest witch we know. No matter what gets thrown at her, she’s still Hermione, and she’ll deal with it. She shouldn’t have to, but… she will.”

The fury that burned hotter than the surface of the sun in Harry’s eyes turned to ice at Draco’s words, and as his cold gaze returned to Percy, his head shaking in disgust, the blond wizard knew why. She’d dealt with enough, and Harry had sworn to protect her from dealing with anything more. “It took her years to trust anyone after that, even me. With one thoughtless moment of selfishness, you have destroyed any feeling of safety she has managed to regain in the last six years,” he sneered, attempting to convey just how much damage had been caused. What was worse, they now had evidence that it hadn’t stopped.

“Let’s fix it,” Draco suggested meaningfully, bringing his hands back up to Harry’s face and pulling his attention away from the ginger incitement of Hermione’s worst nightmare. “The mistake we all made six years ago… Let’s put it right. For Hermione.”

“Dealing with this shit will always be the ugly side of our job, and we both know that but, fuuuuuck, this is about Hermione …” Harry paused then, emotion swelling as the anger gave way to fear and his eyes misted in the face of Draco’s concern. “I can’t open that folder… I can’t look at what he did to Hermione all over again. I just can’t -” 

“It’s not Hermione’s file,” Percy interjected softly, nervously, trying to help. All his trouble got him, however, was a rye scoff from Harry, as the Auror, who was clearly at the end of his tether, ran his hands through his hair and paced around the back of his desk. 

“How can you possibly think that matters…?” Harry asked, his voice rising again as he pulled out of Draco’s hands and pivoted toward the desk. With significantly more angry effort than necessary, he yanked open the bottom drawer and muttered a spell under his breath, pulling out a worn red folder, nearly three inches thick. “ Every. Single. Detail… was meticulously and vividly recorded by every possible person connected with that first attack. Each statement, along with the Healer Record, is accompanied by damning photographs-” he explained further, his anger still rising as he slapped the folder on the desk and leaned across it, to snarl directly in Percy’s face. “I am intimately familiar with the level of destruction and violence your brother is capable of,” he angrily bit out, jabbing a bruising finger into the top of the file. “So, don’t you dare sit there like your pleadings to me, six years ago, aren’t directly responsible for whatever duplicate of this file has been created by your sick brother’s deranged sexual appetite.”

Percy swallowed around a lump in his throat as he stood to lean over the desk, picking up the new red folder. “I was wrong, Harry. I know that, and I will live with the weight of it for the rest of my life, knowing that I could have stopped this and didn’t.” He waggled the folder in his hand, indicating ‘this’ and held it out to Draco. “Penelople Clearwater showed up at my home three hours ago. This is what I’ve been able to piece together from what she’s said, and Hannah was only half way through the healing charms when I left to come here.” 

“How was she… when you left?” Draco asked, his face contorting into a grimace of sympathy as he remembered Percy had dated the attacked witch when they were at Hogwarts.

“Taking a second dose of Calming Draught. According to my wife, she’ll live, just about,” Percy informed, the fire in his own eyes coming to the fore now as he thought of his friend’s affected form. “I am officially rescinding my plea for clemency on Ron’s behalf. Get him, Harry, please. Hunt him down and end this.” The words rushed from Percy like a confession of the damned, and as he tucked his head in shame, fat tears rolled down his cheeks. 

The pronouncement, that officially freed Harry’s abilities as an Auror to search for and prosecute Ron, ironically fell like a death sentence, leaving the room to stagnate in a still and stunned silence. Draco was the first to break the stillness, reaching for the folder held out to him and tearing his gaze from Percy’s to look down at the dreaded red file…

Staring back at him was a case number and a victim ID tag, clearly written in smooth black letters. ‘Shit. Fucking shit on a fucking stick. Flaming fucktard,’ Draco internally grumbled as he flipped open the front cover and glanced at Harry to check he wouldn’t protest, before continuing. A tilt of Harry’s chin, as he seethed over the fact that Percy had gone to the Ministry to start this file before coming to Grimmauld, was the only indication that his partner was still holding it together. 

Biting his tongue for now at the blatant abuse of power, and disregard for the chain of command, Draco returned his attention to the file in his hands, detaching the first report from its holder. It had clearly been recorded by Percy and detailed the victim’s appearance and initial statements from his point of view. It was a difficult read, and the more he read, the more his jaw tightened, clamping down until his teeth were grinding, almost painfully against each other. His hands tightened around the parchment too, in an effort to not pull his wand and start hexing. 

