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Chapter Text

Draco Malfoy’s eyes wandered throughout the Great Hall during the Sorting, forcing himself to focus on the present or, really, anything rather than the carnage the castle had witnessed mere months ago. It was almost painful to see the class of first years, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed about their magical education, wholly unaware of the horrors this building had witnessed. Unaware of the dead that had been laid out in this very room. Unaware of the heroes and villains interspersed among the four house tables.

Well, mostly unaware. He was pretty famously villainous, if the terrified looks the first sorted Slytherins gave him were anything to go by.

Draco rolled his eyes. He was alone at his house table, an outcast, and he was actually delighted. After years of attempting to be and please his father and two more of being tortured and used, he was just fine on his own. No one to suck up to him for his name or wealth, no one he needed to impress for his father, no one to actually care for him at their own peril. 

No, alone was just fine by Draco. He had a book on potions theory Severus had left him and he intended to eat as much as he could, read as he did it, then collapse into a heavily warded bed and pray to Merlin the nightmares would cease and desist for the evening.

He was so lost in his musing he was entirely unprepared for the small body to plop itself across from him. 

Draco startled and gaped at the tiny first year, beaming at him.

“Hello, I’m Sadie Perkins,” the little girl greeted and stuck her hand out across the table.

Draco scowled at her. “The first years are all sitting together.”

The girl cocked her head at him, assessing, but her smile never wavered, bright against her dark skin.

“Yes, I know. But you’re all by yourself, so I thought I’d join you. Besides, I’ll get to know my yearmates in the dorms later, but you’re an older student so you can tell me what it’s like to be in Slytherin.”

Draco cast his eyes to the heavens for strength. “Yes, well, perhaps I’m alone for a good reason and you should trust the rest of your House’s character assessment.”

She had the audacity to giggle. “I like to make my own opinions,” then she wiggled the hand she still held out and internally using no fewer than twelve obscenities, he took it.

They were a study in contrasts; small and large, beaming smiles and hardened scowls, her glowing, rich brown skin against his pale and wan complexion. 

“So, what is it like in Slytherin?” she prompted and he sighed, stabbing his shepherd’s pie with his fork.

“The other houses and most of the faculty will assume you’re evil, but you should know sometimes they are right,” he gave her a pointed look but she remained willfully obtuse. “So we are loyal to one another. Whatever they say, the traits of our house - cunning, loyalty, ambition, these aren’t bad things. Your fate isn’t set because of your house.”

And that, folks, was as sincere as he was going to get. There would be no sharing of how maybe if everyone hadn’t expected him to be evil he might have believed he could fight it. Might have bothered forming friendships that would have shown him the error of his ways sooner. That he might not have felt alienated from everyone and so tried to make himself feel better by putting others down. 

Or maybe not. He was his father’s son, after all, and Lucius had made it painfully clear what was expected of him.

“There you have it; your insider information. Scurry along now,” he gestured with his fork for her to return to the other munchkins.

Instead, she cocked her head again, a tic of hers apparently which looked ridiculous and not adorable with her two little poofy buns of black hair sticking out atop her head. 

“Why do they think Slytherin is evil?” she scrunched her nose up as she said it.

Was this some sort of divine punishment? To have this little firstie learn why Slytherins were assumed evil, from him, a Death Eater?

Draco released a dramatic sigh. “Well, there have been two wizarding wars and they were led by an evil psychopath who claimed to be the heir of Slytherin, and several families who have historically been sorted into Slytherin sided with aforementioned evil psychopath.” He’d learned the term psychopath during the trials, and it seemed wholly appropriate for the Dark Lord. 

“Huh,” she frowned, then shook her head. “What are the cool parts?”

“Well, the common room is under the lake and you can see the merpeople and fish. We’ve reasonable access to the kitchens for snacks,” he shrugged. His patience was waning. He’d made a reasonable effort to not be actively cruel to the baby snake but he was tired, his side ached, and he could feel the curious glances of the other Slytherins. 

“Oh! Merpeople! Like Ariel?”

Draco furrowed his brows. “Uhm, sure, perhaps one is named Ariel. I don’t speak mermish, so I couldn’t tell you.”

The little firstie bounced in her seat, “What about that Forbidden Forest they mentioned? Are there other cool magical creatures in there?”

Draco refrained, but only just, from slamming his head onto the table. Multiple times.

“It is forbidden for a reason. There are plenty of monsters that will eat you, and I am not exaggerating, in that bloody forest. You’ll meet plenty of interesting vermin in your Care of Magical Creatures Class,”

With the great bloody oaf. Though now instead of his ridiculous attempts at teaching, Draco could only see him carrying Potter’s body and feeling the hope drain from his soul. 

Draco shook himself. No dwelling on the war, not now. He’d barely avoided a terror turn at the sight of Granger and if that didn’t send him over the edge, nothing else would this evening, thanks all the same.

“What’s your favorite class?” she asked him, seemingly unaware of his near predicament. 

“Potions.”

“You never did tell me your name, you know.” 

Ah, she didn’t know who he was! Well this would free him from this conversation quickly. 

“Draco Malfoy.”

She screwed up her face as she regarded him for a long moment.

“Your parents did you dirty with that one, huh?”

Draco nearly spit out his pumpkin juice as an involuntary laugh was wrenched from his chest. Oh, you have no idea. 

“What, dragon of bad faith doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement of a name?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow at her.

She giggled.

Ugh. 

They both returned to eating and mostly enjoyed a companionable silence which, Draco was surprised to note, he did not entirely hate. She pestered him with a couple more questions and he answered as bitingly as possible so she’d get the hint, but she never left. When the feast was dismissed he gave her a nod and she returned it with an enthusiastic wave.

He lied to himself when he said he would be glad when her little classmates told her the truth about the evil, tainted Death Eater.

--

Draco glowered at the little bundle of energy the following morning as she sank onto the bench across from him.

“Morning, Draco!”

His given name? Really? 

He merely grunted in reply.

Throughout the following days he couldn’t shake his little shadow. She returned to tell him of her classes, how she was making a friend in Hufflepuff (Draco had yet to understand why his energetic hanger-on was not sorted there herself) and what was most interesting to her in classes. She was particularly fond of Care of Magical Creatures and unsurprisingly, she adored Hagrid. She came to Draco eagerly informing him of the traits of nifflers, unicorns, and some creatures she’d come across in her own reading.

“I want to meet a house elf!” she greeted him one morning.

“I think I’m going to get a pygmy puff,” she informed him another day.

She found Draco occasionally for other meals, but she always joined him for breakfast. Her astute commentary included gems such as “Are you a vampire? I didn’t know people could be that pale,” and “Do you sleep at all? You’ve got raccoon eyes,” and his personal favorite, “You kind of look half-dead, Draco, have you thought about going outside?”

He spent as much time outside as possible, he told her snippily. He avoided the worst of the countless hexes, pranks, jeers, and glares that way.

That was a bloody mistake as she took to finding him outside as well. 

After finding out she was miserable at flying, Draco took to teaching her. Wouldn’t do for anyone to see such an inept Slytherin.

“There you go, balance, engage your core,” he gestured at his own and she nodded as her broom straightened where it hovered three feet off the ground. 

Sadie beamed at him. “I did it!” 

“So it would seem,” he replied but his lips were twitching upward against his will.

Her face fell a little and she fiddled with the broom handle and her sleeve.

“Draco, can I ask you something?”

“Has my permission or lack thereof ever stopped you before?” he deadpanned and instead of her usual giggle at his grouchiness she just nodded.

“What’s a mudblood?”

Draco’s heart stopped and his vision nearly tunnelled. 

“Where did you hear that word?” he asked, voice icy, and Sadie blinked up at him in surprise. 

“Burke always calls me that and I couldn’t figure out what it meant…” she trailed off and looked down again.

Draco stared at her in rage and horror. Rage because a little snot had made his firstie sad and horror because sweet Salazar, she was muggleborn? He’d been an absolute idiot, he’d underprepared her, no wonder she needed flying lessons, no wonder she still came to him when several of her housemates likely thought her blood impure. It had been insanity that a first-year had attached herself to him, but it was so, so much worse that this innocent muggleborn girl had chosen a bloody Death Eater to be her guide.

“He will not be calling you that again,” Draco bit out, trying to clamp down on his fury, but, given Sadie’s little jump nearly had her falling off her broom, he supposed he wasn’t entirely successful.

Sadie righted herself and looked up at him again with those huge, dark eyes and asked again, “What does it mean?”

He occluded, forcing his rage away. Surely this was someone’s idea of penance, but for once Draco was willing to pay. If he could prevent this one little muggleborn from enduring what he’d done to Granger, he would do it, awkwardness on his part and likely hatred from her be damned.

More gently than he’d ever been before, he asked her to follow him to the rock by the lake so they could sit. She did.

“There are people who believe those who come from non-magical families are dangerous or undeserving of their magic. They are wrong, but that word is a slur for muggleborn witches and wizards, implying their blood is impure because it is muggle,” he began and he glanced at her to make sure she was following, which she indicated by nodding along. 

“It’s...I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were muggleborn earlier or I would have told you more specifically about the wars I mentioned. Remember what I said about the evil psychopath?”

Sadie nodded again.

“His...agenda was to rule over muggles and…”

He trailed off. Oh, Merlin, could he tell this bright wonder of a child that there were people trying to kill everyone like her? 

She had to know, though. The danger wasn’t entirely past.

“And the... elimination of muggleborns,” he finished, cheeks burning. Salazar, how had he ever been so terrible and stupid? At first she regarded him in confusion, her brow wrinkled, until her eyes widened in horror as she realized what he meant.

“So Burke...he thinks I should die?” she whispered quietly, and Draco wanted to rip his heart out of his chest as he saw those bright, inquisitive eyes shining with tears.

“Probably not, Sadie. He’s...young and stupid is probably only spouting the vile things he’s heard. But if it doesn’t get corrected, it could very well get to that point,” he replied as gently as he could while all he felt was pure, unadulterated self-loathing. This wasn’t about him. (Though, Draco reflected it wasn’t not about him as he had been Burke and Sadie had been Granger once upon a time). 

“The war mostly shattered the idea of pureblood superiority and that the Dark Lord’s agenda would benefit anyone, but there are some who cling to the old ways.”

“Draco?” Sadie asked again.

He replied with a glance at her.

“What’s a Death Eater?”

Every thought, every sensation, everything eddied out of his mind as he stared at little Sadie and her trusting eyes and her tear-stained cheeks.

“A follower of the Dark Lord,” he managed to rasp.

Her brow furrowed. “The Dark Lord is the evil psychopath?”

A strangled chuckle of misery tried to make its way out of his chest. “Yes. He’s also referred to as You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Lord Voldemort,” he ignored the tightening of his chest and the hitching of his own breath, “was what he called himself.”

“People...sometimes people have said you’re a Death Eater to me,” Sadie bit her lip.

Well, this was it, then.

“They are correct,” he admitted, returning his gaze to the lake. He couldn’t bear to see her face crumple or the hatred and betrayal he’d see cross her features, he couldn’t. Not right now. He’d prepare himself for it later, but not right now.

“But...you don’t act like you hate me or want me to die. I know you don’t,” she replied, cocking her head at him as he returned his gaze to her. Instead of hatred there was only a kind of quizzical cast to her features. Like the information she was given didn’t compute.

“I don’t hate you and I definitely don’t want you to die. Burke will never use that word again, I promise,” is what he managed and he was rather pleased he got that out.

“But you...were a Death Eater?” she asked, little buns still askew from her head’s position.

Draco sighed. Deliberately he unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve and rolled it back so she could see his bare left arm.

“This is the Dark Mark, the brand the Dark Lord’s followers bore. It’s faded now that he’s dead,” he told her in a monotone. 

Sadie scooted closer and took his arm in hers. She traced it with her little fingers and Draco tried to manage the shame attempting to overwhelm him.

“Why are there scars all over it?” she asked quietly.

Draco snatched his arm back. 

“Not important,” he glowered at her.

“So did you want it and then come to regret it or were you forced?”

He blinked at her. “What?”

Sadie sat back and regarded him. “You don’t hate me now, so either you never did and someone made you or you changed your mind at some point. Which is it?”

Draco stared at her, mouth falling open. His heart pounded in his ears and his breathing turned uneven. 

No one, not even the Wizengamot, not even Potter and Granger as they’d inexplicably testified for him, had ever asked him if he’d had a choice in receiving the Mark. The assumption had always been he’d asked for it, demanded it even.

Everyone had heard “you have to want the Mark or it’ll kill you” or other such rubbish, and so no one questioned whether or not Draco had volunteered for it. No one wondered what “want” meant, whether it was enthusiastic consent or something less. No one wondered about the barely sixteen year old who came home for the summer to find a monster in his home with no escape, no allies, and no real options. The options were accept the Mark or watch his mother’s continued torture before he watched her die. 

So, between option A, slavery to a madman and option B, letting them murder his mother, he wanted option A. If there was any truth to the myth of wanting the Mark, then all it required was a desperate preference.

“I...they were going to kill my mum,” he finally managed, voice strained and quiet. 

He cleared his throat, shaking his head and returning his gaze to the lake. He couldn’t look at this little wunderkind and occlude successfully. 

Sadie scooted closer and leaned her head on his bicep, far too short to reach his shoulder. 

“That sounds really awful,” she told him quietly. He made some noise of agreement, still trying to sort his feelings and memories. 

His mother’s torture, fear, and tears into one box.

His own torture, so frequent and so painful, into another. 

All the times he wrestled with the evil he committed, his terror and his hate towards himself and the others, into another. 

And, as always, Granger’s screams into a final one.

“I didn’t want the Mark, Sadie.” That was such a relief to admit, a thing he hadn’t been able to voice or even think about for too long without death awaiting. “But I was an absolute prick about blood supremacy and I used to believe in it. I hated muggleborns and I used that word often. You should know that. I regret it, but I did.”

Sadie nodded thoughtfully. “Would you tell me? About the war? It...seems like I need to know.” 

Shouldn’t there have been a committee or something to do this? Honestly. Someone, somewhere, was having a right laugh over giving the Death Eater the responsibility to tell the story of the Wizarding Wars to the first Slytherin muggleborn. 

But he did. He told her the truth. All of it.

--

Astoundingly, Sadie plopped into her usual seat the following morning. Draco had to stop himself from furrowing his brow. 

“You’re still here?” he drawled, raising an eyebrow at her. She paused in her scooping of eggs to her plate. 

“Of course?” she answered with her voice rising at the end, as if it were inconceivable she’d be anywhere else for breakfast and couldn’t imagine why he was asking.

He blinked at her. Then bent down to eat his own eggs so she wouldn’t see his losing battle to keep the grin off his face.

“I heard there was some commotion in the common room last night while I was in the library,” she mentioned casually, and Draco felt a small surge of pride at the very Slytherin way she was framing her question.

He merely shrugged in reply.

“You’re also getting an excessive amount of glowers from the others this morning.”

He waved a hand. “What else is new?”

Sadie couldn’t fight the huge grin spreading across her face.

“I also got a very sincere apology from Burke this morning.”

“Did you now?”

Sadie giggled and returned to her breakfast and Draco did the same.

--

“Okay, so DRAGONS are real, that is insane, you realize that right?” she rambled at him as she skipped alongside him to keep up with his long strides. They were headed to the library as she had requested help on her homework and Draco, for all he was a salty curmudgeon, apparently had a weak spot for his little firstie. He could admit that now. And she didn’t usually ask for his time in the evenings since she studied and spent time with her little friends. So he didn’t mind giving her an hour. 

It’s not like he had anything else to do anyways.

“They are awe-inspiring, I’ll admit,” he agreed. He couldn’t fathom a world where he didn’t know dragons were real, but even so he could admit if there were creatures as magnificent and huge as dragons that he suddenly learned existed, he’d be astounded too.

“You said your name means dragon, right? Have you met one?”

He nodded. His mother had taken him one summer to a dragon sanctuary to meet a baby dragon.

“Ugh that’s so cool. I want to meet one! Do they incinerate you on sight or are they tamed? Though I don’t know if I’d go pet a tamed lion, so maybe— “

She was cut off as they rounded a corner by Draco and another person’s loud “OOF” as they collided.

Draco gripped the arms of his assailant to keep her from falling or attacking, as the case may be. This seemed accidental, but he wouldn’t let anyone exert their vengeance on him where Sadie could be hurt. 

“M-Malfoy?”

For goodness sake, he sighed as he met Granger’s chocolate brown eyes.

“Granger,” he intoned, straightening and helping her steady herself. 

“Wait—Granger? You’re Hermione Granger!” Sadie asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet and clapping her hands. Granger shifted her chaotic curls over her shoulder and warily looked at Sadie before breaking into a small smile. 

“Um, yes?”

“Gryffindor’s Golden Girl, Muggleborn Princess, and Brightest Witch of Her Age Hermione Granger?” she repeated again, bouncing even more.

“Uh, well, not sure about all those titles, but yes, that’s me,” she agreed with an attempt at a smile that reflected more of a grimace as she glanced at Draco again. 

Their bags had fallen open and parchment, books, and ink were scattered across the floor, so Draco dropped to his knees to gather it. He didn’t need to be causing Granger any wariness while Sadie met her new hero, deified in the girl’s mind since the day he’d told her the story of the wars.

“Ah, HI! My name’s Sadie Perkins, I’m the first Slytherin muggleborn, it’s SUCH an honor to meet you!!” she nearly squealed and he could hear Granger’s surprised chuckle. 

“Oh, well, the pleasure is all mine, Sadie.”

Draco focused on sorting their things and deliberately ignored their conversation. After another minute he rose, both bags righted. Merlin, hers was heavy, had the witch never heard of a featherlight charm?

He cast it nonverbally then extended her bag to her. “Granger.”

She turned to look at him. Her curls were still wild but the weight from the length of her hair made them enticing rather than overwhelming. She’d regained some of the weight she’d been sorely lacking when he’d seen her at the Manor. She wasn’t pale, but her skin was sunkissed. She looked healthy, though just as exhausted as he was. 

He tried to quickly commit her to memory. Maybe he could replace the image of her face contorted in pain with this one, where the witch had grown to be rather pretty and her bright eyes were inquisitive rather than desperate.

“Uh, thanks, Malfoy—wait did you—?”

But she was cut off as Draco brushed past her to the library. 

He just barely heard Sadie tell her, “Don’t worry, he’s just like that. Could we meet sometime? Draco’s helping me with my arithmancy homework now…”

--

“There are more of you,” Draco commented bitingly, arching his eyebrow at the energetic little snake and her posse.

The Hufflepuff and the Ravenclaw wilted under his glare but Sadie and the other Slytherin girl were nonplussed. Salazar, he was going soft.

“I’m not the only one having trouble flying! These are Indira, Marcus, and Ella,” she pointed to the Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and other Slytherin respectively. “And I told them how you’d taught me after they saw how much better I was getting!”

“Did you really let Death Eaters into Hogwarts?” Indira asked. 

Draco scowled. “Obviously,”

“But how? I thought there were anti-apparition wards,” she continued, apparently growing braver. He ignored Sadie whispering to Marcus asking what anti-apparition wards were.

Draco clenched his jaw. “I repaired a vanishing cabinet,” he bit out.

Marcus perked up at that. “I’d read that! That’s really clever magic, isn’t it? How’d you manage it?”

This time Draco turned a wide-eyed stare on the Ravenclaw, absolutely flummoxed.

“Of course it was clever,” Ella scoffed, “He’s a Slytherin, cunning is one of our core values.”

“Wicked,” Marcus muttered, “How long did it take you?”

“All of sixth year,” he finally managed, entirely baffled. Marcus nodded sagely for such a small person. He was shorter even than Sadie. 

“Difficult magic, that,” was all he said.

Sadie clapped her hands. “So flying!”

--

Sadie arrived the following Tuesday with a puff of bright yellow on her shoulder. 

“Sweet Salazar, what is that?”

She beamed at him. “Draco, meet Draco, my new pygmy puff!”

Draco blinked at her once. Twice. “You...named your absurd ball of fluff after me?”

She grinned at him. “He’s ornery like you! He chirps whenever he’s grumpy, but he’s still so cute!” she wriggled her fingers under its...chin? Stomach? It was a giant ball of fluff, did it even have anatomy?

“You’re cruel, little witch,” he glowered at her. This was fucking absurd. “Name him something else.”

“Nope, we’ve bonded!”

Draco groaned and rested his head on his arms. He’d barely slept last night from the dreams and he didn’t have the energy to fight her on this. He was already a pathetic laughingstock, so what? At least the frequency of the revenge hexes and such had gone down as the months wore on. He was down to once a week or so, and that was quite an accomplishment, but the glares never let up.

“Why do you even like those things?” he mumbled from his arm pillow.

“They’re like real life furbies!” she enthused and Draco decided pursuing the question of what a furby was would only end poorly, so he didn’t. Ella joined them, as had become fairly standard, and nabbed an orange. She greeted the two of them but never spoke much at breakfast, as she loathed mornings. 

She more than made up for her quota of words after 10am, however. 

“You seem particularly raccoon-like this morning, did you sleep okay?” Sadie asked him while she passed Ella the tea. 

“Part of being evil, Sadie, it’s hard to sleep at night,” he told her, raising up to rub his eyes and force himself to eat more. 

Sadie frowned. “You’re not evil, Draco.”

“On the contrary, that monstrosity of a creature is absolutely evil, it’s an abomination to nature.”

She laughed despite herself, “You knew what I meant, you grump!”

He put jam on a croissant then rose, “Perhaps, perhaps not,” he told her as he left for Ancient Runes. Ella grunted at him with a halfhearted wave. 

--

“Okay, I need to tell you something, but first you have to promise not to freak out.”

Draco eyed Sadie warily. He was reading for Transfiguration out on the lake and he did not have the energy for “freaking out” or whatever that nonsense muggle phrase meant. 

“Promise!”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I do not make promises I do not necessarily intend to keep. I will do my best not to do whatever constitutes ‘freaking out.’”

Sadie glared at him momentarily but relented. 

“Okay, so I’ve made a new friend.”

“Thank Merlin,” he muttered and she glared at him.

“You love me and you know it. Anyway, it’s not exactly...traditional, and I need your help helping him!”

What in Salazar’s name was she talking about?

“Alright…” he said carefully, straightening. She nodded at him then stepped to the side, revealing a very small elf-like creature, perhaps reaching his knee. It almost looked like a baby house-elf, with big ears, though its head was shaped slightly differently, a touch taller than a house-elf’s. 

Except...its eyes were bright yellow. House elves had all sorts of eye colors but not yellow. Yellow meant...

“Sweet Salazar, Sadie, is that an erkling!?” he nearly yelled as he grabbed her to him. The little creature yelped at the noise, big eyes going somehow wider.

“Draco! You said you wouldn’t freak!”

“Well, sod that, erklings eat children, Sadie! For Salazar’s sake, are you mad?”

“Nuh-uh,” came the squeaky voice of the erkling as Sadie asserted, “No! Reginald isn’t going to eat me!”