As he reached the end of the report, his eyes had an emptiness to them, and he felt haunted by the significant reminders in what he’d just read, of the dark revels that had once taken place in his home, and made a mental note to ensure Hermione never found out about them. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed at his sternum, stirring up his familial magics and the marriage bond he had created with Harry; he needed the comfort it provided just as much as his husband likely did right now. They’d talk a little about the revels, and Harry had commented on the similarities in ‘MO’ between Death Eater victims and what Ron had done.

With a calming breath, he straightened his posture, returning the report to the folder and pulling on the many years of ingrained superiority he’d inherited, before returning his attention to Weasley. With a snarl on his face, he spoke as plainly and professionally as he could. “Once your brother is apprehended, I expect you to resign.” 

“He’s NO brother of mine,” Percy spat coldly, but his eyes belayed a new fear; the selfish kind of fear that meant he had expected to throw his sorrow and confessions on their mercy but get out of the entire mess with only the weight of his own guilt as punishment. 

It made Draco feel sick, and he slammed the folder down on the desk between them, bending forward to poke a finger into the red-haired wizard's chest. “It is too late for disassociation, Weasley. I don’t fucking care what you have to say anymore. You’ve done quite enough damage already, you pompous prick. This is an Auror matter now and if you do not choose to resign your post, you will not only be charged with obstructing an investigation, but I will use everything in my power to destroy whatever shred of a career you have left after this gets out.” 

“You’re one to talk, Death Eater, ” Percy responded, attempting to find his backbone amidst Draco’s threats. As much as he loathed his part in everything that had happened after Hermione’s attack, it still got his back up that Hermione and Harry had basically abandoned the whole Weasley clan for House Malfoy. There was even a touch of jealousy involved, considering, had things not ended so disastrously between Ron and Hermione, he’d found her rather attractive himself.

“Actually, I am. Even as a Death Eater, I never did something so despicable as cover up the act of rape,” Draco gloated with a menacing tone. “I never would have either, not to save my own career or even my life . You really are just a… weasel , aren’t you?” 

“Yes, yes, yes… I’m well aware of your disgust for my family, Malfoy… I only wish I could say the feeling was still mutual. In some pockets, however, I assure you, it still is.” 

“ENOUGH!” Harry bellowed, finally snapping out of his white-hot, seething rage. “The fact that you would even say that, when the only other ‘pocket’ of disgust within the Weasleys for any member of the Malfoy family, which, in case you’ve forgotten, I am a part of, lies with your rapist brother. I can’t help but wonder if disgust for the Malfoys is the only thing the two of you have in common,” he goaded rhetorically, knowing that the implication would hit hard against Percy’s sensibilities; what was left of them. “Draco is right in his assessment, Percy; you are the one who covered up what happened to Hermione, but worst of all, you convinced the rest of us to let you, including her. The situation we now find ourselves in, is due to your inaction, and just look at where it left us.” 

Draco picked up the red folder again and moved to sit on the opposite side of the room, away from Percy, lest he pull a ‘third year Granger’ move and put his fist in the man’s face. Re-opening the folder, he scanned the other documents, taking in every detail; thanks to Hermione’s speed-reading charm, which had been applied years ago, it only took a few seconds to know all there was to know about Miss Clearwater’s attack, but he went over it repeatedly. 

After the second read through, the act was solely employed to occupy his hands and keep them out of swinging distance of Weasley. There was a violent and pressing need to wrap them around the neck of the ginger pile of thestral shit - who hovered nervously between sitting and standing on the ‘guest’ side of the desk - and squeeze, hard. “Sit down, Weasley. And do try not to piss on the upholstery, it’s just been redone,” he drawled in a bored, unaffected tone, internally seething at the absolute fuckuperycake the night had turned into. 

Steeling himself against the possible information and/or photographs on the next page, he flicked through the sections, until he found the case details section, noticing it was way too thick for such a fresh case. The damn thing hadn't even been worked yet, and was only just finding its way to Aurors, three hours after the event it was reporting. ‘Meddlesome, weasely little twat,’ Draco seethed behind his occlumency shields, pulling out the assignment sheet and seeing that the sneaky fucker had gone so far as to fill in his own name after his and Harry’s - the two actual Aurors he’d just decided to put on a joint case, completely disregarding the fact that romantic partners, especially married ones, weren’t allowed to be on the same task force. 

Checking through the rest of the section, Draco had to fight not to leave his seat and revisit the ‘punch Weasley in the face’ urge; the brainless twit had left full, detailed notes in the ‘witness statement’ field and  the ‘Auror case notes’ field, the latter of which was strictly reserved for Auror use. ‘Of all the high and fucking mighty, backward ways of doing things wrong…’ 

For several moments, Draco tapped his fingers against the parchment in his other hand in the slow rhythm of a waltz, counting backwards; it was a meditative process that he’d read about in one of Hermione’s muggle books, and usually helped his brain to focus. There were six things standing out, glowing like something from Sherlock Holmes’ mind palace, and every one of them made Draco’s stomach sink further. His jaw worked hard, grinding against the desire to spew all manner of hexes and curses at Weasley.

“You were right about there being more cases, you absolute fucktard; there are more cases… five of them,” Draco spat coldly before turning to Harry. “Robards Jr brought me a stack of case files last week,” he told his husband, slightly elevating the red folder to indicate they had been of a similar nature to the one he held. “If I hadn’t spent the week hazing Gawain’s nephew, we’d be completely in the dark about the other victims, and their names. Each one has recalled a tattoo, and Miss Clearwater describes it perfectly, including the freckle grouping next to it,” he explained hotly, standing up and glaring at Percy as he ran his hands through his hair and paced between the desk and the door. 

“Five? Really? But that’s so… Are you sure all of them were attacked by Ron?” Percy asked, clearly needing confirmation that the suffering his inaction had inflicted on these other witches was real. With Draco’s nod, the weight of his guilt intensified and he fell to his knees on the floor. “Sweet Merlin, what have I done? Why didn’t you stop him anyway? Why didn’t these other victims identify him?”

“I’ll tell you why, you snivelling, cowardly arsehole,” Harry yelled, launching himself at the kneeling redhead and dragging him to his feet by the collar. Once face to face, he made Hermione's betrayer look him in the eye, let him see exactly how much he’d fucked up in the raw hatred that he’d inspired, before growling his reply… “Those five witches - yes , five - and no doubt countless others who haven’t had the courage to come forward at all, had to be savaged by that monstrous brother of yours because you convinced Hermione not to press charges.”

“I’m s-sorry,” Percy whimpered, his eyes releasing two fearful, regretful tears as they closed in anticipation of Harry’s fury made physical. “So, so, sorry. I swear, I didn’t think-”

Whatever Percy hadn’t thought of, none of them got to hear. Harry’s fury channelled directly into his free hand, which flew through the air so quickly, it could’ve been a snitch, curling into a fist on its way as he pulled a ‘third year Hermione’. The crunch was sickening as his knuckles connected hard with the freckle-covered nose, before throwing the waste of skin to the sofa in disgust. “You found your fucking conscience too late, Weasley,” he spat at the other wizard, pulling his wand and pointing it across the small distance he’d created. “Aculeo…” 

Red welts blossomed on Percy’s face as it swelled, but Harry could care less. He turned on his heel, with barely a look at Draco, before making for the door and rushing down the stairs. He was on a mission, fuelled by the righteous fury that usually powered Hermione’s crusades for the underappreciated, unloved or unrepresented. After eight years of post-war peace, Harry Potter had finally found a new cause…

Draco scrambled to catch up to his husband, who was already on the stairs. “Harry! Harry!” he yelled from the doorway. “Where are you going? Harry, answer me!” he demanded nervously, taking to the steps and jumping down two at a time. 

“To murder my ex best friend like I should have done years ago,” Harry called over his shoulder from the bottom of the staircase, rounding the lower landing to take the next.

“Very noble,” Draco called back, only feet behind his husband now as they both took to the steps of the last staircase… “You wouldn’t look good in stripes though, love, and there’s no conjugal visits in Azkaban.”

Rounding on his husband, Harry dug the tip of his wand into the hard abs that he knew lay beneath the crisp white shirt. “This isn’t a joke,” he screamed, his wand burning a hole through the high thread count.

Draco felt shook by Harry turning his wand on him, but he had to try and be heard through the rage. “Be reasonable, Harry, please. We need to do this properly, as Aurors. We have the evidence now. Percival will give an official statement, and we can launch a real investigation. All we have to do when we catch up to him is provoke him into hexing first and the kill will be legitimate… self-defence.”

“No!” Harry defied tightly, the stubbornness of his youth resurfacing, refusing to give Draco the chance to stop him or convince him further. He couldn’t let Ron live, not even for one more day, not after everything he’d done. Without giving Draco the chance to react, he channelled ‘first-year Hermione’, casting petrificus, and sending his husband falling, frozen, to the floor. “I’m sorry but Hermione and those other witches deserve to have that piece of shit removed from existence, and she was first… Hermione was the stressor, and I did nothing but personally disown him. That means everything he did afterwards is on me.”