“REGINALD!” Draco yelled. He pulled at his hair for a moment before swiftly stunning the little creature. He fell with a flop.

“DRACO! You hurt him!” she shrieked, attempting to run toward him but he held her fast. 

“I stunned him, he’ll be fine. You, on the other hand, will not be fine when ‘Reginald’ decides you’re bloody dinner!”

She stomped her foot as she crossed her arms. “He wouldn’t!”

Draco laughed darkly, “Oh yes, he would. Where did you even find him?”

“That is irrelevant to the situation at hand.”

“Irrelevant, my great aunt Walburga, it is entirely relevant!”

“He’s a BABY, Draco! Please!”

Draco stared at Sadie, who had done an about face and was looking up at him with her big, doleful eyes and her adorable little buns. Her lower lip was stuck out just slightly in a pout. 

“You conniving little snake,” he muttered. He saw her lips twitch but she maintained the cute, pleading look. 

“This is a terrible idea, absolutely not,” he insisted, despite his internally rattled will. No need to let her know how effective that look was.

Alas, patience was not one of Sadie’s virtues and she dropped her front and sighed. “But he’s so sweet, Draco! He’s just misunderstood; he wouldn’t eat me!”

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head at her naivete. “Erklings literally eat children, Sadie!”

“I’m not a child,” she muttered and Draco stared her down, causing Sadie to wilt slightly. 

“Really? You’re what, one meter tall?”

She straightened up, affronted. “One and a half , thank you very much!”

“Whatever. Now where did you find this thing?”

“He’s not a thing, he’s Reginald,”

“Salazar’s sagging ballsack,” he muttered. 

“What?”

“Nothing. Reginald needs to go back where he came from, so you need to tell me where you found him,”

“No!” she stomped her foot again. Draco narrowed his eyes at her until she relented slightly. 

“The Forbidden Forest,” she finally acquiesced and Draco saw red.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed!? It’s forbidden for a reason, Perkins! Merlin, there are so many more monsters in there now after the war and you just traipsed in and adopted an erkling who would suck on your arm like a lolly once it’d ripped it off your corpse?”

He hadn’t noticed he’d begun pacing but he was, and wildly gesticulating with his hands at that. His father would beat him bloody for his lack of composure but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“For the record, this is the exact definition of freaking out,’” she informed him sourly. 

“Well, attempting to adopt monster babies who will eat you is a freak out worthy offense,” he spat back. 

He tugged at his hair again. “Merlin,” he swore, then sighed. “Where have you been keeping him?”

“He likes to sleep near the thestral paddock so I go out there and visit him.”

“Then let him go back there when he wakes and we’ll discuss this inside,” he said. Their outdoor visits were getting less and less pleasant as the Scottish weather grew cooler and he intended on giving her a lengthy lecture.

Chapter Text

Draco awaited Sadie in the library by a stack of no fewer than twelve books, all of which detailed the horror of an erkling. She arrived with her little friends in tow, and all of them stared at the book tower he’d made, wide eyed.

“There are four of you and twelve of these. I want each of you to go through three books and take notes on the erkling, as I assume you are all privy to this insanity named Reginald.”

“The mission isn’t named Reginald, just the erkling is named that. The mission is Classified Operation Concerning Kneazles, to throw off any eavesdroppers, or rival factions, otherwise known as C.O.C.K,” Marcus informed him dourly.

Draco’s jaw dropped. That was worse than Granger’s spewing campaign. 

“For reasons I’d rather not explain to you, if you don’t already know them, you’ll need to change your acronym,” he informed them. They all whined, but he forced them to sit and begin their reading, while he went two tables away to begin his own homework.

Erklings, they would learn, were native to the Bavarian forests. They lured children to them with their laughs and could speak human languages, making them even more dangerous. While they ate goblins and other sentient creatures as well as humans in a pinch, they almost exclusively preferred human children, even if all they could get was a corpse rather than a fresh body.

Their “Reginald” would grow to be between three and four feet tall and the top of his head would become branch-like. For now, as a child, it subsisted on a milk-like substance from its mother. That Reginald may have separated from his mum for a length of time after feeding was unconcerning for the erkling, who didn’t usually have strong parental attachments. But this was quite concerning for Draco because somewhere out there was an adult erkling, fully capable of devouring the firsties. Thus, their little research excavation. There was no way they could read these texts and not realize they were in far too deep with their project.

Two hours later, they trudged up to his table.

“And what have we learned?” he asked them, looking up from his Charms essay. 

Indira simply crossed her arms. “That there is an anti-erkling propaganda campaign rife throughout the wizarding world.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Draco hissed quietly so his charges wouldn’t hear him. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Look, Reginald can keep living in the forest, he just can’t have access to you to sustain his diet,” he tried to reason with them. He’d be having words with someone about the potential of an adult erkling and the expulsion of both Reginald and his mother, but he didn’t need to tell them that. 

“Do we know that human children are their only proper source of food? Honestly, each of those books had only a chapter on them! They’re understudied!” Ella insisted. 

Marcus chimed in with, “And Reginald gives us ample opportunity to study them!”

Sadie was lounging against the bookshelves, smirking smugly. 

Draco did not refrain from banging his head against the table this time.

--

The next day was Saturday and Draco awaited his flock of firsties just outside the doors to the castle. His knees and palms burned from a tripping hex that had been timed as he was ascending the stairs, but otherwise no one bothered him while he waited.

Eventually the four children made their way out of the castle, all bundled up in their bright scarves, mittens, and hats and trudged their way over to Draco. 

“You’re going to help Reginald now, right?”

“We’re going on a field trip,” he told them and set off at a brisk pace, the littles having to run to catch up to him. He kept his pace until he reached the hut of the Care of Magical Creatures professor.

Draco didn’t know what kind of welcome he’d get, but he hoped the four children would mitigate the hatred at least somewhat as he knocked sharply on the wooden door.

Hagrid opened the door with a bright, “Hullo!” before he caught sight of Draco and froze, door only part way open. 

Draco quickly held up his hands in supplication. “I don’t mean any harm and I know I owe you an apology, Professor, but I was hoping you could help these first years here with a magical creatures situation.”

The half-giant frowned slightly but Sadie and Indira leaned towards Draco so they were in the door frame and waved. He could see Hagrid relenting as the two overzealous first years grinned at him, and slowly Hagrid opened the door further.

“Well, it’s chilly ou’ there, ya best be comin’ in for some tea.”

The firsties cheered and went inside while Hagrid began setting up the kettle.

Draco approached slowly, taking in the meager cabin. Before he would have scoffed at the mismatched furniture and overabundance of knit and homemade trinkets, but he was honest enough with himself now to see it as cozy, if in poor taste. He could admit that while he was, deep down, a snob who thought the place ill-kept and tacky, he could also admire the warmth, the thought that someone had cared enough about Hagrid to make the kitschy odds ‘n ends in the first place. 

No one cared about Draco that way now.

The half-giant turned towards him and Draco nearly gaped at the practically frilly apron he’d donned, but caught himself. 

“Rock cakes are in the oven, ya rascals. Now, what creature situation are ya referrin’ to?” he asked as he filled their tea cups. 

“Draco thinks Reginald is going to eat us,” Ella informed Hagrid. The half-giant blinked.

“Well, supposin’ Mr. Malfoy here knows a thing or two ‘bout how magical creatures can be violent when disrespected, that don’ mean all creatures are perfectly safe to go around.”

Four pairs of immediately curious eyes looked to him and Draco sighed, barely refraining from rolling his eyes.

“Yes, I was a little snot of a third year and didn’t treat a hippogriff with the respect it deserved and it attacked me. Not that thrilling a story. The point, Professor, is that this Reginald is an erkling.”

Hagrid looked taken aback. “Oh, erklings are mysterious, they are, and they’re known for feedin’ on little ones.”

“Reginald wouldn’t eat us!” Sadie huffed, clearly vexed that the professor she assumed would take her side was confirming Draco’s point.

“He’s just a baby,” Indira added, and Hagrid immediately lit up. 

No, no, no no no…

“Well, a baby erkling certainly won’t be causin’ the same issues a full grown one would now.”

“Professor, from what I’ve read erklings grow quickly. He’ll be full grown before the year is out,” Draco inserted, trying to steer the conversation back to keeping his four little idiots off Reginald’s dinner menu.

“Well sure, but I can’t say I know too much about their bonding patterns, could be summat to look into.”

“Oh yes, Professor! Draco showed us these horrid books and it’s clear no one’s much studied erklings, and Reginald would give us the perfect opportunity to learn whether or not their diets could be altered so they wouldn’t eat children,” Sadie continued, brightening. Ella nodded and Marcus launched into a long description of how they could create a research program around Reginald as part of their re-named Covert Operation of Nifflers and Kneazles. C.O.N.K. included regular check-ins and a regimented delivery of food stuffs to see what Reginald preferred.

They were there for ages, and Draco picked at his rock cake, unwilling to lose a tooth to politesse as he cut in with facts about the erkling.

“Their behavior isn’t merely the stuff of legends, Bruno Schmidt killed an erkling attacking him in just 1985.” 

“Again, they eat children, Marcus, we already know their diet!”

“The German Ministry lost so many children they had to undergo a massive restriction campaign in the nineteenth century—this should not be up for debate!”

But regardless of the logic or historical facts Draco put forward, Hagrid was thoroughly invested in keeping Reginald. 

“Why, he could stay in the paddock just out here while we investigate, I’ll keep an eye on ‘im. I’m sure I can get some house-elf milk which should work just fine.”

“And we could come visit him!”

“Don’ see why not long as I’m ‘round to make sure nothin’ happens.”

“Professor, could I speak with you a moment?” Draco cut in, standing. Hagrid’s eyes narrowed again, but he nodded and led Draco back out to the front porch.

“If there’s a baby erkling, there’s a parent erkling somewhere in the forest, is there not?” Draco inquired, watching as realization dawned on the big man.

Hagrid frowned. “Aye, I’ll look into that. A baby’s one thin’, a full grown erklin’ is another entirely,” and Draco wanted to relax slightly at this concession, but it was clear he was entirely too swayed by the little humans and their baby erkling. 

“Look, Professor, I know you hate me and you have good reason to; I’m a prat and my behavior and tantrum killed your friend Buckbeak, but please, these kids are trying to play with a creature literally designed to eat them. Sadie will sneak out to visit him without you, and he is admittedly adorable, but they’re too young to be responsible about —”

“Alrigh’, alrigh’, easy lad,” Hagrid put his meaty hands on his shoulders and Draco had to repress the instinct to flinch away. Living with the Dark Lord had taught him not to react, even in fear, however rubbish at it he may be. Draco cleared his throat.

Hagrid was appraising him, something like pity in his eyes. “You’ve changed, haven’ ya?”

Draco stepped out of his grasp, sneering as a spark of anger flared deep in his belly. Hagrid shouldn’t have fucking touched him and Draco shouldn’t have fucking come here, debasing himself for an overgrown professor who thought he was “changing” or “redeeming” himself. Draco knew what he was and there wasn’t any changing it, he was a Death Eater, a Malfoy, his father’s son and none of it was up for debate. This had been a mistake.

“If you wouldn’t mind keeping those idiots alive, I’d appreciate it,” he snapped and stalked off, leaving the four innocent first years to have their tea with their favorite professor who was letting them adopt a sodding monster.

--

Clearly trusting that Hagrid’s safety inclinations had improved over time had been a mistake, Draco fumed, as he forced Sadie and Indira away from Reginald’s new paddock the following day, both girls still cooing over the tiny thing.

Sure, it was adorable, but so were the bumbling first years and he rather preferred them to the child-eating monster. Hagrid was off teaching the fourth years and, just as Draco had predicted, the miscreants were visiting the erkling without their professor.

He needed a voice of reason. 

Someone they’d respect and someone who wouldn’t just give into their insanity because both they and Reginald were cute.

Draco groaned out loud, causing the girls to stop their march back to the castle and look at him.

“Nothing,” he told them, waving them on. 

He’d have to ask Granger.

--

Draco spent the better part of the day figuring out how to approach her. She, like Hagrid, required an apology. This wasn’t a new thought, he’d been sorry for months now, but he’d never settled on how or when or where to make it. After all, his apology would be suspect in the first place; how could she know he was being sincere? What if she didn’t want the reminder of his face and his cowardice and her torture? Was a letter more considerate to that end? Or was it too impersonal?

His previous circuitous thoughts all came back with a vengeance as he tried to figure out how to approach the Golden Girl.

Though, another question -- did she know of Reginald already? Sadie had hoped to speak with her, but the little witch hadn’t told him if she had actually done so. Was he going to go through all of this just to learn she was as useless as Hagrid? Sure, she had a steady head on her shoulders and a good track record of keeping Saint Potter alive despite all odds, but she also had a soft spot for creatures. 

By the end of the day he’d absorbed no information from his classes or the textbook that lay open in front of him when a body slid into the seat across from him in the library. 

If it had been the Great Hall, he’d have known who it was and he wouldn’t have had to snap to attention, wand suddenly in hand and ready. But it wasn’t and so he had, and Sadie let out a frightened squeak eerily similar to Reginald’s chirps. 

Draco let out a breath. “Merlin, witch, don’t sneak up on the war veterans.” Finnegan had hexed the younger Creevey in a similar situation on the grounds just last week; it was good general advice.

Sadie frowned at him, but didn’t comment on it. “You missed dinner.”

Draco blinked and glanced at the window, which revealed a night dark sky.

“Oh,” he shrugged. He’d anxiety fasted for nearly two years, he could skip a meal. If he got desperate, there were kitchens he could raid. Mm, nevermind, that would involve a late night excursion through the surprisingly violent Puffs’ territory. 

Sadie plunked down a napkin filled to bursting on the table, rendering his musing moot.

“You do that, you know? Get caught up and don’t eat. It’s kind of irresponsible given your age and all,” she told him, stealing one of the biscuits she’d brought him. 

He stared at her haul, then looked up to the witch. 

“Um, thanks,” he finally muttered, still not sure what to do besides dig in, which he promptly did. He didn’t want Pince to find them and bark at them for eating in the library.

“What were you working on?” she asked as she settled in across from him.

He sighed. “Apparently nothing. Couldn’t concentrate.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

He snorted and shook his head at her, replying only by taking another bite of the cornish pasty she’d smuggled him. He looked up just in time to see her eyes light up in recognition at something behind him.

“Oh, hi, Hermione!” Sadie waved and he nearly groaned. He hadn’t finished formulating a plan, he couldn’t talk to her yet! He knew she was nearby, he’d shared a library with her for seven years; he obviously knew her preferred table, but he was hoping their mutual indifference would remain in effect until he was ready.

The curly head of Hermione Granger popped up from where it was buried in her book and she greeted the younger witch with a pleasant smile.

“Hello Sadie,” she returned, then her smile fell as she looked at Draco. 

That was it, right there. The way his life was always going to go -- making people’s smiles fall, stealing their joy, ruining the moment, threatening their safety. To think he’d once enjoyed it, thinking it made him powerful, thinking it made him a good son, a proud Malfoy. Suddenly, Draco’s throat was tight and it was all he could do to nod at Granger. 

Her eyebrows furrowed, like she might have caught him in the rare display of emotion, but Sadie mercifully interrupted before she could say something.

“Did you miss dinner, too? I brought loads if you need a snack.”

“Oh! I did go actually, but I had to leave rather suddenly— if there’s a spare biscuit, though—” she replied, rising to come closer.

Occlude, occlude, occlude. 

She was looking to him, to make sure he agreed even though it was Sadie’s food.

Occlude.

Walls restored, Draco looked up at her and nodded. 

For once in his life, she smiled at him, timid though it may have been.

“Thanks, Malfoy,”

Fuck, he owed her thanks, too, for testifying at his trial. That was another thing to figure out how to tell her. How did he say she never owed him thanks, that he owed her his freedom? That he’d wronged her so many times she could have anything she wanted from him?

“Anytime, Granger,” was all he said instead. 

“Should I ask why there’s enough food in here to feed a small army?” Granger teased, nudging Sadie, who giggled.

“I wasn’t sure if Sir Grumps-a-lot had skipped lunch, too, so I brought plenty,”

Granger frowned. “Skipping meals, Malfoy?”

“Not regularly,” he shrugged.

Those keen eyes glanced from him to Sadie, suspicious, and her frown deepened. 

“Relax, Granger, nothing nefarious,” he sighed. 

“The last time you skipped meals—” she began and he cut her off.

“Yes, yes, last time I didn’t eat it was because I was so consumed by my villainy,” he waved a dismissive hand at her. 

She frowned again. “That wasn’t what I meant, Malfoy.”

He arched a brow at her. 

She huffed and crossed her arms. “Last time something was wrong. Is there something wrong now?”

He sighed again. “Like I said Granger, nothing nefarious to worry about.” He certainly wasn’t going to admit it was anxiety over how to apologize and ask for her assistance. 

She pursed her lips, obviously still frustrated with him ( Merlin, what did it take to prove he wasn’t up to anything?) but instead of arguing with him she just slid Sadie’s napkin of food closer to him.

“Then eat up, Malfoy.”

He rolled his eyes and obeyed, ignoring Sadie’s curious looks at the two of them.

The two girls discussed something as he tried, again in vain, to absorb something of the herbology text in front of him.

“Oh! I need a book for my Potions essay this weekend, I’ll be back,” Sadie informed them and scurried off, leaving her bag abandoned on her empty seat. 

Draco sighed and gathered his courage as the older witch sank into Sadie’s chair. He needed to stop thinking and just do it and now was as good a time as any. It removed the first step: Figure Out How To Approach Without Appearing Threatening, at any rate.

“Thank you. For testifying.” 

Okay, so not winning any awards for eloquence, but it hit the core points. 

Granger froze, hand outstretched for another biscuit. 

“Oh. Um, you’re welcome.”

Draco took a fortifying breath and raised his eyes to hers. “And, I’m sorry.”

Her chocolate eyes grew larger and her jaw fell slack.

There was a silence he wasn’t sure he should fill, but the longer it carried on, the more awkward it became, until he broke and continued.

“For everything— the name-calling, the blood supremacy, the Manor, all of it. You never deserved any of it, and I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

Merlin, the elocution lessons were failing him. But he meant it, and that was the best he could do.

“Okay,” she replied and he blinked at her.

He’d imagined several responses, from “ Save it, Death Eater,” to a lecture on how his apology was inadequate to a diagram of how his apology meant nothing because after so much evil one couldn’t just repent, but he certainly never envisioned “okay.”

“O-okay?” he parroted like an idiot.

Granger smiled at him, and given she’d never properly graced him with such an expression, he’d never noticed how her eyes lit up, how the right side of her mouth tugged up more than her left, how straight and white her now-shortened teeth were, how full were her lips. 

“Geez, this is heavy!” Sadie’s voice interrupted his reverie as she dumped her book on the table, taking the seat at Draco’s right. Granger looked to the table, shaking her head a little and biting her lip, though her grin wouldn’t be contained and Sadie looked between the two of them.

He narrowed his eyes at the first year’s  little smirk. Hmph. That wouldn’t do.

“Granger, has Sadie told you about her latest interest?”

Sadie’s eyes grew huge and it was his turn to smirk in victory.

“Oh? What’s that?” Granger inquired innocently.

Sadie opened her mouth to spout off something seemingly pure and angelic, no doubt, but Draco beat her to it.

“She’s interested in befriending a literal child-eating monster.”

Granger’s mouth fell open in shock and she whirled on Sadie, hands braced on the table.

“Is this true?”

Sadie huffed, “I mean, technically, but Reginald wouldn’t eat me, Draco’s practically obsessed with that one little detail, but there’s so much more to Reg—”

“Yes, well that is an important detail!!” Granger exclaimed, crossing her own arms now. She glanced at Draco, who obliged her. 

“It’s an erkling.”

“An erkling!” she shrieked, standing up. 

The sounds of Madame Pince approaching made all three pause and Granger quickly vanished the crumbs from their evening meal before they were unceremoniously kicked out of the library. 

--

Draco nearly smiled when he stepped off a moving staircase to find it had deposited him in front of a riled up Granger and a defiant Perkins.

Granger’s hair sparked from her magic, her curls practically floating around her, and her hands were fisted on her hips. Sadie, for her part, crossed her arms and raised her chin defiantly.

“Professor Hagrid said it’s fine and that Reginald’s harmless!”

The older witch sputtered, rather obviously caught between her fondness for Hagrid and her basic principles regarding child safety and Draco couldn’t help the laugh that practically rumbled out of his chest.

Granger and Sadie both turned equally unamused glares in his direction and he laughed harder.

Draco tried to get himself under control and coughed halfheartedly to cover himself. Granger huffed, crossing her arms now.

“What, may I ask, is so funny?”

“Just, seeing someone else have to deal with her relentless devotion to a lethal creature,” he offered, moving towards Sadie who bumped him with her shoulder.

“Rude,” she told him, but couldn’t help a small smile of greeting.

“True,” he countered, offering her a smirk as he plucked her bag off her shoulder. Her books were almost as tall as she was and the featherlight charm was just a touch too close to the levitation charm for a first year to master. They also tended to last only a few hours, so Draco’s breakfast lightening of her bag would have worn off by now in the middle of the afternoon.

He looked to Granger who appeared to be taking them in thoughtfully. He scowled at her and this time, Granger was the one smirking. She opened her mouth to comment, but Sadie groaned, interrupting her before she could begin.

“I have to go to Arithmancy now,” she grumbled, taking her now much lighter bag from Draco. 

“A sparkling example of scholastic enthusiasm,” Draco commented and Sadie stuck her tongue out at him. 

“Just the model pupil, truly,” he continued and she swatted at him. Granger smiled.

“I hated Arithmancy first year, it’s so similar to maths but just different enough to be dreadfully confusing.”

“Yes! That’s just it” Sadie exclaimed, nodding vigorously. “Algebra, but make it magic!”

Granger chuckled and Draco made a mental note to look up algebra in the library. 

Sadie grinned widely before continuing, “My dad’s an engineer, I can’t wait til holiday to tell him maths is number divination and our staircases move, he’s going to have kittens!”

Granger offered her a smile in return, “Oh, yes, my mother was horrified there was no biology or chemistry offered. She bought one of those learn-at-home courses for me the summer before fourth year, couldn’t believe I’d make it to adulthood without even touching basic genetics.”

Sadie beamed and Draco, for the first time without hateful derision, truly wondered about being a muggleborn. What was it like to find out all of this existed? What were muggles educated in -- apparently not Arithmancy but something called algebra, chemistry, and biology?

“Don’t be late for magic algebra,” Granger chided with a wink and Sadie sighed but hurried along with a wave to the older students. Granger chuckled at her as she turned to face Draco.

“So, what are we going to do about Reginald?” she asked him with a smile.

Draco’s breath caught at her easy demeanor, but he forced nonchalance as he shrugged. “I was hoping for your assistance, actually. She’s ceased to listen to me about it, and she admires you.”

Granger frowned slightly at that. “Yes, she’s apparently heard a lot of hero worship about me. I’m afraid reality won’t live up to her expectations,” she finished with a sigh. 