From within his frozen body, Draco stared at Harry in shock. He knew the man he loved had been carrying heavy amounts of guilt around since Hermione’s attack, for not doing anything, but he didn’t realise he still blamed himself completely. Behind unblinking eyes, he pleaded with Harry to stop, to release the spell, to disconnect from the rage and be rational. But he was too far gone…

“And before you start, no, this is not my saviour complex rearing it’s Gryffindor head again; this is me finally taking responsibility for… Fuck! There’s no time,” he growled, leaning forward to place a kiss on Draco’s lips; just enough rationality still present in his mind to know he might never see Draco again for what he was about to do. “I love you,” he whispered against the soft, pale pillows of flesh that had given him his first taste of true love.

Five seconds later, unwilling to linger over the only thing that could keep him from doing what was necessary, Harry turned on his heel, and apparated directly off the stairs, landing in the empty car park of the Wandsworth branch of Iceland supermarket, twenty metres from Ronald’s flat.

Breaking into a run, the dingy flat of his former friend was soon within reach and the second Harry’s feet halted at the door, he was pounding on the front door with a heavy fist. “RON,” he bellowed, casting ‘homenum revelio’ to make sure his friend was home; it was positive. “I know you’re in there. Open up!” 

After a few seconds, the door was opened with such force, it almost swung off its hinges, and a staggering Ronald emerged in the doorway, scowling at the sight of his ex best friend. The smell of alcohol and sweat was overwhelming; Harry had to suppress a choking fit as Ron swayed dangerously forward, pointing in his face.  “What the fuck do you want?” he slurred, with a hiccough. 

Harry didn’t give him the courtesy of a greeting, his response was an immediate right hook to the left eye, just clipping the bridge of his freckled nose, and a swift knee to the offensive bait and tackle. The lanky ginger fell immediately to the floor, groaning and cursing in gibberish; it disgusted Harry, as a man and as an Auror. He stepped inside the hovel-like flat, grabbing the drunken, groaning heap by the collar of his shirt -much like he’d done with Percy - and dragged him further into the stinking hallway, completely uncaring that the action was slightly choking the other wizard. 

“Six?” he bellowed. “Six witches, Ron. Really? Are there more than that? More that we don’t know about? You swore to me, Ron; you swore that after that one time with Hermione, it would never happen again. You promised me you weren’t that sort of wizard.” Enraged at the betrayal of that promise, as much as he was angry at himself for believing it, and on behalf of all the witches who had suffered because he’d done so, Harry flung Ronald towards the kitchen table hard, its wonky leg and two sad looking chairs shaking with the impact. 

“Get off me, you sanctimonious prick. I ain’t done… Aaaargh” Ron’s hollering was interrupted by his own yelp of pain as Harry sent a flurry of stinging hexes at his legs. 

“LIAR!” Harry screamed, the violence of his rage rattling the windows of Ron’s small home with the strength and flex of his unhinged magic. “There’s proof, you sick, twisted… RAPIST ! There’s proof it was you!” he growled, picking Ron up off the floor and slamming his back into the table, easily overpowering the now shorter redhead. 

The struggle was minimal, with Ron already injured… Harry grabbed the seam of the snivelling bastard’s right sleeve, just below the shoulder, and yanked hard ; the fabric giving way under his superior strength until a very telling Chuddly Cannons tattoo was visible. “This is what gave you away, you wanker, and now, because you’re such a pathetic fucking failure, you’re about to join a very exclusive club…” Harry lost his barely tethered calm, pulling back his right fist and throwing it at Ron like they had never meant anything to each other as boys. “People killed by HARRY. JAMES. POTTER,” he chanted, the blows landing with each word.

Ron was already a mess when the shouts of other people finally broke through several minutes later. Before Harry knew what was happening, Charlie was jumping on his back and tackling him to the ground. At the same time, Bill pulled Ron from the table, shoving a dirty dish towel at his youngest brother, who was huffing and scowling at his once best friend, grasping his side like he had a broken rib or two. 

Harry hoped it was every rib; his whole skeleton preferably. And muscle. And organ. “You deserve to die!” he yelled, his rage unextinguished as he fought Charlie with everything he had. If Harry had his way, Ronald Weasley would just implode.

“Like I’d give you the chance,” Ron mumbled scornfully, wrapping the rag around his nose to stop the bleeding as he slowly backed away from his oldest brother in the chaos of heavy breathing and dirty looks. A step back as he cradled the cloth against his broken face; another, as Harry threw his might against Charlie’s strength; and a hand diving into his left pocket unnoticed. 

Without warning, Ron whispered ‘portus’, grasping at the muggle penny in his pocket, and from under the very noses of two of his brothers and Harry, got pulled away, leaving only nothingness between all of them. “Noooo!” Harry screamed, finally pulling himself free of Charlie, as his rage intensified at losing the fucker who had attacked seven witches on his watch. “How could you let him get away?! Do you have any idea what he’s done?!” 

“Yes, Harry,” Bill answered slowly as Harry fell to his knees in the empty space where Ron had just departed, slamming his fists against the floor. “Percy came to get us after you left. Dad’s at home, keeping mum from showing up.” 

“Then why did you stop me?!” Harry growled, glaring at Bill. 

“Because I asked them to,” Draco said, stepping into the room, his Auror robes billowing behind him as his team followed him in. “We’re doing this by the book, Harry; the way it should have been handled the first time.”

“But he got away,” Harry whined, half growling. “He was right here, and you let him get away.”

“Gates, Lawson, scour this place for evidence. Anything could be important and we have probable cause now. Evans, we’re going back to the Ministry to get the formal paperwork going. Charlie, go check on your parents, and round up the family for interviews; any information they can give could be helpful,” Draco directed, giving orders like the equivalent of an army general before turning to Bill… “Would you mind taking Harry home, please?” he asked, giving the oldest Weasley a nod.

“Stop trying to manage me, Draco,” Harry nearly shouted, his emotions, having already gotten the better of him, completely on display in the face of such raw disappointment. ‘Ron should be dead by now.’

At Harry’s statement, Draco stopped in his management of everyone else, giving each a significant look and silently asking them to give him and Harry a moment. It took a few seconds, but eventually, Bill managed to shufty everyone out of the kitchen and send them to complete their various tasks. Closing the front door behind Charlie, he guided Auror Anne-Marie Evans toward the living room, hearing Draco speak as he closed that door too… “Then stop giving me reasons to manage you. Harry, you are way too close to this case to work it -” 

Harry’s response of, “And you aren’t?!” went unheard by everyone else still in the house, as Bill thought the next few minutes might require a silencing charm between the short-tempered newlyweds, flourishing his wand at the closed door.

Sighing, Draco fell to his knees beside his husband and pulled him into his arms, attempting to provide grounding and support with a hug. “Of course, I am, my love, but I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve nearly as boldly as you do, so it’s easier for me to appear unbiased. I’ll run point, and make sure everything is covered, but if you want to be part of the case then you have to listen to me. Trust me… We work the plan, make him feel cornered so he fights back; that way, you can legitimately hex his head off. I’ll even do the paperwork for it, but right now, you need to step back and let me do the professional things so that you don’t end up in Azkaban.” 

Harry sat silently, even as he pulled out of Draco’s embrace and stared into the silvery grey eyes of his lover. He was determined to not be manhandled by his husband, or pushed out of the investigation. It took a moment, as he racked his brain, attempting to puzzle out how to stop the entire mission leaving him behind, but it hit him eventually… Draco had promised everything would be buttoned up properly; that the kill would be a warranted end to the investigation. With that thought on his mind, he chose to trust his husband, and a slight smile curved his lips at the Slytherin tactics. “Fine…” he whispered, leaning in for a kiss. “But why am I turned on by your planning of the sanctioned murder of my ex best friend?”

Draco chuckled a little, bending forward and returning the kiss, tenderly placing his lips against Harry’s and holding them there for several long seconds. “I love you,” he offered warmly as he pulled back. “... and you’re turned on for two reasons; firstly, I’m gorgeous. Second, you like it when I’m bossy and wearing my uniform.”

Harry groaned, pulling Draco in for a more substantial kiss, and using it to release some of his pent up aggression. It lasted several minutes, but as hands started wandering, Harry pulled back. “Go. I’m trusting you to do this the way it needs to be done. Be thorough.”

“Aren’t I always?” Draco replied seductively, smirking. “Why don’t you head to the Manor…? Take care of our Princess and let me take care of both of you.”

Harry let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes. “Alright, but bring home the files. I want to read everyone's daily reports. Nothing touches the floor with this one… we stick it.” 

“Yes, Head Auror Potter; I’ll make sure my team has every single report turned in as soon as possible, with above standard observations,” Draco soothed, placing another heated kiss on Harry’s lips before pulling back and helping Harry off the floor. “Now, stop quoting ridiculous cheerleading films that Hermione made us watch and heal your hands before she sees them. If she picks up on what we’re dealing with…” 

“Oh, she’ll have already guessed,” Harry mused as they headed out of the kitchen. “She’s too smart for her own good.”