Draco scoffed and Granger’s head snapped up, face incredulous.

“What? You honestly think she’ll find you wanting?”

The curly-haired witch rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, Malfoy, Golden Girls are apparently perfect and have no actual personality to them beyond shiny goodness,” she told him bitterly.

“She’s latched onto me, Granger, she can handle a few flaws.”

She crossed her arms, irritated. “Yes, well, she didn’t expect --” she snapped before her eyes widened as she cut herself off.

“She didn’t expect anything good of me,” he finished for her, oddly unoffended. His pride used to be so fragile, his giant ego shielding deep insecurities. 

Now, well, he knew what he was. He’d lost his illusions of power, of achievement, of his father’s image and so no longer harbored fear he wouldn’t live up to them. He simply was a Death Eater, a coward, a pathetic excuse for a wizard. No need to pretend otherwise.

Granger blushed, biting her lip. “Er, well, yes, that is what I was going to say, that maybe wasn’t --”

He interrupted her this time, waving her off. “It’s fine, Granger. She didn’t expect anything of me, actually, she came here knowing nothing of the war or what had happened,”

The witch gaped at him. “They didn’t tell her!? Or her parents?!”

Draco shook his head. Her brow furrowed.

“Wait, then who did tell her?”

It was Draco’s turn to blush. 

“I did.”

Granger blinked at him once. Twice.

“ You put all those damned titles in her head!?” she screeched at him.

“I told her the truth!” he immediately defended, holding his hands up placatingly. 

“Sure, there wasn’t an ounce of sarcasm when you told her I was Gryffindor’s Golden Girl,” she scoffed, folding her arms over herself. This time it seemed defensive rather than furious.

Draco sobered. “Granger, there wasn’t. I told her you were the brightest witch of our age and I meant it. That’s half the reason I was such an arse to you for years, you were the best, by far, and it made a mockery of everything I was raised to believe were sacred ideals that protected our kind and our culture,” he ran a hand through his hair, and let out a breath. “I told her your titles so she’d recognize them, same as the others, not to put you on a pedestal, but so she knows the truth.”

She merely looked at him for a long moment, appraising, and Draco held her gaze before she nodded once.

“Where are you headed?”

“Library.”

She nodded. “Walk with me?” she asked, tilting her head. “We can discuss Reginald on the way.”

He fell into step with her as they made their way to the library. “They have some ridiculous code name for their mission,” he told her and she snickered.

“Ah, yes, so I was told. I’m impressed you didn’t merely revel in the chaos of their original moniker,” she teased, a smirk gracing her lips. 

Draco blushed, glancing away. Granger’s full lips and mischievous eyes smirking at him were sinfully attractive and that was dangerous territory. He shrugged, not sure how to respond. 

“Perhaps I’ve had enough mischief for a lifetime.”

He missed Granger’s quick frown.

“I rather think some mischief is appropriate. The Weasley’s joke shop, for instance,” she commented, rushing just a bit to match back up to his longer strides. He slowed down.

“Right, isn’t it still closed down after…” he cut off, suddenly remembering she was close with all the Weasleys, not just the Weasel King himself. But Granger merely nodded.

“It is, but George will reopen when he’s ready. They’ve been doing brief stints on weekends occasionally, setting up stalls. It would hurt Fred to know that part of his twin, that part of his legacy, died with him that day, so George is trying.”

Draco swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. He’d admired the Weasley twins, something he’d never voiced aloud, for their clever mayhem. He was sorry one of them was gone.

Because of people like you. 

He pushed the voice down. 

“Good for him,” he replied. Please change the bloody subject.

She didn’t change the subject, but she was quiet, which was nice for a time until it grew uncomfortable. They arrived at the library and he held open the door for her and she gave him another smile. 

Merlin, that was two smiles today. 

“So, what have you tried already,” she asked him as they arrived at her table, plopping her bag down on the table with a loud bang. He shot her a scowl which she did not notice as she procured parchment and quill.

Casting his gaze skyward and leaning on the back to legs of his chair, he told her of the library research project and the visit to Hagrid. When he finally looked at her again, she was gaping at him.

“What?”

She shook her head, attempting to get a hold of herself. “Nothing,” she said finally. Draco shrugged. 

“I’m trying, but nothing seems to convince her. She doesn’t realize Reginald is actually dangerous,” he said, attempting to steer the conversation back on track.

Granger bit her lip and tapped her chin with her quill. 

“Well, if you’re losing, have you considered switching sides?”

He narrowed his eyes at her thinly veiled reminder of his family’s performance at the final battle. She smirked at him, before shaking her curls and sobering.

“What I mean is, if they truly aren’t going to stay away from Reginald, perhaps the right course of action is to help them learn whether or not he can have a different food source. They’re eleven, surely some of their methodology is questionable. But if we help them, we keep them safe, make them happy, and possibly save Reginald from a life of exclusion and isolation.”

“What is it with you people? He’s a monster, it is what it is.”

“He’s an adorable child.”

Draco scoffed, “So was I once. It didn’t change what I became.”

Granger drew back, staring at him incredulously. “Is that what you think you are?” she asked after a long moment,  “A monster?”

Draco rolled his eyes. He’d been called one dozens of times at this point, who was he to disagree with the general public?

She scoffed at him, shaking her head. “Honestly, so bloody dramatic. You’re no monster, you git, and you know it.”

He gaped at her in shock. “What the fuck, Granger?” 

She rolled her eyes at him which was patently absurd. “You’re not a monster. You were a child soldier in a war manipulated by the adults, same as me and Harry only you were on the worse side. You were a bully and a bigot, but you’re hardly either now,” she shrugged. “Hardly monster material.”

A cruel, biting laugh surged out of him and he pushed his chair back, snarling. “What naive fucking planet are you on, Granger?” 

She lunged towards him, bracing herself against the table.

“Do not condescend to me! I know what you did, I was at every single minute of your trial. I saw them drag your name through the mud, haul out every horrible deed you were forced into, I bloody lived through one of them, remember!?” she hissed, holding her left arm out and tugging up the sleeve. His chest tightened at the sight of her arm, but she wasn’t done so he tried to focus on her voice.

“Do not call me naive for telling you that I have seen real monsters, Malfoy. Real, actual evil. You were a bully and a bigot and perhaps even a bad person, but I’ve looked Bellatrix LeStrange in the eye and lived, so when I tell you that you are no monster, I know exactly what I am talking about!”

She sat back in a huff, crossing her arms over her chest, glaring at him defiantly. 

“Sorry,” he rasped, throat tight. She nodded.

“Now, the Covert Operation of Nifflers and Kneazles, if you please,” she told him primly.

He retrieved a roll of parchment he’d copied from Marcus outlining the details of their plan and handed it to Granger, who looked it over. 

They set to work.

--

Two days later it was a blissful Saturday in mid-November, the sun casting the world in clear, vivid brightness that did nothing to combat the biting cold. Draco was again waiting just outside the main door, this time for Granger. The first years were already down at the paddock with Hagrid, having been promised hot chocolate. 

He stared at the landscape, fingering the vial in his pocket. Since Granger’s rant speech, his sleep had been even worse to the point he’d essentially tossed and turned all night. 

Everyone wanted him to be the monster or the victim. On the one hand, she was right. He’d had no choice, it had been a relief in fact to tell Sadie he’d had no choice. He had been a pawn for the adults. Dumbledore had apparently known the entire time what he was up to and didn’t bother to help him until those fateful, final moments. Snape had tested his occlumency, knew it was good enough to withstand the Dark Lord, and still hadn’t told him the truth about his allegiance. His father had promised him to the Death Eaters long before, his conscription into the ranks only hastened by his father’s failure at the Department of Mysteries. On the other, he’d done the things he’d been accused of, he was guilty. He’d endangered children, conspired to murder, aided a murder, used the unforgivables. He’d been complicit in and witnessed so much worse. 

He was both; the tortured and torturer, the victim and the perpetrator. His pain didn’t matter because he was on the wrong side and his guilt was apparently unappreciated or at least unhelpful because he’d been forced. 

So, yeah, he’d basically only taken brief naps the past two and a half days. It was a lot to process; the assault of memories had been relentless. 

“Good morning, Malfoy,” Granger’s melodic voice called from behind him. He waited for her to come to his side.

“Granger,” he greeted, and handed her the vial of ointment.

He could practically hear her frown. “What’s this?”

“It should help your scar,” he told her and began walking at a brisk pace. Granger huffed and jogged to catch up with him, curls flying behind her.

“It’s cursed, Malfoy, I’m stuck with it,” she reminded him, holding the item back out to him. He didn’t move to take it.

“The blade was cursed, yes, by a Black,” he replied, maintaining his pace which was evidently a bit too fast for the petite Gryffindor who continued huffing as she power walked to keep up with him.

“Does it matter who cursed it?” 

“Not always,” he informed her, “But Bellatrix liked her cursed objects to have versatility. You perhaps noticed how it hurt more than a regular knife, but you didn’t lose all that much blood, considering how deeply she’d cut you?”

Granger stopped short and he paused, turning to face her. Perhaps he wasn’t explaining this well or being sensitive enough to her ordeal, but he didn’t have the energy to do more than this. 

Granger was staring at him, brows furrowed in curiosity, her mouth, perhaps meant to be stern, was pursed in irritation or concentration but looked more like a pout.

“I hadn’t noticed, but you’re right. I should have been bleeding more. I thought the pain was heightened from...well, from,” she finished lamely, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Draco just nodded. “Like I said, versatility. She wanted to inflict pain without necessarily killing her prey too quickly while still having the ability to kill if she chose; all she’d need to do is hit a vital organ,” Granger blanched for some reason but he continued on, “She also wanted to ensure should a Black be harmed by her knife, wielded by herself or someone else, they had the option to heal the cursed wound more quickly or remove the cursed scar. My blood is in that ointment, and it’s a particular recipe designed for the curse, Granger, it should heal it properly now. It’s been tested.” 

He turned on his heel and continued his trek to the paddock. If she needed a moment, she could take it. Only a minute had passed before she was trotting up to him again. 

“Tested how?” she asked him quietly and he shrugged. 

Exhaustion made him numb to some degree so he felt little as he told her, “Bellatrix was often in charge of my training and my father didn’t want his heir permanently disfigured.”

Granger slowed again, but he didn’t, until she grabbed his hand. They stopped. 

He glanced down at their hands, hers mittened and his gloved, then back up to her. 

“Something’s wrong today,” she said quietly and he shrugged again. It was all he seemed capable of. 

“Just tired, Granger.”

Her eyes searched his face and a vague part of him registered she was lovely as she did so, cheeks pink from the cold, hair extra wild from the wind. 

“When did you sleep last?” she asked quietly, still holding his hand. He could feel her warmth even through the layers of leather and wool. He blinked at her.

“It’s what I said, isn’t it?” she asked again, just as gently. 

“Let’s just go, Granger,” he suggested, tugging her along. She let him.

“Dreamless sleep?” she asked, hand still in his. 

Huh. That was nice.

Wait, she asked him a question. 

“Out,” he replied. She frowned at him. 

“Have you asked Madame Pomfrey for more?”

“She doesn’t like me,” he said in reply, and without thinking continued, “Don’t blame her.”

The hand in his gripped tighter and he looked down at her for a moment. Arched a brow at her in question. 

“She’ll still help you, Malfoy,” she chided and he shrugged. The first few weeks of school when he’d had to seek her help on occasion, the school healer had glared at him, admonishing him to stop antagonizing the students, stop bringing this upon himself.

He’d stopped going. 

Granger appeared confused still, slowing again to a halt, her brows still furrowed so there was a crease in between them. A few curls kept flying into her face from the wind, but she made no move to fix them, simply continuing her appraisal of him. 

Later, he couldn’t think what possessed him to do it except exhaustion-addled insanity, but he reached out with a gloved finger and smoothed the wrinkle between her eyebrows. 

Wide, chocolate eyes— no, more hazelnut-colored now in the sunlight— stared up at him. He gazed into them as he brushed her curls back behind her ear, then let his hand drop. He began walking, a small part of him missing the warmth from her hand, when her arm looped through his. 

“Come on, we’ve kept the children waiting long enough.”

--

The children, as it turned out, didn’t mind as they were playing a game of Simon Says (some muggle activity) with Reginald, who’d developed more communication abilities. He could now say simple English words while he understood most of them. 

Draco could admit that the baby erkling was cute. It had huge ears and big eyes - all designed to lure its prey, of course - and it was scared of Draco, as it had identified him as a threat to its future feast of children. It fucking whimpered, the devious cretin, and hid behind Sadie. 

Granger giggled at that and he glared at her. “Do not let them sway you!”

“Reginald, tell Draco you won’t eat us!” Ella insisted.

The erkling turned its giant yellow eyes onto Draco and flapped its ears, big like an house-elf’s but set at an angle on its head like deer, as it said, “No eats fwiends!”

It was mispronouncing its r’s to enhance its appeal. Diabolical.

“Pwomise!”

Foul creature.

Granger cooed at him and Draco dragged her away by the elbow.

“It will eat them!” he hissed.

“I thought the whole point of this was to try, to be here as they experiment with other diet options!” she insisted, swatting at his chest. He glowered at her and she stared him down until he relented.

“Okay, everyone, listen up!” Granger instructed. The firsties all gathered around Granger and Reginald on his tiny legs waddled up, too. Draco crossed his arms and leaned against the paddock fence just behind Granger, scowling at them. Sadie merely giggled at him. 

He scowled harder.

“First, let me just say this was an excellent first draft of a proper experiment with Reginald’s diet, well done. Now, I’ve made a few edits,” she passed out copies of the new schedule, “and we’ll get started. The schedule is broken down into two week chunks. According to my research and after consulting with Professor Hagrid, two weeks with a particular food item will let us know how it affects his overall digestive health and nourishment. If a food is promising at two weeks, we’ll keep it in the rotation for another two alone. If it’s still fine, then it’s a winner and we’ll start a new food item in addition to it. If it goes really poorly, we’ll just abort and start a new food. Any questions?”

Surprisingly, there was only one.

“Which one first?”

--

Chapter Text

Week One: Chicken

“It’s unobjectionable, almost always tastes good, but not too exciting,” was Marcus’ reasoning. 

“It’s like he’s never heard of seasoning,” Sadie whispered to Indira, who was shaking her head at their friend. Marcus stood two inches shorter than the girls and his close cropped curls framed his square face, accentuated by glasses (round because “Harry Potter is The Chosen One, obviously they’re in right now” -- Ella). His light brown skin was splattered with ink stains at the moment as he had taken copious notes on Granger’s research.

Ella skipped up to join the bunch at Draco’s library table, not that any of them seemed to care that he’d actually come here to do work. 

“What’s Marcus never heard of?” she asked, hopping onto the table.

“Down,” Draco instructed, and Ella rolled her eyes but went to sit down in a chair. 

“Seasoning food,” Indira updated her as Ella passed around fruits she’d snagged from the kitchens. She tossed Draco the green apple and he nodded his thanks. 

Ella nodded sagely, “He doesn’t even like condiments!”

Marcus harrumphed then cleared his throat. “In any case, chicken is basic and given that Reginald has never had it before, we should stick to simple dishes.”

He was basically parroting what Granger had said, but given that he was eleven and she was the brightest witch in a generation...they’d call it learning.

“Is it time YET?” Sadie asked for the umpteenth time, draping herself dramatically across the table, an arm covering Draco’s essay. 

Despite his glower, Draco obediently cast a tempus. “Ten minutes til five.”

“UGH!” came her reply, and now her other arms laid across her eyes. Draco cast a very light stinging hex at the arm covering his parchment.

“HEY!” she jumped, sticking her tongue out at him. Draco rolled his eyes, and Sadie went back to floating random objects as “charms practice.” At 4:59 pm sharp, Granger’s patronus popped by their table to say everything was ready and Draco and his brood of first years met her at the front of the castle. 

Granger shot him a soft smile that made his heart race before winking at the firsties and asking who wanted to help carry Reginald’s dinner. Sadie, being the excellent cunning and ambitious snake she was, snagged it first.

But, given her practically Hufflepuff ooey gooey center of warmth and goodness, she suggested they each take a turn feeding him. At first, all went well, Reginald taking bites and chirping happily, each of the four kids pleased at their success.

Until Reginald violently vomited.

Week 1, Trial Two: Bread

“Bread is the real unobjectionable food,” Sadie assured them as they watched Reginald happily munching on his loaf. Ella nodded while Indira and Marcus simply waited with bated breath, unable to take their eyes off Reggie. 

Granger slipped a vial into his hand while the children were occupied. Draco blinked and glanced down at the purple potion.

“Dreamless sleep?” he asked for confirmation, voice low. Granger hummed in affirmation and he pocketed the potion.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

They were silent for a time, watching Reginald flap his ears in time to a song Ella was singing. “Maybe this one will go better,” she hoped, resting her chin upon her fist where she had propped herself on the fence. 

“Perhaps,” Draco agreed. They’d been out here an hour, already it was more successful than chicken.

Day two revealed a pathetic Reginald holding a grumbling and bloated tummy. Sadie transfigured her robe into a blanket (an impressive spell for her age, they’d only just attempted it in class) and created a nest for Reginald to snuggle in and patted his head. Before they left, Hagrid promised to keep an eye on him throughout the night in case it got worse.

“Maybe let’s give him a few days back on his milk,” Granger suggested. 

Sadie frowned. “Will that work? We started his eating program because the text said that they transition to non-liquid diets about this age.”

They all peered at Marcus, but the sullen Ravenclaw felt too guilty over “poisoning Reggie” to contribute and continued marching forward, head down. 

Just before they entered the Great Hall for dinner, Draco whisked them down to the kitchens.

“What are we doing down here? It’s dinnertime, we didn’t miss it,” Indira asked. Granger, too, seemed curious but tagged along without complaint. When Winky greeted them at the kitchens, Draco informed her that these first years were celebrating an impressive feat of magic and would all be requiring ice cream for their efforts, if she could please bring them some. 

“No we didn’t,” Ella commented after Winky had gone to fulfill his order.

“No, you didn’t,” he agreed, “But Sadie did.”

Sadie beamed.

“I can’t eat ice cream, Reggie’s suffering!” Marcus whined and Ella hip checked him. 

“More for us then!”

Week Two: Egg Noodles

“Bland like noodles, protein of eggs!”

Draco arched a skeptical brow at Granger, who wilted. 

“I know, I know, but they were so down last time!” she bit her lip, flipping through the Creature Diets Compendium for the fourth time.

They’d taken to chatting in the library about their first years and slowly but surely, Granger would simply join him at his table while they studied. She was a good study partner, not filling the space with inane chatter but willing to occasionally engage in brief conversation about an interesting idea she’d come across.

“It’s just that house elves eat the same food we do and they’re the closest creature so maybe it’s just certain types that don’t sit well with the erkling?”

She’d said this all before of course, but he let her repeat herself. It was cute, the way she fretted over them. He steadfastly ignored that he himself had read not only Creature Diets Compendium, but also Elves, Goblins, Erklings and Gore, and the pertinent section of Monster Book of Monsters and owled Tippy about her diet preferences.

To Reginald’s credit, he lasted two days before he couldn’t process the egg noodles any further and projectile vomited onto Draco’s shoes.

Cruel, wicked demon baby.

Week Two, Trial Two: Rice

“Granger, that is genuinely hideous.”

“It is not!” she fumed, clutching the multi-colored jumper to her chest.

“It’s what, six colors?”

“I may have considered this a good opportunity to use up some leftover yarns. It’s ecologically conscious!”

“It’s a fashion travesty,” Draco corrected solemnly and Granger elbowed him in the ribs for his trouble.

“Ow,” he deadpanned, clearly not overly troubled.  

She looked about ready to hex him when Sadie and Ella came running up from the dungeons.

“Hermione! Draco!”

The girls nearly tackled him with their hugs and knocked the breath out of him.

“This is why I was against hugging,” he wheezed, stooped over, and Sadie and Ella both rolled their eyes. They turned to Hermione and Ella’s ponytail whacked him in the face. Salazar, these girls were going to kill him.

“What’s that?” Sadie asked as they finished their hugs.

“Hopefully kindling,” Ella sneered and Hermione practically had steam coming out her nostrils.

“It is a sweater for Reginald,” she hissed, turning on heel to march towards the door. 

“It’s...kitschy!” Sadie tried. Granger just stormed ahead. 

Her mood was much improved when Reginald enthusiastically donned his sweater and sincerely thanked “‘Mione” for his gift. He chirped some more and danced around with his new outerwear. 

“How’s the rice treating you, Reg?” Indira asked.

Reginald let out a happy chirrup and Granger positively beamed. 

Week Three: Rice, part II

Draco had time to kill before meeting the C.O.N.K. and had stopped by Professor Vector’s classroom for a research question involving a particularly tricky curse breaking exercise from class. The mood was generally optimistic as rice seemed to be staying down and not causing any great gastronomical distress to the erkling. Draco felt like a sap for admitting it, but when his firsties were pleased, so was he. Professor Vector was also one of Draco’s favorite professors and she hadn’t lost her respect for him as a student, nor did she look at him pityingly, which made her rise swiftly in his personal rankings this term. It was shaping up to be a decent day.

As he made his way from the Arithmancy room down to the ground floor his staircase moved, depositing him at the far end of the third floor corridor. With a sigh, he began to make his way back to the central part of the castle; he had made it about halfway down the hall before trouble appeared. 

“Look who it is,” came a voice from behind him. Draco released his wand from the holster on his wrist and it fell easily into his hand. 

“It’s the Death Eater.”

“Funny, I thought it was a ferret.”

Har de har har. So clever. Sharp wits, these two.

Draco considered his options and they were few. Run and be pursued, as it was a straight and mostly deserted hallway with only empty classrooms. Remain nonchalant and hope they just wanted to work a few taunts into their lackluster day. He chose the latter. 

As he was slammed into the wall, he instantly regretted that decision. 

“What are you up to, Death Eater?” the first -- a brawny seventh year Hufflepuff jeered.

“Should be rotting in Azkaban,” the other replied, this one a large but soft sixth year Ravenclaw.

Why is it always the ‘Puffs?

Of course, it wasn’t always, but honestly, they were the most violent. Draco was pretty sure. Case in point, the Ravenclaw was a useless backup, the Puff was holding him against the wall.

“Oi, speak when I’m talking to you, you piece of Death Eater shit!” was punctuated by a swift punch to the face. Pain bloomed in his cheek and he tasted blood in his mouth.

Stay still, he ordered himself against all instincts. It was take the beating or go to Azkaban and after the weeks he was held there during the trials, he refused to return. 

A punch to the gut winded him and he folded before a fist in his hair brought him back to be flush with the wall and a wand was thrust under his chin.

“What do you think, Miller? Would anyone miss the Death Eater?”

Draco, for his part, held his hateful stare. He didn’t cower anymore. Cowering had brought no mercy during the war, so now he figured he might as well retain his dignity. 

“No!” came a shout and Draco looked to his left as much as he could without moving his head to see two little buns on a dark-skinned Slytherin racing towards him in a blur in his periphery. 

No no no no NO —

“Sadie, stay by me!” 

Thank fucking Merlin, it was Granger. 

“Get her out of here,” he told her, keeping his eyes on the dunce with the wand.   

“Get away from him!” Sadie shouted and he snapped his head to the side, wand be damned, even as the Puff drove it painfully into the space between his jaw and his neck. Granger thankfully had her arms around Sadie, restraining her.

His heart broke, just a little, seeing Sadie so terrified yet angry on his behalf. 

“Granger, get her out of here,” he repeated, wincing as he aggravated his cheek. It throbbed like it was fractured. 

“ Expelliarmus.” 

The wand that had been digging into his skin now rested in her hand. 

“ Petrificus totalus,” she practically hissed and first the Puff then the Ravenclaw dropped.

“You two are pathetic. Does it make you feel strong, going after someone who can’t fight back or risk life in Azkaban? Because all it shows is how pathetically weak you are.”

Sadie had been staring at the display in shock, but she shook her head as she recovered and raced to Draco’s side, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. 

“Easy,” he gasped and her grip immediately loosened and she turned her huge obsidian eyes to him and they were filled with tears.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, even as he felt his tongue swelling larger and speaking was growing increasingly difficult. He heard Granger continue lecturing as she released them, got their names, and hexed them purple for good measure before they ran off in fear of her, but he focused on Sadie.

He leaned heavily against the wall and rubbed her back soothingly as she burst into tears.

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” he whispered, pushing aside the throbbing in his face.

Sadie sniffled. “That is not why I’m crying, you idiot!”

Suddenly his vision was filled with riotous brown curls. 

Granger winced. “That’s going to take more than a simple episkey to fix.”

“Do you know the spell?” 

Granger shook her head. “Can you make it to the infirmary?”

Draco just nodded. Granger pulled his arm over her shoulders and wrapped her arm around him to support some of his weight, while Sadie wrapped one of her arms around him in an unhelpful, but sweet, show of moral support.

“How often does this happen?” Granger asked softly.

“Not as much any more. It had been a couple weeks, actually,” he replied breathily. His ribs were aching. 

“You’re holding up much better now than with Buckbeak,” she muttered and Draco scoffed weakly.

“I was thirteen and it was a lot of blood, Granger!” he replied indignantly, then winced. 

“Shh, sorry, I thought distracting you would help, I was wrong,” Granger rambled apologetically, as he fought to breathe without pain. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze in response.

“Who’s Buckbeak?” Sadie asked.

“Overgrown chicken,” Draco gasped.

“You’re lucky you’re injured, you prat,” Granger scolded, and informed Sadie that Buckbeak was, in fact, a hippogriff. 

When they reached the infirmary Granger gingerly helped him lie on a bed as Madame Pomfrey scurried over.

“Mr. Malfoy! Honestly, again? Are you still running your mouth at the students?”

Draco took as deep a breath as he could manage and didn’t look away from a spot on the ceiling.

“For Merlin’s sake, this is getting out of hand --”

“Yes, Madame Pomfrey, it is, but not because of Draco.”

His eyes snapped to Granger who had her hands on her hips again and his stomach flipped. He loved it when she stood like that, magic crackling in her hair and it was the second time she’d done it for him. 

Madame Pomfrey must have seen a lecture in her future as she quickly vanished his shirt to see the damage to his chest and cast a diagnostic. 

“You’ve cracked a rib, that cheekbone is fractured but otherwise just bruising. Let’s get you a pain and sleeping draught then I’ll set them while you’re asleep,” she told him, scurrying off to the potion stores in her office. 

Draco tensed. He didn’t like the idea of being vulnerable, asleep in the open here, when a wand could be trained on him. He felt his breath coming quicker when a hand slid into his.

“I’ll stay, don’t worry.”

Granger’s face was open and honest, and Draco found he believed her, and not only that, he trusted her. He gripped her hand in reply as Sadie sat down on the edge of his bed. 

“I can stay, too, if you want,” she offered and he smiled at the first year with the functional side of his face. 

“You need to take care of the demon baby,” he told her.

It was so easy to bait her. “It’s Reginald!” she corrected, puffing up taller in irritation until she caught the twinkle in his eye. “Oh, you prat!”

Pomfrey returned and handed him two potions. “Pain draught first, Mr. Malfoy; wait two minutes then the sleeping draught.” He obeyed.

After a moment, Draco slurred, “I get why people get hooked on these.”

Granger chuckled and brushed his hair off his forehead and he closed his eyes. 

“Sleeping draught, Draco,” came her swotty, yet still somehow lovely voice, and this close he could smell vanilla wafting from her hair.

He blinked his eyes open. “You called me my name!” he told her as she pushed another vial into his hand. He knocked that one back, too. 

“Sleep tight, Draco.”

Chapter Text

Week Four: Rice (& Eggnog)

“You gave him WHAT!?” Draco bellowed, eyes wide. Marcus cowered a bit.

“I thought it was milk!”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, but I’m not going in there today. He can throw up on the shoes of one of you lot,” he waved a hand at the first years.

In the five days since the encounter in the hallway, Draco had recuperated entirely. Granger had kept her promise and he’d woken four hours later gasping from a nightmare to her soft reassurances that he was okay, it was just a dream. She’d been reading by his bed; her book lay discarded by his legs as she rubbed his back gently. 

She’d asked Winky to bring him dinner and alone in the infirmary, they’d talked of everything and nothing and Draco couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so relaxed in the presence of a peer. Eventually Madame Pomfrey had returned and dismissed Draco to his dorm. Despite his protests, Granger walked him all the way to the portrait hole for the dungeons. 

Now she was bundled up beside him, out of uniform in her denims and Weasley jumper under her cloak, along with her maroon mittens and matching toboggan. She was drinking out of a thermos and chuckling at Marcus’ mistake.

“It is nearing Yule. T’is the season and all,” she told him with a sly smile. 

“The little thing vomited up plain egg noodles and you think eggnog will settle in there just because it’s the holidays?” he asked incredulously. She snorted and merely handed him the thermos. He took a sip and nearly groaned in bliss.

Rum. Sweet, beautiful alcohol. He’d run out of firewhiskey a week ago and given he was confined to the grounds as part of his probation, he’d be out until the sixth year he had bribed was able to smuggle it back from Hogsmeade this weekend. 

“Happy Yule,” he toasted her and drank again. She grinned at him. 

Though she smiled at him quite a lot these days, he found he never grew accustomed to it. It struck him as a small miracle every single time.

“Oh, ew, Reginald, nooooo!!!” Marcus wailed. Sadie, Ella and Indira burst into cackling laughter and Granger buried her face in Draco’s shoulder as she giggled. His arm instinctually wrapped around her even as his heart raced and his breath caught as her vanilla scent floated around him.

He’d have to thank Marcus after all.

--

After taking pity on the first years and simply vanishing Reginald’s mess, the group began the trek to return to the castle.

“We’re going skiing with Indira’s parents,” Ella was saying.

Indira chimed in, “My parents are skeptical of sticking two sticks on your feet and traveling without magic, but they’re open to it!”

Ella was a half-blood, one foot in the magical world, one in the muggle, and had taken great delight in learning Indira and Marcus had never heard of skiing. Sadie too, had been shocked at their ignorance, though she hadn’t been on the slopes before.

“We prefer tropical holidays,” she’d told them, shuddering at the idea of seeking out the snow. 

Now, Marcus was telling them about visiting his granny and then Sadie was happily regaling them with their holiday traditions.

“We never go anywhere, but we decorate the whole house and have a huge Christmas dinner when all our family and friends come over! We get the biggest tree and everyone puts all their gifts under it so it looks like an actual scene from the Nutcracker!” she squealed, bouncing as she walked.

She grabbed Draco’s hand, “Will you come visit over holiday? My parents want to meet all my friends, and Marcus is coming over, though Ella and Dira won’t be since they’ll be in Switzerland…” she rambled unaware of how Draco had stiffened.

“Sadie, I’m not allowed to leave the grounds of Hogwarts as part of my probation,” he said gently, aware of Granger pulling herself out of the other kids’ conversation to eavesdrop on theirs. 

Sadie frowned. “You can’t leave at all? But what about Christmas? They can’t keep you from your family like that, can they?”

Draco’s stomach lurched. He didn’t want to talk about this, he hadn’t talked about this. “I’ll be fine alone, Sadie. Someone has to look after Reginald,” he reminded her, hoping she’d drop it.

It hadn’t worked, Sadie opened her mouth to press forward, but Granger mercifully intervened.

“I was wondering, Sadie, would your parents like to visit with mine over holiday? We don’t live too far from you, and they can ask my parents any questions they have about being parents to a witch. My friend Andromeda was married to a muggleborn, and she and her grandson Teddy might be open to joining us, too, to have both the perspective of a mum and a witch,” she offered and Sadie perked up.

“Really? That sounds amazing!”

Draco ignored the twinge of jealousy that not only would they not be alone for Yule, but they would get to spend time with his aunt and cousin whom he’d never met. The box that held thoughts of his mother was rattling within his occlumency and he began the deep breathing Snape had taught him to reinforce it. 

Alone was for the best. He wasn’t their friend, not really, but a passing interest as an older student willing to assist them with their first year in Hogwarts. It wouldn’t last, and Granger’s acceptance of him certainly wouldn’t either when she returned to the Weasel and Potter. Alone was good, no one bothered him and no one got hurt. 

They made plans all the way back and when they reached the castle doors he immediately headed for the dungeons. He slipped through the portrait hole and into his dorm. No one had wanted to room with the Death Eater, as that wasn’t the way to the top any longer, and he blissfully had the room to himself. He opened the drawer to his nightstand and pulled out the stack of letters and began reading them for the umpteenth time.

Dear Draco,

I regret this is our first correspondence, and I am afraid it is with poor news. There is no easy way to say this, so outright is likely the best. Tippy apparated to me and told me Cissa was screaming and clawing at herself and was beyond reason. I went to her aid, but found her unable to understand I was there. Her magic was out of control as well. I took her to St. Mungo’s and she’s been admitted to the Janus Thickey Ward for long-term care.

I am visiting her daily as I know you are unable to leave the Hogwarts grounds. I am gathering things were not all as they seemed at Malfoy Manor and it is with sincere hope I can be your aunt in more than name only. 

I won’t ever lie to you, you should know that about me. The healers aren’t overly optimistic, but we have magic, don’t we? We’ll give it everything we’ve got - galleons, grit, and whatever else. 

Your aunt,

Andromeda Tonks

Dear Draco,

I’m so glad you wrote back. I’m so sorry to hear about what Narcissa went through, though I appreciate your telling me greatly.

I’m sure you want news, but there isn’t much to report. She’s still having delusions, bad ones, of course. If she can’t truly be here with us I do wish she were trapped in her mind somewhere beautiful where she’d be happy. In any case, the healers are still attempting to find out what went wrong.

Would you tell me how your school year is going? I know Cissa would want to know, and I’d like to tell her when I visit.

Your aunt,

Andromeda

Dear Draco,

She knows who you are, dear, but not much else. That’s why I think she’d like to hear about you. 

Aunt Andromeda 

He stopped reading and took a deep, shaky breath, willing the tears back.

Yes, alone was best. 

--

It had only been an hour since their trip to the paddock and Draco was trying to re-read Illustria Caling’s latest novel and ignore the rattling box in his mind threatening to burst open when a paper airplane skidded under his door and landed in his lap.

His brow furrowed and he set his book aside to unfold the letter. Please don’t be cursed, he willed the parchment, and opened it . 

Room of Requirement, twenty minutes. -HG

Draco’s mouth dropped open and he stared at the letter. The last time he and Granger had been in the Room of Requirement they’d nearly been burned alive, fiendfyre licking at their heels and she wanted to meet there of all places?

He briefly considered ignoring it. He certainly didn’t want to return to the site of Vince’s death, even if he had been an actual terror in their final year together. 

But it was Granger. And like with Sadie, he found himself somewhat helpless to comply with her cockamamy ideas. So, dutifully, he tugged his shoes back on and threw a green jumper over his white oxford and began the trek to the seventh floor.

She wasn’t waiting for him so he walked three times in front of the wall thinking of Granger until a door appeared. He paused at the entrance, taking the room in.

It looked like a cabin, with warm wood bookshelves filled to bursting lining the wall to his left and a small dining table. It was decked out for Yule, evergreen garland and red bows all over the place. There was a roaring fireplace to the right and a deep green couch sat in front of it with a warm cream colored rug in between; a rustic looking coffee table had been pushed to the side as Granger lounged in the center of the rug, leaning against the sofa. 

She’d changed from earlier and was wearing what looked like close fitting cotton trousers with thick woolen socks that reached halfway up her calf along with a gauche, overlarge penguin sweater. Her curls were in a ponytail high on her head and she was sipping from a large mug that emphasized how small her hands were.

But the most miraculous part was not that the Room of Requirement had survived the fiendfyre in the Room of Hidden Things, nor was it that this cozy cabin somehow screamed safety and comfort when he so rarely felt either of those things. No, it was the way Granger lit up at the sight of him, that radiant smile gracing her lips, as she beckoned him to join her.

Draco simply stood there like an idiot for a long moment before he shook himself and sat next to her.

“The floor Granger, really? There is a sofa,” he greeted, pushing away all the strange feelings in his chest. She snorted and shoved him playfully with her shoulder. 

“That’s a fun fact about me, Malfoy, the more I drink the more likely I am to be sprawled on the floor,” she told him merrily, and Draco could see the extra rosiness in her cheeks.

Before he could comment, she was reaching behind her for one of two pitchers on the coffee table and she pressed another large mug into his hands, filled to the brim with eggnog. 

Truth be told, Draco preferred spiking his hot chocolate with whiskey if he were being particular, but he happily took a large sip of the rum-spiked eggnog. He didn’t know where this was coming from or why the Golden Girl wanted to drink with him of all people, but he didn’t care. He’d take whatever she gave him, and he took another large swig of his drink.

“Are you okay?” she asked, tucking her knees into her chest and resting her cheek upon them as she gazed at him. Draco started, just a bit.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You got lost in your thoughts earlier, and they didn’t seem like pleasant ones,” she replied, her face open and honest. 

Suddenly, Draco found he did care why she’d asked him here. Why she wondered about his thoughts and slipped him highly regulated potions.

“Why do you care?” he asked, not biting or angrily, but genuine confusion seeping through his tone. He’d bullied her for years, been complicit in what had to be one of the worst moments of her life, had the symbol for hatred of her kind burned into his arm. How was he sitting here, drinking eggnog with her in this place where they’d nearly both died not even a year ago?

She blinked at him. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He quickly relayed his earlier thoughts to her and she frowned. 

“But you’ve changed. The war changed all of us and you haven’t sneered at me properly once since we’ve been back. And I don’t blame you for what happened in the Manor, Draco, I never did. You tried to lie and it didn’t work, but you tried. I don’t think I’d have acted any differently if I’d been you in that room, with my parents’ lives on the line.”

Draco sighed and threw back a too large gulp of his drink. “I haven’t really, though. I still feel like me, and that isn’t a very good person, Granger.”

She shook her head, “You have. Draco Malfoy, pureblood prince if I’m being kind and ponce if I am not, took a sip of my drink after my dirty, mudblood lips had been all over it earlier today.”

Draco sighed, deeply weary in his soul, and finished his drink. “Realizing I’d believed in utter nonsense for most of my life isn’t the same as changing, is it?”

“If that nonsense defined your life and behavior, yeah, actually, I’d say it does,” she replied, unfurling herself and turning to face him. Her eyes were large and earnest and a couple curls had escaped her ponytail and framed her face and Merlin, he wanted to kiss her. 

That train of thought ends right there, Death Eater, he scolded himself and looked away, eyes finding the fire. 

Suddenly, he could hear Vince’s scream and Draco flinched away from the fire, back hitting the couch.

“Malfoy, are you okay?”

He nodded, eyes not leaving the flames. It was just a fire, no curse or dark magic involved. 

“Do you miss him?”

How did she always know where his mind went?

Draco shrugged. “No, not really. Seventh year was...bad. Greg was like me, kind of hated all of it, but Vince was...the power was getting to him. He loved that I was considered a failure for not killing Dumbledore, thought it was fun to comment on all the ways I was a terrible Death Eater, and if that got back to the Dark Lord...it was stressful,” he finally finished, sighing. “I didn’t...want him to die, though.”

He risked a peek at Granger, and she nodded with understanding. “I felt that way about Lavender. Honestly, she was rude to me and snippy and sixth year she was a nightmare but I would have never wanted her to die, particularly that way…”

Draco nodded. He’s seen Brown’s corpse, mauled by Greyback. No one deserved that.

“I was glad you didn’t die. Even before I knew you could be rather pleasant to be around, I was relieved to see you alive after the battle,” she said softly. 

Tears burned behind his eyes all of a sudden, and Draco blinked them away. “Thanks, Granger. I was glad to see you alive, too.”

They were quiet for a moment when Granger noticed his mug was empty and filled it from another pitcher on the table. It looked like hot chocolate and when he took a sip, peppermint along with chocolate and vanilla exploded across his tongue and he didn’t mean to, but he let out a little moan. 

“What is this? It’s amazing.”

Granger’s cheeks were bright red when he looked at her and she coughed to clear her throat. ”Hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps. The chocolate is my grandmother’s recipe.” 

“It’s delicious,” he affirmed, taking another sip. His senses were pleasantly dulled and he felt himself relax.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You’ve already done so, but sure, go for another.”

“Git,” she muttered, “you said before that Bellatrix trained you and implied her cursed knife was involved. I was...I was wondering if you’d tell me about that.”

He abstractedly noted this was a good buzz, because he didn’t tense up as much as he thought he should, and shrugged. 

“What about it?”

“Well, it’s just...she was your aunt, wasn’t she? Why would she use her knife on you?”

“An important thing to note whenever speaking of Bella is that she was genuinely insane,” he informed her, taking another sip of chocolate. “She cared for me in her own way. I wasn’t supposed to succeed at any of this, Granger; I was my father’s  punishment for failing at the Department of Mysteries and I was supposed to botch up my tasks and die a horrifically painful death, just after my mother’s.” Granger gasped at this, but he didn’t look at her, merely let his gaze rest on the flames. 

“Bella knew that’s what everyone expected, but she...whatever warped part of her was left in there, she loved her sister. So she trained me. Any follower of the Dark Lord had to be able to move, to operate beyond pain. If he wanted to tear my mind apart and found my occlumency sound, he would torture me and tear through my mind and I needed to be able to withstand it. That was her frame of mind, anyway,” he shrugged, “Like any parent, I guess, pain is a way to make sure your kid is becoming who you need them to become.”

“What?” she asked, and this time he did turn to her. He just arched a brow at her and took another sip of chocolate. 

“What did you mean by that? The bit about parents and pain at the end,” she asked again, gaze intense, and Draco frowned. What had he said to make her so tense all of a sudden? 

“The parents and…Oh, just comparing Bella’s methods to a parent’s, they’d use discipline and punishment to help shape their kid into who they need to be,” he shrugged, “She was mental, but she cared in her own way, I guess. But she was also mental, so it hurt a lot,” he shrugged again. 

“Was that your parents’ philosophy then?” she asked harshly and Draco whipped his gaze to hers and she looked furious. 

“Huh?” Draco asked stupidly, alcohol muddying his elocution. 

“Did your parents hurt you to make you who they wanted you to be?” she clarified, curls in her ponytail sparking just a bit.

Draco blinked. “Oh. I mean, mum, never, but honestly Granger, you knew me as a kid, I was a spoiled brat. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Not a big --” she cut herself off, shaking her head. “What did he do to you?” she asked instead, clutching at her mug.

“Granger, calm down, it wasn’t that bad. It was just backhands and the occasional thwack with the cane until...I mean, it got worse after the diary and basilisk thing fell through, he was getting stressed and the Death Eaters were resurging and all that, but it wasn’t that bad for me, it was mum who --” his voice caught and he could suddenly barely breathe.

“Mum had it worse,” he finally finished, looking away, shame gripping his chest. Unbidden, memories came rushing back. Him finding his mother in her sitting room, staring at nothing, a bruise on her wrist matching the ones on his chest. He would sit behind her and brush and braid her hair and tell her about whatever book he was reading. Whenever he was punished he tried to distract himself, run away in his mind with stories or focus on complicated new ideas from school, so he’d offer her the same, hoping to soothe her the way she always did him.  

And then the memory of the final time he’d done it, this summer before leaving for his probationary period, and what she had seen instead, rose in his mind, piercing what was left of his heart.

He pushed it away. 

“Draco,” Granger whispered and he looked to her, “If someone hit Sadie, for any reason, what would you do?”

Every thought eddied out of his mind as pure rage took over. 

“Make them regret it,” he ground out, and maybe he’d drunk enough now because once again his emotions swung the other direction rapidly when Granger’s hand took his.

“Why would you think it should be any different when someone learns you’ve been hurt?” she asked gently, interlacing their fingers. 

Draco sputtered. “That's not the same thing,” he protested weaky.

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” he replied, grounding himself, pushing away the way his stomach was somersaulting at her touch, “You know what I was like as a kid Granger, honestly. My professor transfigured me into a ferret and bounced me around and --”

“Death Eater,” she corrected, and he rolled his eyes but ceded the point.

“And, might I add, you’ve hit me for being a git, and you were right to, I deserved it. It’s different,” he finished, satisfied in his explanation. His satisfaction only grew as Granger sputtered indignantly.

“That is totally different!”

“Is it though?” he asked, feeling secure in his argument. Their verbal sparring was often neck and neck and he wanted to win. He did not want to think about the memories threatening to burst from their organizational boxes in his mind. 

“Of course it is!” she threw up her hands, nearly sloshing her chocolate, “We were peers! You were being horrible and it wasn’t my job to help you be a good person, I was reacting to you crossing boundaries of respect and decency!”

“So you hit me! Good on you, it was a solid right hook! Why’s it different for my father when I did the same thing with him, crossing the boundaries or whatever.”

“BECAUSE IT WAS HIS JOB TO PROTECT YOU AND NURTURE YOU AND MAKE YOU AWARE OF THE BLOODY BOUNDARIES IN THE FIRST PLACE!” she shrieked, suddenly on her feet, panting and crying.

Wait, crying?

“Shit, Granger, don’t cry, you can win the argument,” he tried to soothe, standing unsteadily. 

“Y-you think I’m crying because I’m losing our argument?” she sniffled, somehow also looking outraged.

“Er...yes?” he tried and when she glowered, he backpedaled, “No, no, clearly not. Um, you’re crying because…” he bit his lip, thinking. His shoulders slumped, giving up.

“I dunno, Granger, why are you crying?”

She wiped her cheeks and looked up at him with watery chocolate eyes. “Because you just totally don’t get that you didn’t deserve to be hurt like that,” she told him, gaze boring into him.

“I’m not some weird masochist, Granger,” was all he could say, still confused. He nudged her chocolate at her, hoping if she took a swig she’d calm down and make some sense, and, despite her ire and tears, she chuckled at him and sipped dutifully. She tugged him onto the couch, and refilled his hot chocolate, while she thought.

“Granger, can we talk about something else?” he asked quietly. There was an ever-growing ache in his chest and he didn’t want that. He could feel guilt and shame and rage and hatred on his own. He wanted to feel something else with her.

Whatever she saw in his face must have convinced her, because she softened and gave him one of those smiles again.

Yes, Draco liked those. He wanted more of them. 

“What’s your favorite book?” he asked and her smile grew even brighter. 

“It depends on the genre,” she warned and he found himself grinning back. 

“Very well, for each genre, then.”

She bounced and let out a small noise of excitement and launched into her nonfiction choice first ( Hogwarts: A History) to her favorite general fiction ( The Name of the Rose by some Italian bloke), her favorite classic ( Pride and Prejudice ), and her favorite mystery ( And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie). 

She returned the question and he told her about his favorite series by Illustria Caling, detailing the adventures of a witch with a broken time turner stuck in ancient Egypt who befriends a jackal animagus and she immediately wanted to read it. His other favorite was a book of poetry by Elias Burke from the eighteenth century. She promised to find them in the library and asked if he would read muggle literature now that he was “reformed.” He scowled at her but grudgingly admitted he’d like to read her favorites. 

They grew physically closer as the night progressed, until Hermione was tucked into his side, a blanket over them both and her head on his chest. She halfheartedly swatted at him while he ruthlessly teased her for her Gilderoy Lockhart crush, his fanciful books having been revealed as her preferred texts in the “memoir” category.

“I’m glad we’re friends,” she told him sleepily. 

“Is that what we are?” he asked quietly, a finger absentmindedly twirling one of her curls. 

She snorted. “What else would we be?”

“Partners in protecting foolish children from literal child-eating monsters,” he posited and she chuckled. 

“Just admit we’re friends, you git!”

Suddenly, Draco couldn’t stop smiling.

Chapter Text

Hermione wriggled deeper into the couch cushions and returned her head to her father’s shoulder. It was December 23 and they were watching It’s A Wonderful Life. Her mother, an avid Christmas movie enthusiast, had a strict schedule for which movie to watch when and last year Hermione’s heart had ached painfully when she curled up on her cot in the tent, two days before Christmas, and re-lived her favorite movie in her mind, the script practically memorized. 

This year, she was fully aware of her Christmas miracle as her mum returned to the couch with a refilled bowl of popcorn and passed it to Hermione.

Their memories were nearly unrestorable, but given her fame, many healers had rushed to help and by July 12 their memories had been returned. Their relationship, of course, left much to be desired but they entered counselling together with a mind healer. July 19th had been the beginning of Draco Malfoy’s trial and at the recommendation of her mind healer, Hermione had openly discussed with her parents the horrors that she had experienced, and used the trial as the framework to really fill her parents in on the war.

It had been the most emotionally draining two weeks of Hermione’s entire life, exhausted by the trial and then confessing all she’d held back during her teen years, all while wrestling with her feelings toward her childhood bully. 

He bore little resemblance to the Draco Malfoy she’d known growing up. His appearance was haggard, hair too long, body too thin with a stubbled chin; clearly he’d been unallowed to bathe or prepare for trial at all. He’d simply stood in the cage in the middle of the Wizengamot, staring straight ahead, not saying a word in his defense as every sin and crime were laid out before them all.

It had bothered her. Malfoy was many things, most of them frustrating, but passive, he was not. She began watching him at the trial, at the way his fists would clench or he’d attempt to get his ragged breathing under control with counted, even breaths, and occasionally flinch at a particular reminder of his past. She’d watched one, silent tear fall down his cheek as they recounted his uses of the cruciatus. That one tear told her everything she needed to know about whether or not Draco Malfoy felt bad for what he did.

But he said nothing. So she did. 

She’d dragged Harry, who’d already testified for Narcissa Malfoy, to meet with the same witch the day before the defense was meant to begin. Though a far cry from the sneering socialite she’d met in Madam Malkins, perhaps even a bit fragile, Narcissa had appeared to be fixating on her son’s trial, holding herself together to testify for him. When Hermione had finished explaining why they were there, the Malfoy matriarch had thrown her arms around Hermione and held her tight. 

She told her parents all of it, the churning feeling in her gut at facing the witch who’d been one of the adults in the room when she’d been tortured—a fact their mind healer had forced from her because “honesty is the bedrock of trust.”— to the deep certainty that she wanted to testify for the other child who’d been in the room with her. Who had attempted to lie for them.

In the end, Malfoy’s trial had been part of the healing process for her and her parents, and after that she thought to never again give Draco Malfoy much, if any, real thought.

But then along had come Sadie Perkins.   

It was utterly baffling, that day outside the library she’d first noticed them together  — Slytherin’s first muggleborn and Slytherin’s Death Eater. Hermione wanted to be concerned or suspicious, but as she spent more time with them she found herself not only unworried about Malfoy’s intentions with the little muggleborn but utterly enjoying her time with the older Slytherin. 

And, thanks to Sadie, as the Grangers finished wiping their eyes at Clarence getting his wings, they began to prepare for a holiday dinner. The Perkinses arrived promptly at seven, and Hermione gasped in delight at Sadie. She wore her signature buns but also the most lovely Christmas dress in a deep green velvet with a red bow tied around the empire waist. 

“You look amazing!” Hermione enthused, enveloping the smaller witch in a big hug. Sadie beamed. 

“Thanks! It’s Slytherin green!” she replied, giving her a twirl. 

A low chuckle made Hermione look up to see Sadie’s father, Mr. Perkins, giving a broad smile. Like his daughter, he had glowing, dark skin the color of rich soil, and his eyes and smile were bright, but he stood at least a full meter higher than Sadie herself. He wore a Slytherin green dress shirt with a tie that matched Sadie’s bow. Tucked into his side was Mrs. Perkins, hair in a singular bun, a vision of Sadie when she was grown up, wearing a pencil skirt and heels with a spectacularly goofy Christmas sweater. 

“Hello! It’s such a pleasure to meet you! I’m quite a fan of your daughter,” Hermione greeted, shaking Mr. and then Mrs. Perkins’ hands.

Mr. Perkins laughed, “Oh, she is a fan of yours in return, Ms. Granger.”

“Thanks so much for having us! The opportunity to speak with others in our situation is such a gift,” Mrs. Perkins added, as Hermione ushered them in to take their coats and the bottle of wine the Perkins had brought.

“Oh, sorry, sorry, we were both needed to wrest the roast out of the oven, we might have been a bit ambitious with that one!” her mother fretted, dashing out of the kitchen with her father close behind. The parents made their greetings and the Grangers offered drinks to their guests when the floo activated.

“Ah, that’ll be Andromeda!” Hermione announced, as the green light flared and Andromeda Tonks did, indeed, step out of the fireplace with her grandson in tow.

“Whoa,” Mr. Perkins muttered while Mrs. Perkins looked on with wide eyes.

“I’d love to tell you that you get used to it, but we really haven’t,” her father whispered, patting the larger man’s shoulder in sympathy.

Hermione took Teddy from Andromeda’s arms and cooed at him, and Sadie too came over to make faces at the baby. Teddy’s hair went from curls at the sight of Hermione to two little puffs at the sight of Sadie, but it remained bubblegum pink, a color his mother had loved.

“Hello, I’m Andromeda Tonks,” the older witch introduced herself to the Perkinses, extending her hand.

“Pleasure,” Mrs. Perkins replied and Sadie went to be introduced as well.

“Hello, I’m Sadie, it’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Tonks,” she said politely, shaking the older witch’s hand.

Andromeda gave Sadie a beatific smile, “Please, call me Andromeda or Meda. It’s nice to meet you as well!”

“Andromeda is a pretty name,” Sadie told her, smiling as well. 

“Thank you very much. In my family, it’s tradition to name our children after the stars.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Mrs. Perkins commented, “Is this little one’s name a constellation as well, then?”

Andromeda chuckled, “Oh, no, this is my grandson, Teddy. My daughter rather hated her name and was not particularly impressed by my family during the War, so he is named after my late husband, her father,” her voice had become more strained as she talked, and Andromeda cleared her throat before continuing. “However, it is kind of fun how quickly people realize you’re related when we keep to the tradition, regardless of marriages and such. In fact, I believe you know a relative of mine with a constellation name if you can puzzle it out.”

Sadie cocked her head, thinking. Hermione waggled her eyebrows at Sadie when she glanced to her for help. After another moment, Hermione mimed him, crossing her arms and arching a brow at her while looking otherwise hugely unimpressed.

Sadie’s eyes lit up. “Wait, is it Draco?”

“It is indeed,” Andromeda smiled, “He’s my nephew.”

Mr. Perkins chuckled. “We hear a lot about that kid.”

“Do you have any hilarious and embarrassing stories of Draco as a kid?” Sadie asked, bouncing slightly in excitement.

Andromeda gave a strained smile. “I’m afraid I don’t. You see, I actually haven’t ever met him, we’ve only been writing the past few months.”

Sadie’s face fell. “But why?”

“Why don’t we continue this at the dinner table? It’s all ready!” Hermione’s mum, Jean, interrupted, beckoning everyone into the dining room. The table was set with their Christmas china and a large roast took up the middle of the table while brussel sprouts and chestnut pralines, roasted honey carrots, and Yorkshire pudding. A highchair was waiting for Teddy, who happily mashed about some baby food Andromeda had brought for him while the others ate. 

“Excuse me, Andromeda, but why haven’t you ever met Draco if he’s your nephew?” Sadie inquired again. 

 Andromeda let out a sad sigh. “The reason is that my family disowned me for marrying my husband because he was muggleborn. My sister, Draco’s mother, took the risk and stayed in contact with me - she even sent us an emergency portkey which saved our lives during the first war - but we weren’t ever really able to meet often, and Lucius,” her lips curled, ever so slightly, “Draco’s father was rather controlling over his son’s schedule. There wasn’t an opportunity to meet him, and then just after Draco started Hogwarts, even Cissa’s letters stopped coming.”

“Lucius sounds like a bad guy name,” Sadie muttered and Hermione let out a surprised snort of laughter. 

“It really does,” she chuckled half-heartedly, remembering her conversation with Draco in the Room of Requirement, and Andromeda’s face was somber. 

“He really is,” the older witch said seriously and it made Sadie pause. Hermione, seated beside Sadie and across from her own father, gave Sadie’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Anyways, we’re supposed to be answering your questions!” Hermione changed the topic with forced cheeriness, and Mrs. Perkins was ready. 

“No one has found it odd you just have a bird of prey casually stopping by your house?” she asked and the conversation flowed quickly from there. They discussed galleon to pound exchange rate and particular wizarding customs that could be surprising.

“They’re so old fashioned about their clothes! It’s like they’re stuck in the nineteenth century,” Hermione grumbled. She’d heard far too many snide comments about her denims over the years.

“That’s true, Draco always blushes a bit when you wear your jeans,” Sadie mentioned and Hermione choked on her water. 

“What?” she spluttered, her own cheeks red. The parents were all wide eyed, casting each other looks, while Andromeda was smirking slightly.

“When you wear your denims instead of your uniform,” Sadie clarified, “he’s so pale he’s practically translucent; it’s not hard to catch.”

Hermione coughed delicately but Sadie smirked at her. “Why, Hermione, do you like that he notices?”

Her cheeks were burning. “I have no opinion on the matter,” she replied as primly as she could manage.

“You have started studying together all the time now,” Sadie commented, but her mother cut her off.

“Sadie that’s enough, leave that between Hermione and Draco,” she scolded gently, tweaking her nose just a bit. 

“MUM!” she protested, rubbing her nose, but they returned to wizarding fashion.

Two hours later, everyone was relaxed and stuffed full after dessert. Sadie was snuggled up next to Hermione on the couch, listening to their parents and Andromeda talk about wizarding government. Frankly, Hermione herself had several comments to add and made a mental note to speak with the Perkinses sometime about the truly outdated and potentially tyrannical legal procedures of the Wizengamot, but she was keeping Sadie company so her parents could focus. 

“I wish Draco were here,” the little girl murmured softly, unwrapping a chocolate candy. “I miss him.”

Hermione gave her a small squeeze. “Me too, actually,” she replied just as quietly. 

Over the past few days, she’d written to him and, surprisingly enough, he’d replied. All short and snarky, but he’d played along with her query about the third exception to Gamp’s Law of Transfiguration, and included a report on Reginald. Her last letter included a detailed review of the book she’d just finished, a memoir about Bridget Wenlock, famous arithmancer from the thirteenth century who had unseated Lockhart’s memoirs from the top of her favorites list for the genre.

“Have you written him?” Hermione asked Sadie, and she shook her head. 

“We’ve been kind of nonstop,” Sadie sighed, “and I’ve missed my parents so much I just keep talking to them. I feel like Ella, running my mouth so much!” she laughed and Hermione chuckled with her. “It’s just, they don’t get to see how cool the common room is or even what the castle looks like or meet Draco! There’s so much they can’t see, even more than a normal boarding school,” she continued with a sigh, but then launched into Marcus’ visit the following week and an idea flickered to life in Hermione’s mind. 

Why shouldn’t the Perkinses be able to tour Sadie’s school? Her own parents had never stepped foot on Hogwarts campus and why— because they were muggle? They already knew about magic, and those who were non-magical were certainly allowed on campus otherwise Filch wouldn’t have been such a gruesome bother all those years. 

She knew, without him saying so, that part of Draco’s care for Sadie was so there wouldn’t be a repeat of their dark and painful history, and this dinner was, in a way, Hermione’s attempt to do the same. The school’s utter disinterest in keeping her parents a part of her life even though she was magical had paved the way for a young and headstrong Hermione to eventually obliviate and send away her parents. 

As the thoughts swirled around her head, Hermione made a note to owl Headmistress McGonagall when the night was over.

“Before it gets too late,” Andromeda said loudly, catching the students’ attention as well as their parents, “I have some parcels to distribute,” she finished with a smile.

Sadie bounced up and off the couch and Andromeda handed her a wrapped parcel, this one wrapped in silver with a green bow, and then offered her a second, this one wrapped in gold with silver ribbon. “Give that second one to Hermione, would you?”

Sadie eagerly compiled and ripped into her gift. She gasped and nearly dropped the box, prompting her parents to come closer. Hermione peered over her shoulder to see a beautiful necklace; it was silver and the center featured the two strands coiling together into a beautiful serpent. The eyes were small emeralds. 

“What’d you get, sugarplum?” her father asked, plopping a kiss upon the top of her head. Sadie didn’t have words, just held up the box. As she did so, a note fell out and she opened it, holding it so Hermione could read as well.

Happy Christmas, little snake. This necklace once belonged to my aunt (not the nice one you’ve met this evening) and deserves to belong to a Slytherin witch with integrity and spirit. It has protective enchantments woven within it; given your penchant for befriending dangerous creatures that literally want to eat you, please do us all a service and wear it. -DM

Hermione let out a laugh and Sadie groaned, rolling her eyes. 

“Holy mama,” Mrs. Perkins breathed, seeing the necklace, and Sadie held out the letter to her to explain. Sadie’s father read over her shoulder, but was still frowning.

“This feels like a weirdly opulent gift,” he murmured to his wife, who looked inclined to agree.

“For most, yes, it would be,” Andromeda mentioned, “But the Malfoys and Blacks are both old wizarding families absolutely overflowing with old jewelry. He probably thinks that’s a basic, if lovely, piece, as it’s only silver with two small gemstones.” 

Hermione couldn’t stifle her giggle. “I’d almost forgotten how obscenely rich he is,” and Sadie furrowed her brow.

“I heard some of the other Slytherins talking about the dent in their vaults from war reparations, I thought he might be...you know, not doing so great.”

Andromeda chuckled, “The Malfoy vault has indeed been halved, but trust me when I tell you, there is still plenty for Draco and a few generations of his descendents to never work a day in their lives.” 

“Doesn’t he get all the Black vaults as well, except for the ones Sirius left for Harry?” Hermione added and Andromeda nodded.

“Though, he’s been bickering with the goblins about Teddy’s right as male heir to the Black line financially,” she added, ruffling her grandson’s hair. “They’re saying Cissa, as the last full Black of our generation, is the only one who can make the decision to put my part of the line back into the inheritance, but since she’s incapable at the moment, there’s a lot of gray area.”

Hermione straightened. “What do you mean incapable?” she asked.

Andromeda’s face softened. “Cissa isn’t well,” she replied sadly, “For anything else, you might want to speak with Draco. I don’t feel comfortable sharing any more details than that.”

Hermione’s chest tightened. Honestly, did he really need one more terrible thing to happen? Hadn’t he been through enough already, and now his mum was ill? 

Blinking back tears, Hermione turned to her own gift while the rest of the room mulled that statement over. She knew it was a book based on its size and shape and she was eager to see what he chose for her as she carefully ripped the paper open. 

His note slid out first and she began to read. Granger, Caling’s on backorder, F&B will have them for you by New Year’s. Hope this tides you over in the meantime. Happy Christmas, Golden Girl. -DM

Rolling her eyes slightly but grinning nonetheless, she lifted the paper and her jaw dropped open in shock. 

“Holy cricket,” she whispered, hands fluttering over the cover, caught in her dilemma over whether to touch or not touch the treasure in her lap. With the very tip of her fingernail, she edged the cover open and let out a squeak when she saw the publication information.

“What is it, love?” her father asked and Hermione found she couldn’t properly speak. She just shook her head, tears filling her eyes.

“Honey?” her mum asked, coming closer, concerned now.

Finally, giving up the battle with her tears, she choked out, “It’s a bloody first edition!” before she began crying in earnest, hands still flapping. Sadie, despite being next to her, was leaning away from her towards the edge of the couch, glancing between Hermione’s face and her hands. 

That...that considerate, infuriating git! This was way too much! This was a priceless heirloom, it belonged in a museum! This was thoughtful and sweet and couldn’t possibly be from Draco sodding Malfoy!

At some point deciding she wasn’t having an actual breakdown, Sadie peered over her shoulder to inspect the book. She frowned. 

“It’s just Hogwarts: A History , Hermione,” she said dismissively and Hermione let out a small wail at how anyone could possibly dismiss a first edition of seminal work Hogwarts: A History by Bathilda Bagshot. 

“Oh dear, that’s her favorite book,” her mum said and Sadie scrunched up her nose. 

“That’s a lame favorite book, Hermione.”

Everyone chuckled, even Hermione felt it pulled from her chest. The shock finally wearing off, Hermione lifted the book out of its confinement and hugged it to her chest. Finally raising her head to survey the room, she found every adult staring at her, thoroughly amused.

“It’s a first edition!” she wailed again and the whole room burst out laughing.

--

Christmas Eve came and went with baking, yuletide cheer, a visit to mass, and some holiday scheming. Hermione had pulled Andromeda aside for a few moments before she left  and she’d been sending owls and patronuses all morning, much to her parents’ chagrin. But Draco Malfoy had given her a gift that made her already wrapped present wholly inadequate. Not that she wouldn’t still look forward to his bark of laughter or sneer of disgust when he found a jumper matching Reginald’s beneath the wrapping, but the surly, snarly wizard had given her a surprisingly thoughtful and sweet gift and she wanted to return the favor. 

She had already concluded something homemade and/or funny would be ideal for Malfoy, given his ability to buy anything he wanted, but now she had another idea. Something money couldn’t buy but would make him genuinely happy this Christmas. 

But soon it was Christmas Day, and Hermione put away her quill and prepared to spend the whole day with her family and friends. After opening presents and breakfast, the Grangers prepared to floo to the Burrow. Hermione nibbled her lip. She had no idea what to expect from the Weasleys today. Normally this was such a joyous occasion but this was their first Christmas without Fred. She and Ron had finally conceded that having their first kiss the day his brother and so many others died was messing with their heads, and they were officially not together, but they hadn’t been around one another since. She had no idea what Molly thought about the whole thing, either.

As she emerged from the fireplace she was enveloped in Molly’s warm embrace. 

“Hello, Hermione dear! Happy Christmas, welcome welcome, come on in!” she greeted, moving swiftly from Hermione to her parents with more hugs. 

“Welcome, Hermione, Happy Christmas!” Arthur added, giving her a hug as well. Ginny bounded down the stairs and nearly lifted Hermione into the air with her hug, as did Ron who was just behind her.

Hermione laughed and clutched at his shoulders, relief he was still her best friend coursing through her chest. “Happy Christmas, Ron!”

“Happy Christmas, ‘Mione!” he returned, setting her down. Finally, Harry, who had been waiting patiently behind the two redheads, stepped in for his hug. 

“Happy Christmas,” he whispered, squeezing her tight and she knew he was thinking what a miracle it was that they had survived to another Christmas. She buried her head in his shoulder, breathing in his comforting Harry scent, and held him just as close.

Molly ushered them into the sitting room where they all opened gifts. Hermione was gifted a new Weasley jumper in a deep plum purple, her favorite, as well as a book on magical core work she’d mentioned from Ron, a coupon for a shopping trip from Gin, and a stuffed otter from Harry, spelled to be warm and comforting for her menses. Their year in the tent had taught him more than he’d ever wanted to know about the trials of womanhood and Hermione laughed and cuddled the little otter immediately. 

They sat at the table to eat and before they all began, they held a moment of silence for Fred, followed by each person offering one memory of him. Then they toasted him, wiped their eyes and dug in. As they ate, they chatted merrily, and eventually they’d turned to one another’s gift hauls.

“Did Malfoy get you anything?” Ginny asked, smiling. Hermione had confided in Ginny the moment she ran into Sadie and Draco outside the library and he’d charmed her bag for her up to the alcohol-induced cuddle. Gin had been wary, but ultimately supportive of their new friendship.

“Oh, wait for it,” her dad said, smiling, nudging his daughter with his shoulder as Hermione straightened up, beaming.

“A first edition of Hogwarts: A History !!!!” she squealed, and, unbeknownst to her, dancing a tiny bit in her seat. 

Gin gasped with happiness, but Ron was frowning. “What do you mean, Malfoy?”

Hermione drew back, pouting slightly. “I wrote you, Ron, that we were working with the first years and Reginald together, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, Mione, but working together and Yule gifts are two different things!”

“They’re friends, Ron, just drop it,” Ginny added and Hermione shot her a grateful half-smile. 

“You’re sure there’s nothing suspicious going on there,” Harry asked seriously and Hermione nodded without hesitation. 

“Yes. He’s changed and I trust him. You haven’t seen him with Sadie and the others, he’s protective and kind. He’s proven himself nothing but sincere and Ginny’s right, we’re friends.” She lifted her chin defiantly and Harry nodded. Ron looked worried too, but he sighed. 

“Hard to imagine, is all,” he muttered and Hermione nodded. 

“I know, Ron, it took me a while, too. But like I wrote you, he’s apologized and we’ve moved past it. We're friends,” she offered him a smile and nodded.

Talk moved on, and that night back at home, Hermione picked up where she’d left off in her new favorite book in her collection, until eight o’clock, when she made her way downstairs towards the floo.

Chapter Text

Week Five: Rice & Apple

Draco’s holidays had been worse, he mused, as he made his daily journey to Reginald’s paddock Christmas morning. Since it was Christmas and all, he had snagged a few green apples to share with the erkling to see if he kept them down. Not that he wanted the little thing to throw up on a holiday, but he figured apples were nearly as bland as rice, and he deserved something sweet for the occasion.

Reginald was still wearing his ugly jumper as he sprinted towards Draco. The wizard waved at Hagrid, who had done the same through the window to his hut, and hopped the fence. The erkling hugged his leg and Draco awkwardly patted his branch-like head, now two full inches above the little one’s forehead. 

“Miss fwiends,” Reggie said as Draco began carving up the apples. 

“Same,” Draco sighed, handing the erkling a slice. He took it happily, making little pleased chirps as he did. Draco huffed a small laugh, his breath creating white puffs in the air, and shook his head at the little one’s antics. 

“Oi, Happy Christmas, Malfoy!” Hagrid bellowed, coming out with a steaming cup of cider. 

“Happy Christmas,” Draco returned, eagerly accepting the hot beverage.

“Rice has stayed down excellently, it has,” Hagrid told him for lack of anything else to say, Draco presumed, since he knew this already. He’d been down here every day of break, as he’d promised Sadie and the rest of their little group. 

“I gave him some apple, since it’s Christmas and all,” Draco offered, then took a sip of the warm cider. 

“There’s summat I’ve been meanin’ to tell ya,” Hagrid began and Draco stiffened. Perhaps he’d be lucky and it’d only be a threat to not hurt the kids or else or something like that.

“Oh?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could.

“You seemed to be feelin’ bad abou’ Buckbeak t’other day before ya ran off, an’, well, I though’ I’d let ya know he’s livin’.”

Draco blinked once. Twice.

“Wait, how?”

“Well, our Hermione’s how. Made use of that time turner she had back then and saved him and Sirius Black with it,” the half-giant replied and Draco let out an incredulous laugh.

“Of course she did. Well, that’s good news,” Draco offered, mentally making a note to interrogate Granger about having a bloody time turner in third year, and Hagrid nodded. They stood in silence while Draco gave more apple to Reginald, neither having too much to say to the other. Granger once again had managed to salvage the destruction from one of his sins; Draco could admit that as he’d matured he’d been pretty ashamed he’d thrown a tantrum that cost a creature its life, however mental it had been to have that dangerous a creature around a thirteen year old.

“Reg,” Draco called and the erkling ran back over from where he’d been distracted by a chipmunk. He handed him the small wrapped package and Reginald’s eyes got big.

“Happy Christmas,” he offered, making to move away, but Reginald’s eyes got watery and his lip quivered.

“No,” he warned, backing away, “No tears, it’s not that big of a deal, it’s just bloody Christmas so open your gift, no, stop it!” he protested in vain as Reginald latched onto his legs for another hug and let out a mournful chirrup.

“For Salazar’s bloody sake,” Draco muttered, resuming his awkward head pat, “just open the damn thing,” he said louder. Reginald sniffled and obeyed and Draco caught Hagrid’s eye. He was giving him an odd sort of look and Draco averted his gaze. 

“What is?” Reginald asked, holding his gift aloft.

“Ear muffs,” Draco replied and helped the erkling put them on. He bounced in glee, letting off some more chirps. Hagrid cooed over him, telling him how handsome he looked in his winter gear, etc. etc. and Draco made his escape.

“See you at the feast, Malfoy!” Hagrid called and Reginald chirruped at him as Draco gave a nod in reply and a soft “Happy Christmas” to Reggie before returning to his solitude.

Back in his dorm, Draco settled down to read in the empty common room. He pulled out the copy of Name of the Rose he’d borrowed from Granger and opened the letters he’d tucked away from this morning’s breakfast.

Dear Draco,

You have a talent for gift-giving! Sadie loves her necklace and I’ve never seen Hermione so excited. Well done, nephew. As for myself, it was so thoughtful of you to find the necklace of my constellation. I cherish it and am wearing it presently.

I hope you’re having a Happy Christmas today. Your gift should arrive later this evening and I hope it brings you some joy; please know next Christmas I fully intend for you to be at Tonks Cottage with me to celebrate.

Cissa was in a brighter mood today and asked for you. I’ve told her you’re at school but send your love. 

Happy Christmas, nephew.

Love,

Aunt Andromeda

Draco tried to calm his ragged breathing. His mother was asking for him, but if he appeared it would do her no good. Thank Merlin for probation (words he honestly never thought he would say). 

He put his aunt’s letter away to find three Christmas cards, one from Marcus, another from Indira and Ella, and the final one from Sadie. Sadie’s included one of those muggle still pictures, but it had a white trim around the photo of Sadie and Granger, posing with Hogwarts: A History and the serpent necklace, in front of the Christmas tree. On the back it said Miss you! Happy Christmas, Draco! 23 Dec. 1998. Her note informed him he remained overdramatic about Reginald’s true nature, but she supposed a superpowered necklace was pretty “cool.”

Smiling, he tucked the photo and letters back into his book and began to read.

Hours later Draco stretched, having lost himself in the novel, and made his way to the Great Hall for the Christmas Feast. It was awkward, and he tried to sit by himself but Hagrid dragged him over to the one long table prepared for Yule. The student sitting next to him squirmed uncomfortably and Draco himself was tense, but as Professor Vector sat across from him and regaled them with a tale from her time at the Bahrain Arithmantic Institute, and Hagrid informed her about the first years project, the kid beside him relaxed and slowly, so did Draco. 

One more round of owl post arrived, given it was the holidays, and Draco was shocked to receive not only Andromeda’s gift from her owl, but another large parcel along with a third smaller one. After dessert, Draco made to return to his dorm to open his gifts when Professor McGonagall stopped him.

“A moment, Mr. Malfoy, if you don’t mind,” she informed him. He stiffened, but the stern Scot smiled at him and he relaxed ever so slightly. 

“Of course, Headmistress,” he replied and followed her to her office, parcels tucked under his arm. As they entered her office, Draco balked and tried to go back, but McGonnagall had a firm grip of his upper arm.

He gulped and reinforced his occlumency as Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt warily appraised him. 

Merlin, they couldn’t wait to arrest him til the day after Christmas? 

“Minister,” he greeted, trying his absolute damnedest to stay calm, but a small tremor of fear rocked through him anyway. 

“It’s all right, Mr. Malfoy, it’s nothing unseemly,” McGonagall murmured soothingly, a tone he frankly didn’t know she possessed, and patted his arm. 

“No need to go quite so pale, Mr. Malfoy, Happy Christmas,” the man greeted, wearing fine purple robes.

The floo activated before Draco could respond and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest at the sight of Hermione Granger brushing herself off. She met his eyes and, giving him a beatific smile, raced towards him with arms outstretched for an embrace. 

“Happy Christmas,” she murmured into his ear. Still too shocked to do much, and one arm in McGonagall’s grip and the other holding parcels, he simply breathed in Granger’s scent, committing it to memory in case it was the last time.

She pulled back and his eyes searched her face for some sort of clue, for some sort of sign that his barely held together world wasn’t going to shatter again because why else was the Minister here? Granger must have caught his distress because she smiled at him reassuringly and as the Headmistress released his arm, she tucked her hand into his.

“Ms. Granger has thrown about her weight as an Order of Merlin, First Class, to convince us at the Ministry to provide you with a two hour exception to your probation to visit your mother in St. Mungo’s. Happy Christmas, Mr. Malfoy,” Minister Shacklebolt told him, a small smile ghosting his lips as Draco’s eyes went wide. “I will escort you there myself, along with Hermione, and you will only be allowed in her room, and then we will return, and you will relinquish your wand for the journey. Is that clear?”

Draco’s mind was whirling, a thousand thoughts flying about. Fear of what seeing him would do to his mother, joy at being able to finally lay his eyes on her and see how she was faring, confusion at the Ministry’s kindness, and an overwhelming warmth seeping through his chest at the petite witch at his side who’d made it all happen. 

His eyes sought her face again and she grinned. 

“How?” he rasped.

“I pestered Andromeda until she told me whether your mum was at Mungo’s or the Manor, and then I proceeded to pester Kingsley,” she admitted with a shy smile.

“That she did,” Kingsley chimed in, fond exasperation lining his features.

“What if...what if I make her worse?” he whispered softly, only so she could hear. Her brow furrowed slightly and she squeezed his hand.

“Andromeda said she’d love to see you. I’m not sure what the details of her sickness are, but I can’t imagine anything would do her more good than to see her son on Christmas,” she told him honestly, and her frank but genuine appraisal convinced him. He’d had enough of being a coward, hadn’t he? Mum had been asking for him, she knew who he was...though theoretically she’d known last time, too…

He nodded before he could talk himself out of it.

“I understand, Minister, thank you,” he managed, and he handed his Hawthorne wand over to the Headmistress, who would keep it for him until he returned, and the three of them made their way to the Floo.

St. Mungo’s was decorated for Yule, but Draco noted that the mood felt hollow and artificial as he moved through the halls. No one was in hospital on Christmas if they could avoid it. His heart pounded rapidly as they drew closer to the Janus Thickey Ward and Granger’s hand was in his again, rubbing soothing circles with her thumb on the back of his palm. He glanced at her again and his heart nearly skipped a beat. 

She was wearing a red dress with a square neckline that was fitted to her waist, where it flared. Her riotous curls hung down to her chest and her eyes were lined with kohl, drawing him into her gaze. She caught him staring and gave him a challenging smirk and he found himself smiling despite his nerves. 

She was a miracle. 

Soon they arrived outside a room where a woman who could only be his aunt awaited them. She looked so much like Bellatrix, but her curls were maintained and her eyes were warm, smile kind, and her body held the curves and weight of good nutrition that Bella’s had lacked from her decade plus years in Azkaban.

“Draco,” she breathed, arms opening to embrace him, “It is such a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Draco found his throat was tight and he was unable to speak, so he just nodded and accepted her hug. Merlin, he’d never been embraced so much before, but he loved it.

He paused at the door. 

His eyes slid to his aunt, whose eyes were both sad and wise with understanding.

“There’s no guarantee there won’t be an issue like the last time. But the healers feel optimistic that she’s been slightly more aware recently, and her main constant is always concern for you, wanting to see you,” she informed him and he took a shaky breath as he nodded and reached out for the door handle.

He felt Granger’s hand begin to untangle from his but he held on tighter. His cheeks flamed in embarrassment but he needed her, her Gryffindor courage and her ridiculous belief that he was worth the effort—a good person and not a useless Death Eater. 

“Please,” he whispered and her grip tightened, her fingers resettling between his.

“Of course,” she replied and he let loose a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and opened the door.

The room was small but well-appointed, his aunt’s doing he knew from her letters, and there on the sofa, tucked in blankets, reclined his mother, gazing out the window at the night sky. Her blond hair glowed in the moonlight, the only other light in the room a small lamp. She didn’t turn at the sound of the door, so Draco cleared his throat.

“Mother?”

She turned to him, then, and her face broke into an unfettered smile.

“Draco!”

He crossed the room to her, releasing Granger’s hand and sank to his knees beside her. His mum ran a hand through his hair and he leaned into it. A tear of joy rolled down her cheek and Draco desperately tried to keep his own at bay. He grasped her other hand in his.

“Happy Christmas, mum,” he offered softly and she sighed happily. 

“Happy Christmas, my dragon. How is school? Tell me, won’t you?”

He faltered somewhat, chancing a glance at Granger who stood by the doorway, smiling at him.

“I’ve made a new friend,” he replied, eyes still on Hermione, and she ducked her head to (unsuccessfully) hide her growing grin. 

“Oh, how wonderful! Who is it, darling?”

“Hermione Granger, believe it or not,” he replied, squeezing his mother’s hand a little as she wove her fingers through his hair with the other.

Narcissa froze. “The mudblood?”

Draco’s stomach dropped. “Mother, don’t - “

“She seems wonderful, love, but your father can’t know, you know what he’ll do!” she warned him, gripping both his hands in hers tightly. “See her if you want, but hide it, Draco, you can’t let anyone know, for her sake and yours.”

Her breathing was getting heavier and Draco soothed her. “It’s okay, he’s gone now mum,” he softly reassured her, rubbing the backs of her hands with his thumb. 

“Only for work, Draco, you have to be careful!” she admonished, gripping his hands almost painfully tight now.

“How about some light?” Andromeda suggested, sensing the mood was darkening and he wondered for a moment if light would help, if she could see her surroundings and feel more secure.

But as the light flicked on and his mother’s blue eyes widened in terror as they landed on his face, he knew the light had only revealed both his and her worst fear.

“What have you done to him!?” she shrieked, launching herself at him. 

“Mum, it’s me - “ he protested, trying to catch her in his arms and hold her steady.

“Where is he, Lucius!?” she screamed, clawing at him, her nails digging into his skin. He tried to grab a hold of her wrists without hurting her. 

“Mummy, please,” he whispered so only she could hear, but she must’ve thought it came from somewhere else because she kept attacking him, begging to see Draco, demanding to know what he’d done with him. 

Draco stopped resisting. 

“Stupefy!” came a quiet exclamation and his mother’s body collapsed into him. Gently, he gathered her in his arms, and carried her to the bed. He pulled back the covers and tucked her in.

“I’m so sorry, mum,” he whispered and kissed her forehead, letting his head rest against hers for a moment after. He had to savor this moment. He wouldn’t, couldn’t do this to her again. He had hoped the last time had been a fluke, but he was wrong. His face was her nightmare.

He gave her one more soft kiss and held her tight before he rose and walked towards the door. 

He’d almost forgotten about his aunt and Granger, one of whom had stupefied his mother, and he found the door open and Minister Shacklebolt’s wand trained on him. He raised his hands above his head and Granger’s wide eyes blinked in confusion until she realized where Shacklebolt’s wand pointed. She placed her hand over the Minister’s and gently pressed his wand down, the motion seeming to bring Shacklebolt back to his senses. He quickly lowered his wand and his features rearranged into an expression of pity.

Draco’s cheeks burned in shame. Tears stung the back of his eyes and his lip quivered and had been since he’d risen from his mother’s bed and now, with the Minister of fucking Magic looking at him like he was a kicked puppy, the grief grew within him and he had to get out get out get out --

Draco pushed past the Minister and nearly ran out the hallway, needing to find refuge, needing to get outside where maybe he could finally breathe. Even as he raced away, the tears spilt over and a tiny sob escaped him. He stumbled out the front exit and collapsed to his knees in the snow, just outside the door and gasped in a shaky breath.

Steps sounded behind him and he realized he’d broken the rules of his probation exception and he was probably under arrest and who really cared; he was the kind of monster who terrified his mother so maybe that’s where he should go, maybe that’s where he belonged. 

“Draco, I’m so sorry,” Granger breathed, sinking down beside him in the snow, and pulled him to her. Suddenly, his head was tucked into her shoulder and her warm vanilla scent surrounded him and he cried. She held him as he broke down, the locked-tight box that held his mother’s fear of him burst open and so did he. 

He had always hated crying. Even just a few tears, given his pale skin, were obvious, his cheeks flushing and his eyes going red. Malfoy men were not so weak as to cry, and he’d done his best to never do it, particularly where others could see.

But Granger was soft and safe and he couldn’t hold it in, couldn’t make it stop.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” she chanted softly, rubbing his back and he shuddered. 

Nothing was okay, didn’t she see? He’d become what he’d always wanted to be, what he’d thought was the good thing for him to be up until he’d been a child thrust into a war of adults -- he’d become just like Lucius Malfoy. A Death Eater, someone capable of wrecking his mother. A monster. 

He shook his head, but she just pressed a soft kiss to his temple and he froze for a long moment, wholly surprised at the affection before he melted, relaxing fully into her, arms wrapping around her and tugging her closer. 

Draco didn’t know how long he wept, but eventually no more tears came. He grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket. He rubbed his eyes like a child and kept his gaze averted from her. The shoulder of her red dress was soaked through with his tears and, oh Salazar, probably his snot and he didn’t even have his wand for a proper scourgify, and—

His spiraling thoughts were interrupted by a firm hand under his chin, forcing his face up. 

“Do not hide from me,” she chastened, and shifted her hand so it cupped his face, wiping the wetness from his cheek with her thumb. 

So he didn’t. His occlumency was shattered and he couldn’t find the energy to haul the walls back up again, reorganize the boxes just yet. He let her see him raw, no dignity, no composure, no quip on his tongue or sneer on his face to divert her away from it. He was laid bare: failure of a son, coward of a Death Eater, traitor to the Light, thorn in the side of all who made the mistake to love him. 

Her chocolate eyes bored into his for what felt like eons but could only have been moments. Her hand never strayed from his face. 

“This wasn’t your fault,” she told him quietly.

Something snapped taut within him, something vicious and the only defense he had left.

“Don’t,” he snapped, drawing back. “Don’t pretend I didn’t hurt her, didn’t break her !”

“Draco, she was already in hospital, obviously for mental health, yeah? You didn’t do this.”

“The hell I didn’t!” he was shouting now but he didn’t care, standing, not realizing earlier he’d pulled her into his lap and so she rose with him, swaying slightly but secure in his arms. He wasn’t letting her go until she understood.

Left arm still grasping her bicep, he tore the sleeve of that arm with his other hand until it revealed his hideous mark. Her eyes went wide.

“Draco, what did you do?” she asked softly, eyes roving over the scars criss-crossing the brand. They were thin, white slashes slicing across his skin and the mark beneath it in a chaotic fashion, no rhyme or reason to them.

“Nothing,” he told her honestly, “Nothing except have my father’s face and terrorize my mother by existing.”

Her eyes snapped up to his. “Your mother did this to you?”

“Letter opener. She thought I was him,” he told her, voice choking again and Sweet Salazar there could not possibly be any more water left in him to cry, surely!

“My mum survived my father, survived the Dark Lord, survived the trials only for me to ruin her, Granger. Me, I did that, I made her lose her mind. I hoped when I went back to Hogwarts it would settle down, I had Tippy watch over her, but it didn’t. She got worse. And I thought, what the hell, somehow good shit has happened to me this year despite everything, maybe it’ll all be alright, I mean, it’s Christmas.” Holy fucking Merlin he was crying again “But there aren’t any miracles for me, Granger. So don’t tell me this wasn’t my fault, because it was, it was my fucking presence that did that,” he finished, heart aching in his chest. 

She opened her mouth to reply, but the door opened and Shacklebolt stepped out.

“Time’s up, Malfoy,” he said gently, but Draco didn’t want gentle, didn’t deserve gentle, and that included whatever sweet lies Hermione Granger, Golden Girl and War Hero, was going to tell him so he simply dropped his grasp and nodded, following the minister to the floo. 

Once they were back at Hogwarts he could feel her coming after him, see the Headmistress’ concern as she rose from her desk but all he could do was walk away. A voice in the back of his head reminded him his wand was here, presents were still there, she was still there but he ignored it. If the heroes wanted their vengeance, let them come, let whatever kindness had been bestowed to him in Christmas gifts be redistributed, let her go far away from him where he couldn’t break her, too.

He barely made it to his dorm and didn’t undress, just collapsed into his bed and fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Week Seven: Rice, Apple, and Lamb

“He’ll need a protein source; humans are a meat...blech, that’s gross to say. He can’t stick to rice forever.”

Ella was talking but he wasn’t really listening. He had forced himself to keep trudging to the paddock each day, fulfilling his duty to the children, before he returned and collapsed onto the couch in the common room, staring at nothing. He rapidly ran out of his firewhiskey stash. His wand had been awaiting him when he woke the day after Christmas, as were the gifts he’d been given, but he’d yet to open them. 

Reginald chirruped at him sadly when he’d sit in the paddock with him for hours, staring at nothing. Hagrid had begun to ask him in for tea, but he declined. The cold numbed him. Numb was good.

He’d kept going to the Great Hall where he sat alone, the four tables having returned, but once the students came back it was too much energy to face the crowds. Granger had immediately upon returning set upon him, demanding to speak to him, but he wouldn’t. She healed what remained of the scratches over his face, gently dabbing dittany to them so they wouldn’t scar. It didn’t matter if they did.

She kept trying to speak with him, but he simply made vague responses. He floated from class to class, still doing a perfunctory job of his homework. Granger would remind him which assignments were due next and he dutifully performed. 

He did his best, all his effort went into appearing normal for the kids. Sadie had returned and banged on his dorm door, apparently, which he hadn’t heard. Eventually she’d opened it; evidently it had scared her when he hadn’t responded. A vague, floating thought whispered he should have been concerned he hadn’t set his wards, but it didn’t penetrate the fog around him. He heard about it the next day at breakfast and he apologized, making up some excuse about being tired. He asked about her holiday, and she gingerly told him, still eyeing him warily. He asked Ella as well and it must have been great fun, because even her morning averse eyes brightened as she rattled off details about her trip he couldn’t for the life of him remember.

They’d walk down together and Granger would hold his hand. He didn’t protest, but didn’t really grip it back either so that it hung limply in her grasp. Marcus poked him in the shoulder and asked what was wrong with him and he’d blinked at him and tried to smile, telling him nothing was wrong, and asking about his holiday.

The cooked lamb didn’t go over well with Reginald, and Granger suggested they try serving it rare. That attempt went much better. 

Week Eight: Rice, Apple, Lamb & Beef

The same principle applied to beef.

Week Nine: Rice, Apple, Lamb, Beef, & Carrot

He threw up the carrots.

Week Ten: Assortment of Human Foods

He ate and didn’t vomit.

Week Eleven: 

Draco screamed himself awake, sweat pouring down his body. He blinked rapidly, clearing the sleep from his eyes, getting his bearings.

He wasn’t in bed. He was in the common room and Sadie and Ella were staring down at him, both wide eyed and frightened. 

Fuck. 

“S-sorry, sorry, I’ll um, I’ll go --”

Sadie flung herself into his arms. 

“It’s okay, it was just a nightmare, I’m fine,” he reassured her, rubbing circles on her back, the raw nerves from his nightmare beginning to dissipate into numb awareness. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here…” he trailed off. He had no idea why he was out here.

“You were helping with our homework and when we figured it out and stopped asking you so many questions you just kind of...zoned out then fell asleep,” Ella answered, biting her lip. Sadie drew back, tears tracking down her cheeks.

“Draco, what’s wrong?” she pleaded. 

“Nothing,” he replied, and it wasn’t a lie. There was nothing in him now to be wrong. Or was it that when all of a person was wrong, they became nothing? He wasn’t sure. 

The portrait hole opened and Marcus and Indira came in, leading Hermione Granger. 

Draco blinked at them. A small part of him wondered why they were here but he was it didn’t seem important enough to keep at it. 

Granger knelt next to him, taking his hand. “Come with me,” she told him, sternly but gently. She tugged on his hand and he stood without protest. 

“Hermione, what’s wrong with him?” one of them asked. 

“He’s had too many bad things happen to him and his mind is trying to protect him how it can,” she answered.

Is that what this was?

She led him up so many stairs and he was so tired, he just wanted to lie down, but she nearly dragged him until they reached the seventh floor. She paced back and forth and soon he was in their Christmas Cabin. She tugged him over to the green sofa and he sat. 

“Draco, please, we need to talk about this,” she begged and Draco blinked at her.

“Sorry,” he whispered, shame for worrying her trying to puncture his numbness. Her eyes filled with tears. 

“Don’t apologize, it’s okay, just let me help you, okay? Please?”

He nodded. 

“Have you ever seen a mind healer?”

He shook his head.

“Have you ever taken any potions for...for depression or sadness, anything like that?”

He shook his head again.

“Would you go see a mind healer with me, and if they give you some potions, would you take them?”

Draco blinked at her. She was crying.

He didn’t want her to be sad. 

So he nodded.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll take care of everything, alright? Just promise me you’ll go.”

He nodded again. She squeezed his hands. 

“Sorry,” he said again. 

And she was beside him suddenly, holding him tight and he relaxed into her hold. That was nice. She smelled like vanilla and home. He breathed in.

“It wasn’t your fault. I don’t know if you can really hear me or if you can believe me but I promise you Draco, it wasn’t your fault, and I’m so sorry.”

He blinked. She was talking about how he hurt his mother.

The numbness wavered with pain.

He shook his head, not sure exactly what he was asking her not to do.

“ It isn’t your fault . There’s one person who’s fault it is, and it isn’t you.”

That. That was what he didn’t want her to do. 

But he just shook his head again, allowing her voice to wash over him. She didn’t understand, but that was fine. 

“Draco,” she continued, sitting back to face him, cupping his cheek with her hand, “Your father is the only one responsible for your mother’s pain. He did the things that made her scared of him, scared for both herself and for you. He did that, not you.”

“Okay,” he acquiesced. He didn’t believe her, but did it really matter? She wanted him to agree, so he would.

She narrowed her eyes at him and withdrew her hand from his face. “Draco Malfoy, are you placating me?”

He simply raised his brows at her, indifferent. Granger deflated. 

“Come here, you great prat,” she muttered, tugging him closer until his head was resting on her lap. Granger’s fingers went to his hair, moving through it with gentle tugs and Draco melted. He was so tired.

“Promise you’ll go if I find you a mind healer?” she asked again, voice small.

“Yeah, Granger, whatever you want,” he mumbled sleepily. 

Week Twelve: ?

The following morning Draco had awoken on the couch in the Room of Requirement, a certain witch tucked tight into his side. He didn’t know when they’d moved positions or if throughout the night they had shifted, but he was laying flat on his back with Granger curled on her side, his right arm around her shoulders. For a long moment he lay there, warm, content, committing her features to memory, admiring her button nose and her full lips, parted slightly in sleep, the way her eyelashes fanned across her cheek. He absorbed it all, the small bumps of acne, the tiny scar on her chin, the way the divet between her brows was smooth now in sleep. He savored her warmth beside him.

The fog cleared somewhat just then, and he had breathed just a bit easier.  

But then it returned. Sadie and even Ella reminded him to eat food he didn’t taste, if he even remembered to go to the Great Hall at all. When he forgot, one of them would simply find him in the Slytherin dungeons, pressing an apple or a muffin or some other portable food into his hand. He still forgot most of what people said right after they’d gone, but he responded dutifully, unconcerned with what either the other person or himself was saying. 

Three days later, Headmistress McGonnagall asked to see him. A voice inside advised him to panic, but he couldn’t manage it, so numbly he walked up the stairs to her office.

A mind healer was waiting for him.

He started to back away, but he vaguely remembered the tears in Granger’s eyes as she’d asked him for a promise, for his word. 

He sat down. 

“Draco, do you know where you are?” the man’s voice pierced through the fog and he blinked.

“Headmistress’ Office,” he replied. 

“Good, good. Do you know why you’re here?”

“I promised Hermione.”

“And what did you promise Hermione, exactly?”

Draco paused, not quite sure. “She asked me to…” he trailed off. 

“Have you been having trouble with your memory?”

Draco shrugged. 

“Have you had any other troublesome symptoms?”

“Like what?”

“Trouble sleeping, lack of appetite or too much of one, trouble focusing, fixating, anything like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Could you describe them for me?”

Draco obeyed and told him about the nightmares.

“That’s a great step, Draco, telling me you have them, well done. Do you feel comfortable sharing what they’re about?”

Draco shrugged. He didn’t feel much of anything about it.

“Mum’s face. Granger’s screams. Snake eating people. Father,” he glanced down at his arm. “Mark burning me to ash. Astronomy Tower,” he paused. “There’s a lot of them, do I have to keep going?”

“No, Draco, you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

He nodded.

“What about appetite, have you had much of one recently?”

Draco shook his head. 

“How do you make sure you’re getting enough to eat then?”

Draco paused. “Sadie and the kids. Granger.”

“How does that work?”

“They ask me to eat, so I do.”

“Like you’re here because Hermione -- same person as Granger, isn’t she? -- asked you to be.”

Draco nodded. One answer to both questions. 

“Have you done anything recently just because you’ve wanted to?”

Draco blinked. Wanting?

He shook his head.

“Draco, if I may, can you remember the last time you wanted anything, period?”

“To sleep,” he replied. Added, “I’m tired a lot.”

“I’m sure you are if you’re having trouble sleeping. Now, I’d like to ask you again about your memory. Can you remember the last time you felt something like happy?”

Draco blinked. A vision of the Room of Requirement came to mind. 

“Yeah.”

“Where were you? Who were you with?”

“Hermione. Before… before. Our room,” he replied, not sure if he wanted to admit they went alone to the Room of Requirement. 

The mind healer paused a moment, assessing Draco. “Everything you say to me is confidential, Draco.”

Draco just nodded. Amended his statement with the name of the room.

“Draco, when I was asked to come see you today, Ms. Granger mentioned that something happened on Christmas. Can you tell me about that?”

Draco just nodded, feeling far away from it all. “I ruined my mum’s Christmas. I hurt her.”

“What do you mean by ruined?”

Draco felt nothing as he recounted the events of that evening. 

“How did you feel when she mistook you for your father?”

The numbness wavered.

Draco shook his head.

“Okay, that’s alright, we don’t have to talk about it. How did you feel before you went to visit?”

Draco blinked. Feel? How did he feel before...? 

“Hope,” he finally replied. 

“What made you feel hopeful?”

“Granger cared and arranged it for me to see my mother,” he replied. 

“I see. Were you hoping for anything when you went to St. Mungo’s?”

Draco nodded through the tightness in his chest. He retreated deeper into the fog.

“Didn’t want it to be like last time,” he finally managed.

“What happened last time?”

Draco blinked. Glanced up at the mind healer with flat eyes. “Same thing.”

The healer paused, considering his words. “Your mum mistook you for your father, is that what you mean?”

Draco nodded. 

“On Christmas your mother scratched your face, thinking you were your father. Did she attack you this other time, too, or was it only that she mistook you for your father?”

Draco robotically held out his arm and tugged the sleeve of his jumper up. 

“Are you trying to say these scars are from your mother?”

Draco nodded again. 

“That seems painful, Draco. Did it hurt?”

Draco shrugged. Pain was relative. “Not like seeing her face,” he replied, still safe in the fog of his mind. 

“Thank you for that honesty, Draco. Now, I was wondering, you said you were speaking with me because Ms. Granger asked you to do so. What would be different about your life right now for you to say that our seeing one another was a worthwhile experience, not for Ms. Granger, but for you?”

This time Draco only shrugged with one shoulder. 

“Let me rephrase. If a miracle occurred tomorrow, what would be different? How would you know it had happened?”

“My mum would be healed,” Draco answered.

“Your mother’s happiness and health rests with her and her healers right now Draco, though it shows you have a kind heart that wants what’s best for her. What else would be different for you? It’s a miracle after all, and we have magic, what else would be better?”

Draco blinked at him. 

“Really picture it, Draco.”

He tried to conceive of it. But a miracle for him seemed too impossible, too unlikely, for him to imagine. He couldn’t conjure an image, it felt too far away to dream of at all. Eventually Draco told the wizard so. 

“Fair enough. Let’s start smaller then. What would make you happy if you woke up tomorrow and some things were different?”

“I wouldn’t have nightmares, I guess.”

“That’s good! What else?”

Was the mind healer praising him? The thought struck Draco as odd but it filtered away before it meant anything more to him, lost in the mists of his mind. 

“Draco? What else would make you happy?”

“No one would call me a Death Eater,” he finally replied. 

“Ah. What don’t you like about that, precisely?”

Draco blinked once. Twice. “Reminds me I’m bad.” 

“Why do you say that you’re bad?”

He looked down at his Mark, still exposed, and back to the mind healer and simply arched a brow. 

“While I confess I’m jealous you have mastery over each of your eyebrows individually, I think it might be helpful if you explain it to me.”

Draco sighed. “I’m a Death Eater. A Malfoy. I hurt people. Ergo, bad.”

“I want to talk more about that, but we’re running short on time for today. For now, I want to clarify, would the miracle be that you have no reminders as to how you see yourself, which is not positively, or would it be simply that you are seen by yourself and others as good?”

Good? Draco furrowed his brow. “I’m not, though. Death Eater,” he reminded and the mind healer inclined his head. 

“Well, this is a miracle, Draco. Why not?”

Draco just stared at him as anger, an old and familiar friend, sparked in him but didn’t catch fire. He finally just shrugged. “Fine. If it’s a miracle, I’d be good, I wouldn’t be a danger to the people I love, I wouldn’t be a Death Eater or my father. Happy?”

“Would that make you happy?”

“Sure.”

“Then yes, that’s a good start for today. I’d like to see you this Thursday at the same time, if you’re available?”

Draco had no concept of what time it was. “Um, could you clarify the time please?”

--

As he exited the office and wound his way down the stairs, voices floated up to him.

“Sadie, I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. Mind healing takes time, and this is his first session. We don’t want him to feel pressured.”

“I know, but even if he’s a robot right now I want him to know we care about him! That’s why you’re here too, isn’t it?”

“I -- well, yes, but…”

Draco reached the end of the stairwell and the two witches froze.

“You told her?” he asked, directing his question at Granger. He’d been trying to keep up appearances for Sadie and her posse, perhaps unsuccessfully. 

Granger bit her lip, but Sadie shook her head. “Not really, I just wouldn’t go away after Burke fetched you for the Headmistress and Hermione kind of had to tell me.”

He thought about caring, about feeling embarrassed or angry, but it felt far away.

So he shrugged and didn’t notice how Sadie’s shoulders slumped as Granger guided him by the elbow to join the rest of the C.O.N.K. to feed Reginald…

“What food are we trying?” Draco asked. 

Sadie perked up. “Fish!”

“Okay,” he replied. 

--

“Can you tell me where it is you feel safe?”

He blinked at the mind healer. “This is fine.”

And it was. They were in a room McGonagal had appointed for them and it had two sofas facing one another, a window. It was like any other room. Probably a repurposed classroom.

“Fine is well and good, but where do you feel like you can relax? What makes you feel secure?”

Draco shrugged again. 

“Alright, let’s try something. I want you to picture somewhere safe, somewhere you could feel relaxed enough to let your guard down. Close your eyes if you like. Imagine the colors around you, the textures, the smells, maybe who is there with you.”

Draco tried. He made an effort and the fog around his mind cleared enough to catch a whiff of vanilla. The feel of an old book in his hand. The bright colors that popped into his mind were almost jarring, but the bird’s eye view of the lake and trees around the Manor flooded his mind’s eye all of a sudden.

“Flying,” he breathed, blinking his eyes open, the room seeming just a bit clearer now. “I felt safe flying.”

“Good, Draco, that’s good. What do you see when you’re flying?”

“The trees and the lake near the Manor.”

“Give me some more details, would you? What season is it, are the leaves green or gold or are they gone? Is it a bright and clear day or a drizzly one?”

“Bright. Summer, the leaves are green. The lake is...sparkling.”

“Wonderful. What do you feel while you’re up there?”

He closed his eyes and mentally took himself to the skies. He’s wearing the fingerless gloves from quidditch, so he can feel the smoothed wood of the broomstick on his fingers, the leather of the glove on his palms. The sun is out, warming his face, but the wind is flowing gently, brushing back his hair. 

“What do you hear?”

His robe is snapping when the wind picks up. There is birdsong off to his left somewhere, high and sweet. The leaves are rustling in the gentle breeze. 

“What do you smell?”

Crisp summer air, and besides that only his sweat; he’s up too high to smell any of his mother’s flowers.

“Draco, slowly, I want you to take a breath through your nose and think about what you smell right now, in this room.”

He obeyed. There was a faintly musty scent, as if this room was rarely touched or even aired out. He could make out a touch of pine...was that the mind healer’s cologne? Or a candle, maybe?

“Good. Now, what do you hear here in this place?”

The breathing of his mind healer, a little wheezy on the way out - a cold or a nasal defect? Draco could hear his own breathing, relatively relaxed. The wind was blowing outside and there was the faint pitter patter of rain.

“Good, Draco. Now, what do you feel?”

His hands were in his lap, he could feel the wool of his trousers. The room was chilly, he could feel the cold air pricking his face and he could feel the cotton of his oxford against his skin.

“Now, Draco, open your eyes.”

He did and he took in the room. The couches he and his mind healer sat on were a muted mauve, and between them was a mahogany coffee table, set low to the ground. Seated across from him was the mind healer, with reddish brown hair, tousled. He wore tweed trousers with a maroon sweater vest over a standard white oxford and burnt orange tie. The man’s face revealed him to be in his forties, most likely, with crinkles around his eyes. He had a square jaw and thin lips, though they were slightly upturned in the hint of a smile.

“Well done, Draco. Tell me, how do you feel right now?”

Draco took a deep breath, feeling the way his body expanded. 

“Relaxed.”

The mind healer nodded. 

Draco blinked.

“What’s your name?” he rushed out, before the man could ask his next question. 

Now the man did smile. “Healer Kane.” 

“Right. Sorry,” Draco offered, a little embarrassed he’d been so rude. 

“Quite alright, Draco. Are you feeling present right now?”

“Yes.”

“Good. What feels different about right now than say, how you felt earlier this session, or the last time we met?”

Draco squirmed slightly. It was more difficult to discuss these things now.

“I felt...away. Like there was fog and you were on the other side of it, or something.”

Kane nodded. “Do you remember what we talked about last time?”

Draco furrowed his brow, trying to remember. “Er...vaguely?” 

“I believe what you’re experiencing, Draco, is a combination of things which isn’t uncommon after war. One of them is called dissociation -- essentially, it’s that fog you mentioned. Your brain is trying to protect you from pain, so it’s protecting you from feeling anything right now. Do you have an idea of when this began?”

Draco shifted in his seat. “Christmas...it would happen sometimes after bad nightmares, but not...not like this.”

“Christmas was when your mother had her episode, mistaking you for your father, and physically attacking you?”

Draco closed his eyes, overwhelming grief cascading over him. “Yes,” he managed.

“Now, if I may, you are rumored to be a master occlumens. Is this true?”

Draco nodded.

“How has your occlumency been since Christmas?”

“Utter shite.”

“How was it on Christmas? Can you describe to me how you were feeling?”

Draco clenched his fists. “My occlumency...it was like it exploded. I haven’t been able to remake it yet.”

Occlumency he could deal with, he could talk about that; feelings would have to fucking wait.

“My suspicion is that not only was this event particularly painful for you, but you were overwhelmed by your mental fortifications being removed. How do you tend to view your occlumency?”

Draco arched a brow at him. “It keeps me alive.”

“Say more.”

Draco groaned. “The Dark Lord was in my house. I had to hide the part where I thought he was a bloody insane villain or my parents and I would die. I had to hide it from him, from Aunt Bella. I had to control my thoughts and my emotions or it was all over.”

“So your occlumency helped you feel safe?”

“Sure.”

“When did you start practicing it?”

Draco blinked. “I’m a natural occlumens, I’d been doing it since childhood to a degree, but Mother began training me in earnest in second year.”

“What happened in second year to cause her to do that, do you think?”

“Father and the diary and the bloody basilisk,” Draco replied, waving a hand. 

Naturally, Kane wanted to know what all that meant, so he begrudgingly elaborated, explaining the Chamber of Secrets. 

“So what was it about all that that made your mother think occlumency was the right next step? Did she tell you?”

“Father was...angrier. Becoming obsessive, finding fault with every little thing. He’s a decent legilimens, nothing special or anything, but he could get into a child’s mind. I think she feared what he’d see and punish me for it, so she helped me hide from him.”

“So am I correct in hearing you say that you used your occlumency to hide - from your father, from Voldemort?” Draco nodded, “Then tell me, did you ever hide anything from yourself?”

Draco stiffened. “What?”

“Well, were there any memories or feelings you didn’t particularly want to feel, so you occluded them?”

“Well, yeah, obviously,” Draco responded, scoffing. “There’s the shite I did as a child. The really bad stuff I tucked away.”

“I’m thinking, Draco, that given the way your occlumency shielded you from painful memories and feelings that this fog over you is your mind’s attempt to protect yourself while your occlumency in shambles.”

Draco leaned back in his seat, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “So fix my occlumency, fix the fog?”

“Do you want to fix the fog?”

Draco blinked. “Um, I think so. It...worries people.”

“How do you feel about it?”

Draco paused, reflecting. “It’s kind of nice, not feeling anything. But I hate feeling out of control, and the fact I didn’t even know your bloody name...you could have been anybody. It’s not actually keeping me safe, even if somewhere my mind thinks it is.”

“So you would like to feel present regularly again?”

Draco nearly rolled his eyes. Surely that was implied?  “Yes. So, I repeat, I fix the occlumency, I fix the fog?”

“I would actually recommend we walk through what you’ve been through so you can process your trauma,” Kane responded and Draco balked. 

“I’m not some traumatized victim, Kane, I’m a fucking Death Eater,” he spat.

“Are you implying Death Eaters don’t feel pain? Or remorse? Or shame?”

Draco opened his mouth to retort then closed it. 

“Because it seems to me from what you’ve said, Draco, that you feel some sort of guilt or pain over your actions in the war.”

“Well, yeah, Kane, I wasn’t overjoyed to endanger a castle full of students or cause a man to die, or torture anyone or override their brain with an imperius, I didn’t fucking want any of it!” Draco nearly shouted, voice becoming choked. 

No, no, he’d cried a whole year’s allowance of tears on Christmas, he wasn’t bloody weeping again.

“Being forced to act against your will is a terrible experience, Draco.”

Draco blinked back those traitorous tears. “I fucking know that, okay? I’m sorry for what I did to Madame Rosmerta and Bell, I get it!”

“I meant for you, Draco. You were forced to act against your will, and that’s a hard and painful thing to have happened to you.”

Draco stared at Kane for a long moment before averting his gaze and tucking his arms across his chest. 

“Yeah,” he finally said softly. He was starting to feel tired again and the whirlwind of emotions was overwhelming. 

“Draco, we’re nearing our time for today, but it’s okay to feel regret for what you have done and also acknowledge you were wronged, too. We can hold space for both of these feelings and many more.”

He didn’t reply.

Kane continued, “I have an assignment of sorts for you to practice until I see you again on Monday. Remember our meditation on flying?”

Draco nodded.

“I’d like you to try that at least once a day.”

Given Draco had once been tasked with murder and an act of war, he could probably handle this. 

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

Week Thirteen: Rice, Apple, Lamb, Beef, and further trials.

The fog remained thick and heavy, but once a day Draco tried to fly in his mind and pay attention and after, for a while at least, the mist would clear. 

The first day he’d used it to catch up on Reginald. Sadie hugged him hard when he’d asked whether the fish stayed down or not (not), and he learned the prior two weeks they had attempted potatoes (success) and oranges (went the way of the fish). 

The next he’d asked Granger a question about her weekend and she mentioned reading the third Illustria Caling novel he’d ordered for her. That had gotten him going and they were so enthusiastic in their discussion Pince warned them twice to keep it down. 

It was Sunday and Draco was heading towards the library to study with Granger. He’d skipped his exercise, deciding his mental presence would be best applied after some distance between him and the nightmare that had awakened him. 

Caught unawares by a hex and a resulting tumble down the stairs, Draco absentmindedly awarded occlumency superior points over the fog for protection. Occlumency let him avoid his feelings and hear obnoxiously loud Puffs with anger issues. Still, though he rose gingerly, he felt little and continued on to the library. It had taken five weeks for anyone to harm him beyond simple stinging hexes after the return from holiday; at this rate, he wouldn’t be properly assaulted again until Easter. Vengeance was falling out of fashion it seemed. 

He entered the library and wove his way through the stacks until he came to their table. Granger was already there, head buried in a book. 

“Good morning, Malfoy, how are -- Great Godric! What happened!?” she screeched when she lifted her gaze to greet him, launching to her feet. 

Draco blinked at her. He glanced down at himself, not sure what he was missing. 

“Draco, you’re bleeding through your shirt and your trousers and robe are torn! Merlin, come on, hospital wing, now!” she admonished, quickly brandishing her wand to repack her books before taking him by the elbow and leading him away. 

“What happened?” Granger asked. 

“Puffs,” he replied with a sigh. Thankfully the infirmary was only one flight up, and she took some of his weight as it became harder to move his legs. 

Hm, maybe he was really injured. 

Voices talked over him as he was laid on a cot, and finally the pain crashed through the fog around his brain when they removed his shirt. But, thankfully, as a potion was poured down his throat, another fog descended.

--

When he woke up there were two sets of curls to his right. He rubbed his eyes to clear his vision and his motion must have alerted the witches to his presence, because suddenly they were towering over him.

“Draco! How are you feeling?” 

Draco blinked. His breathing turned ragged and he had to do his stupid focusing exercise (see/feel/hear/smell) to convince his brain that this was Aunt Andromeda, not Aunt Bella. He didn’t know how long it took him, but he knew the other curls were Granger’s so he let himself take the time to process where he was and who he was with. 

“All right,” he rasped, trying to sit up. Granger was suddenly at his other side, gently helping him, while Andromeda thrust a glass of water towards him. He drank greedily and the sandpaper feeling in his mouth lessened. 

“One year,” he heard Hermione mutter beside him. “One year without a friend nearly dying, is all I asked for and look at you. Nearly dying.”

Andromeda perched on the chair next to his cot and regarded him warily.

“How are you here?” he asked and Andromeda offered him a weak attempt at a smile. 

“I’m your next of kin. Hermione said you were unaware you were injured,” she mentioned. Draco nodded.

“Well, you were. The hex was adflicto affligo. It hit you in the side, where it evidently cut you open and did some serious damage to your internal organs. Pomfrey surmised you must have fallen, as you had significant bruising in several places,” she continued but her voice was shaky. 

Oh, shit. 

A hand slipped into his, and he interlaced his fingers with Granger’s, giving her a gentle squeeze for both their comfort. He’d been roughed up before, but to use adflicto affligo on a person rather than a shield charm, for which it was meant, was potentially life-threatening. 

“Sorry, Andromeda,” he murmured, unsure of what to do. She looked so worried, mouth tight and eyes tired, but at his apology she sighed in exasperation. 

“Don’t apologize, Draco. I’ve already spoken to McGonagal and she’s removed two hundred points from Hufflepuff house and has suspended the two boys. She would have expelled them but they both lost family to the Snatchers in the war so she’s suspending with mandatory mind healing.”

“That’s good,” Draco sighed and Granger stiffened.

“What?” she snapped and he turned to face her.

“They’re right to be angry, Granger. I can’t hoard the second chances, can I?” he asked her honestly, searching her face, for what he didn’t know. 

“They weren’t being threatened to do what they did,” she said in reply, gripping his hand tightly. 

“Still,” he shrugged and winced. Moving more than his head was going to be slow going apparently.  “I wasn’t threatened to be a prick all those years.” 

“Yes well, your prattishness never nearly killed anyone,” Granger seethed.

“Magnanimous of you, Draco. However, I will be having individual conversations with each of those boys making it perfectly clear how the House of Black takes assault on our family,” Andromeda said caustically, venom dripping off every word. “Harry will be receiving a lecture as well now that I’ve laid eyes on the scars of his folly.”

Draco looked down at his chest, bare and bandaged near his kidney, sectumsempra scars stark for all to see. The thick, roping scars still ached occasionally.

“They’re getting worse than Potter did. Detention, I believe,” Draco mentioned, flicking a glance toward Granger to confirm. She nibbled her lip.

“Yes, that’s right. A load of them, but still...even I thought it wasn’t enough for nearly killing you, and I still hated you pretty fiercely then,” she sighed. 

Andromeda’s face darkened. “You were nearly killed and the person responsible only received detention?” she hissed, and suddenly the resemblance to Bellatrix was more apparent. 

Draco shrugged. “No Slytherin was surprised.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, shifting to face him.

Granger. Granger asked. Merlin, he was going soft for this witch.

Before he could answer, Andromeda did instead.

“Dumbledore was never overly fond of Slytherin in my day, but after the first war…” she trailed off, glancing at Draco.

“He decided we were the villains,” he finished for her. “I mean, some of us were,” he gestured to himself, “but still, would have been nice to think at eleven our fates weren’t sealed.”

Granger’s grip grew tight again and he rubbed his thumb across her knuckles soothingly. 

“He knew. The whole time, he knew what I was supposed to do, saw what it was doing to me and...he just didn’t help. Didn’t offer protection until I had his wand and it was too late,” he whispered and he heard Granger’s breath catch.

“Kingsley and I repeatedly tried to remind Albus not to brush off an entire quarter of his student body, but,” Andromeda sighed, “nothing to do about it now, I suppose. Minerva seems to be attempting to fix things. Apparently you’ll all be having a Victory Ball in May that’s meant to encourage inter-house unity.”

Draco sighed wearily. At least he wouldn’t be welcome at that one and could rightfully avoid it. “Hard to imagine that going the way she thinks it will.”

Andromeda hummed noncommittally, eyes glancing towards his and Granger’s interlocked hands, “We’ll see, I suppose. At any rate, how’s your appetite? Can you eat at all?”

His aunt tended to him, having him drink more water and slowly take bites of a scone that tasted remarkably familiar. He looked at her and she winked, and told him Tippy was worried for him.

Granger simply sat by his side, keeping her hand in his. 

“Potions again,” Andromeda told him, three lined up on the bedside table. 

“How long am I required to be here? How long have I been here?”

“Just about six hours now. Pomfrey said at least two days, maybe three. It depends on how quickly your body responds to the potions,” Hermione answered. Draco sighed.

“Is there a shirt somewhere?” he asked and she turned pink, nodding and conjuring a pajama shirt. It was a painful job getting into it, but he felt better with the scars covered. He raised the first potion in a toast and knocked all three of them back before the world went dark again.

--

In the end he was kept in the infirmary for three days. Andromeda stayed the whole time, there each time he woke up, with variations of the usual suspects with her. For better or worse, he’d begun performing the little flying meditation more often, particularly when he had visitors in the infirmary. Once he was breaking out of the fog, he found he missed feeling amused at the children’s antics or intrigued by Granger’s commentary on her book, or touched by Andromeda’s unwavering concern. 

Now, the fourth day after the incident he sank into the chair across from Hermione Granger in the library, ready to catch up on the mountain of coursework he’d missed. She stared at him worriedly, eyes scanning him, and he found that bothered him.

 “What?”

“Last time you met me in the library you were bleeding and injured and completely unaware, forgive me for assessing your state of health,” she snipped, clearly tense.

Draco frowned, observing her. Her eyes held dark bags and her lips had an indentation from her teeth from biting them so often. Her hair was more chaotic than usual and her uniform was rumpled.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly and she waved him off.

“Nothing at all, I’m fine,” she replied and he scoffed.

“You’re not that canny at lying, Granger, now what is it?”

“I said, nothing,” she huffed, crossing her arms. 

Draco just rolled his eyes and nudged her foot with his under the table. “You can trust me, you know. Maybe I can help.”

Granger paused, considering him. “You...seem more like you today,” she commented slowly and Draco flushed.

“Yeah, um...look, I’m sorry, I’ve been a burden but I’m trying, alright? I’m still seeing Kane. I don’t know how consistent it will be, but I want to be here for you, too. We’re friends, yeah?” he asked cautiously. He wouldn’t blame her, really, if she’d changed her mind. He’d both sobbed on her and gone through near fugue states since she’d declared them friends, after all. 

But Granger’s features softened and her posture relaxed, arms uncrossing. “Yeah, we are. You going through something hard doesn’t change that, I promise. I...it was hard for me, I guess, seeing you covered in blood with your robes torn. It...it reminded me…” she trailed off. 

“Of the battle?” he finished for her and she nodded. 

“Nightmares have been back,” she admitted, flashing him a halfhearted smile that really was more of a grimace.

He considered the witch before him, wondering how to comfort her. She was always reaching for him— holding his hand, giving him hugs, tugging him by the elbow— she enjoyed touch. So Draco reached across the table and plucked one of her hands from where it rested on her book and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

“To quote a swotty witch I know, have you tried dreamless sleep?”

Hermione chuckled, muttering “git” under her breath. “I have to be careful with that potion. I over relied on it at the beginning and only really got better sleep properly after a couple months of mind healing. Kane sees me too, actually,” she admitted, giving him that smile he loved. 

“Yes, apparently talking actually helps,” he muttered sorrowfully, “it really dampens the dark and brooding vibe I’ve been accused of multiple times.” Granger giggled. 

“You still don’t strike me as eager to share,” she replied and Draco nodded.

“Honestly, Kane’s lucky I was so out of it the first couple sessions or he’d still be dragging the details of ‘what the hell happened’ out of me,” he teased and Granger grinned again.

“Almost like you have trust issues.”

“Can’t imagine why,” he sighed dramatically and she laughed again. It wasn’t that funny, really, but he felt pleasure and a flutter in his stomach when she laughed. 

“You can talk to me you know,” he said seriously, meeting her gaze, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. A soft, shy smile graced her lips. 

“Thank you, Draco. It’s...been hard for me. I was always the one of us who had to keep it together, you know?”

“Of course, Potty and Weasel were hopeless without you.”

An incredulous laugh shot out from her. “Seriously? We’re adults now, ‘Potty and Weasel’?”

Draco tsked. “In a world full of change, you should be grateful to rely on certain constants, such as my disdain for your preferred idiots.” She laughed again, and shook her head. 

“Yes, well, now that we’re friends, perhaps one day you’ll be able to put up with my other idiots. You can all form a little club,” she quipped and he gaped at her, snatching his hand back.

“Excuse me, I am an entirely different type of idiot from those two!” 

She giggled, biting her lip. “You’re not though. You’ve got a guilt and martyr complex that rivals Harry’s and your love for your family is right there with Ron’s.”

Draco groaned, head flopping to the table. “You wound me, witch.”

Hermione, no Granger, for Salazar’s fucking sake!, sobered. “They know about you, actually. That we’re friends,” she clarified.

Draco picked his head up. “Really? And they haven’t stormed the castle to throw me in Azkaban?”

She shook her head. “They don’t get it, certainly, but they trust me. Gin actually supports it.”

“Weaslette?” he asked, surprised. That was interesting.

“Mhm,” she replied, “She was wavering, but after your Christmas gift she decided to fully embrace it. Though that may have been to irritate Ron,” she allowed, smiling almost nervously at him.

He gave her a hesitant half-smile back. “So you liked it then? I can’t remember most of January, so you may have said—“

“Draco, I loved it!” she interrupted, nearly bouncing in her seat again, “It’s way too much, I can’t even imagine how much it cost—”

“Nothing, it was lying around the Manor,” he cut her off, feeling his cheeks grow warm. He’d wanted her to be happy, not think it was over the top, maybe he should have only gone with the Caling books, but she did seem to like it…

“Draco,” she said softly and he started. Realizing he’d gotten lost in his thoughts, he glanced at her and she was smiling still. 

“I really loved it. Mum and Dad made so much fun of me for my reaction; I cried, I was so excited! I read it again immediately— it was so interesting to compare it to the later editions I’ve read, and oh! They’re working on a new one to include the war, I can compare that one to it too!” she gushed and Draco smiled. 

Granger stilled, eyes going wide and he drew back, frowning. “What?”

She blinked. “You...you haven’t smiled since Christmas,” she said softly and Draco reached for her hand again. He didn’t have any words to describe the warmth in his chest or the fluttering in his stomach that she noticed when he smiled or when he didn’t. It had been a long time since such a thing had mattered to anyone. Even his mother in the thick of the war was shooting for survival rather than smiles for the most part. And after, well, after she hadn’t known who he was for long before it all fell apart. 

“You should do it more often,” she decided, offering him one of her own, and he gave her another smile, this one more tentative.

“It’s easier with you,” he told her honestly. Granger’s cheeks turned pink and she gripped his hand tighter before a familiar voice carried through the shelves and they sprang apart.

“Draco! You’re okay!” Sadie exclaimed, relief all over her face as she threw her arms around his neck, her bag smacking him in the shoulder.

“Yeah, if the Noseless Wonder or the Chosen One weren’t enough to do me in, I reckon it’ll take more than a tumble down the stairs to finish me off,” he quipped, deflecting from the very real worry he’d caused his firstie. 

Sadie merely rolled her eyes, sitting next to him at the table, and the three began to actually study. Three hours later when they finally left for dinner, Draco pulled Granger aside.

“I meant what I said earlier. You don’t have to deal with the aftermath of the war alone,” he told her quietly, meeting her gaze. 

“Thank you,” she replied, breathing a sigh of relief, and she reached up on her tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek before walking away. 

Draco waved Sadie on ahead, but she would not go, insisting instead on pestering him incessantly as to why he was blushing.

Chapter Text

Between classes, mind healing appointments, and Reginald’s experiments in diet, some configuration of Draco, Granger, Sadie, Ella, Indira, and Marcus were often in the library (with varying degrees of scholastic effort depending on the combination and the hour). Sometimes Weaslette would even drop by, bantering with the kids and good-naturedly antagonizing Draco. 

Granger often would take his hand and tug him up to the Room of Requirement where they’d discuss other topics, like the war. She confessed to obliviating her parents and Draco had held her while she broke down, still feeling so guilty and still unsure she would have done anything differently. Granger filled in the details of the Golden Trio’s hijinks during their school years and Draco humanized much of Slytherin House for her. 

They’d talked about their plans after Hogwarts; she had aspirations to reform much of what was wrong in the wizarding world and he had the barest hint of an idea as to where he could imagine himself. They debated house elf rights, her insisting on full freedom and him explaining the nature of their magic and insisting she redirect to welfare regulations along with Merlin, Granger, have you asked them what they want? They discussed the merits of the inter-house unity rhetoric McGonagall was pursuing, quidditch, and the Statute of Secrecy, often staying so late they were sneaking back to their dorms after curfew. Things were reaching a tenuous equilibrium, a rhythm that Draco might even call good. 

But three weeks after their talk in the library, Draco left his session with Kane and felt like vomiting. He felt raw, like anything would send him over the edge into searing pain or into another bout of desperate numbness.

At first, mind healing had been all about helping Draco feel safe again, safe enough to feel, safe enough to assess the wounds he bore and the damage they had dealt. 

Now they were examining it all underneath a fucking microscope - a contraption Granger had introduced to him last week in her These Are All The Ways Your Family Is Evil And Wrong; Muggles Are Great! Lecture - and it was painful. 

Breathe. Not a lecture, he corrected. It was a genuine discussion and at the time, he’d been intrigued. But the conversation had left him with a weight on his chest, a feeling of ignorance, inferiority and betrayal (by whom, Draco didn’t fucking know, it depended by the minute of the day) because there was a whole world out there he knew nothing about. A whole world he’d been taught to hate.

Today’s mind healing had dealt with some of his trust issues - honestly, not where he thought they’d start, given the literal brand on his arm, but apparently that’s where Draco’s mind was and so he’d made some offhand joke about Andromeda and here they fucking were.

“Why do you find it difficult to talk about your aunt in any long term way?”

“Why are you suspicious of her behavior, which you just said yourself was kind and made you feel valued?”

“Have you considered talking with her about this fear you have?

He’d barely kept himself from exploding at his mind healer. So now, as Draco sped towards the Slytherin dungeons he just needed everyone to stay the fuck away from him so he could lie in the dark and ground himself, build up protections around his frayed, raw feelings. 

“Draco!”

For Salazar’s fucking sake.

“Not now, Granger,” he said quietly, trying desperately not to snap at her and so his voice had become a low, thrumming thing. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked immediately, falling into step beside him. 

“Everything, leave me alone,” he bit out, still stomping purposefully towards his reprieve. 

At least, he was stomping until her hand shot out and grabbed his arm. 

“For fuck’s sake, Granger!” he hissed, trying to snatch his arm back but her grip was firm. 

“What. Is. Wrong?” she said slowly, like he was an idiot. 

He exploded. 

“What’s wrong? Why, Granger, if there wasn’t something wrong would you have to forego your pity project of reforming the damaged Death Eater? Worried you’d have to stop being the hero by saving the sad Slytherin?” he nearly shouted. He saw her eyes dart around, likely thankful there weren’t any witnesses around to see him meltdown and embarrass her. He felt the tingle of magic as she cast the muffliato. 

She was still thinking of him, even as he yelled at her.

He couldn’t handle it.

“Just stop! Fucking stop!” he screamed and he’d pushed her far enough, because her expression lit up and her hair started crackling with magic, ready to fight.

Good, Draco thought, he wanted to fight. He loved it when she fought. 

“Stop WHAT, Draco!? You’ve been yelling nonsense at me and I’ve no concept, not even an inkling, of what I’ve done! So what is it you want me to stop?” she shouted back, hands clenched into fists.

“Acting like you care about me!” 

Granger froze. He panted, nearly out of breath, but he wasn’t done.

“See, mind healing is great at getting you to look at your life and you know what happens again and again?” he was gearing up for a good, long rant, spewing violence and wrath, but she cut him off.

“You end up hurt by the people you trust to care for you,” she finished for him, matter of factly.

Draco blinked, caught off guard.

“Even your mum, though she didn’t mean to; she got sick and she hurt you, too.”

“You’re such a fucking know-it-all,” he rasped, his anger having crested with no where to go, like one of those waves that lookes like it will crash against the shore that merely lulls softly back into the water. 

“So I’ve been told,” she responded, stepping closer. “So now, you’re lashing out at me, trying to get me to go ahead and leave you or hurt you or whatever else you’ve imagined in that thick head of yours, where you think our friendship is somehow some one way fancy of mine, a pity project to keep me busy,” she finished, now nearly chest to chest with him.

He was still breathing hard and now she was close and that vanilla scent that made him want to melt was accosting his nose and now he didn’t know what to think. It was too much, it was all too, too much. He closed his eyes, cutting off one area of sensory input, trying to find some semblance of control. 

“Go be alone, I’m sorry I pushed,” she told him quietly and his eyes snapped open. “You said not now and I didn’t listen. But later, I am expecting an apology for yelling at me and doubting me, because I did not deserve that,” Hermione finished, a few tears lining her eyes and Draco deflated. 

“No, you deserve that part now,” he choked out and she rested a hand on his bicep, rubbing up and down, soothingly.

“Perhaps, but I’ll wait,” she answered with a strained smile. “Go, I’ll be in the library later if you’re ready.”

He fled, coward that he was, and as soon as he was in his room he crawled into the bed and nox ’d the candles, plunging the underground room into utter black. Draco let out a breath, the tension that had been building in him slowly releasing. 

Sometimes he hated that the sides in the war had been called the Dark and the Light. Yeah, sure, it was good symbolism, made for a drastic dualism and whatnot but for all that Voldemort’s hateful regime had made him suffer, made him make others suffer, darkness had been his companion through it all. 

Only in the dark could he drop the mask. Only in the dark could he weep his silent tears. Only in the soft darkness could he rest. Only in the dark, in the utter blackness of night, could he see the constellations which gave him comfort, could he begin to make sense of the chaos that was his mind. 

That was why, after he had no idea how long, he sent Granger a note, charming a piece of parchment into the shape of a snake, asking her to come to him.

She did, and Draco closed his eyes to protect himself from the light of the hallway as she entered. 

“Where are you?” Granger asked softly and he guided her with his voice to the bed. Granger laid down beside him so that they were shoulder to shoulder. 

Voice quiet, Draco meant to begin his apology but instead blurted out his observations about darkness. 

Hermione responded. “That makes a certain sense, I suppose. I used to be so scared of the dark as a child -- to me there was nothing more terrifying than not being able to see what could be coming at me -- “

“Control freak,” he accused lightly, using a term Sadie had called him, multiple times. Granger huffed a soft laugh.

“Precisely. In the dark, I had no way to control or prepare what could be out to get me. I even slept with a night light for years, and it wasn’t until Hogwarts that I managed to wean myself off it.”

“For me, the light was all about control,” Draco replied, safe under the cover of darkness to admit these things to her. “Being a pureblood and a Malfoy were all about control. We were the most powerful and everything was about maintaining or exceeding what we had. More money, more influence, more purity. Even with my so-called friends in Slytherin there was always this undercurrent of knowing they wanted something from me or to take my spot, find my weakness and unseat my family.”

“No wonder you were a prat,” Granger muttered and it was Draco’s turn to chuckle.

“I could still have been less of a prat,” he admitted with a smile, then shook his head. “In the dark, I could stop fighting. I could stop thinking about every single thing that was said, that was implied. I could just...breathe.”

Her pinky linked with his and he relaxed even further into the mattress.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” he confessed, using her given name the way she had so stubbornly decided to use his months before. “I’m afraid. I’m so tired of being afraid, but I am. I’m afraid to trust in my freedom, when the Wizengamot still has to review my probationary period. I’m afraid to trust in Andromeda, afraid I’ll get comfortable and she’ll hurt me like Bella or my father or worse, that I’ll hurt her, like with my mother,” his voice choked up but he pressed on. “But most of all, I’m afraid of you. Afraid of how you make me think, how you’ve always made me think even when I was too stupid to follow those thoughts. Afraid of how you make me feel, like I could be happy, like I might be worthy of happiness. Because after everything,” tears were streaming down his face now and his stupid throat needed clearing, “After everything you’ve endured, everything I did to you, you…”

Her hand fully wrapped around his and it gave him the strength to keep finding words.

“You smile at me and it’s not manipulative or coming with strings attached. It’s bright and real and it fucking delights me and I realize I want it to always do that and that’s terrifying, Granger, because I’m a disaster. I was a failure of a son, of a Death Eater, and even though it turns out it was a good thing I disappointed my father and the Dark Lord, I was a failure at being a decent fucking person. I...Merlin, Granger, I made my mum scream in terror and her safety was my only goal for the whole damn war. I just wanted her to be safe and one day be happy— it was all I was going for, and I failed her, too.”

“You didn’t,” she said softly beside him.

“That’s the other terrifying thing about you!” he accused, sitting up to blow his now full and dripping nose. “You—believe in me. You tell me it wasn’t all my fault, you don’t—I mean, you’ve never minced words about when I’ve fucked up, but you look at me like I—” he choked off again, burying his face in his hands, grateful beyond words for the darkness which hid his humiliation. 

“I could love you, Granger. I could love the way you light up when you talk about books and the way your eyes shine when you’re defending a just cause or the way your hair has a life of its own when you’re angry. I could love the way you giggle at my jokes that aren’t that fucking funny, Granger, and I could love the way you practically mother the kids and Reginald and I could destroy what’s left of me if I do that,” he finished, breathing heavily. 

She shifted in the dark, he could feel the mattress move and soon she was kneeling beside him, feeling for his hands.

“You think I’m not scared, too?” Granger asked quietly, “I’ve always been too much -- too smart, too annoying, too focused, too ambitious, too direct, too bookish, too muggle for the wizarding world, too much of a witch for the muggle one. I’ve always been so much and for the first time, Draco, I feel like I don’t have to make myself small. It’s ironic, really, because before you tried so hard to make me smaller, but now...God, with Ron, I could just see it, the resentment of parts of me like my dedication to my schoolwork, that it was something to work past or to deal with. The kind of thing he liked me in spite of, you know? But you...you had me rank my favorite books and actually listened the whole time. You tease me for my quirks but you don’t try to erase them; you see that the rambling is part of my brain you enjoy or my pushing you to talk when you aren’t ready is part of my dedication to those I love. I’ve never felt like I’m too much for you, and it’s scary, Draco, because what if we’re wrong?”

Draco waited quietly for her to go on, knowing she wasn’t done. 

“But...even if we decide to choose only friendship and not the part where we could love one another, really...really, truly, love one another,” her voice broke there and his heart skipped a beat, “Love is inherently risky. It’s part of the deal. I spent the past seven years loving Harry like the brother I never had and having his life threatened more times than I can count. I love my parents and I obliviated them, sent them away to keep them safe and it tore me apart. I got them back, but it could have been irreversible. I’m looking at caring for you in the rearview mirror and it hurts so badly to see you in so much pain,” she sniffled, crying in earnest now. 

He accio’d another handkerchief and handed it to her as she continued. “But it’s worth it. To love even when it can backfire, and even when it doesn’t, when the world intervenes.”

“You’re preaching now,” he interrupted and Hermione laughed. 

“You need to hear it!” she insisted and he scoffed teasingly. 

“Swot.”

“Prat!”

He tackled her, taking her in his arms and tugging her down so she was lying in his arms beside him and her laugh made him nearly euphoric.

“Granger,” he began but she punched him in the shoulder.

“C’mon now, really? An ‘I could love you’ speech but you can’t commit to my first name?” she teased and he sighed dramatically. 

“It’s too many syllables, but fine . Hermione,” he sobered as he said her name, pulling her just a hair closer, “I just...I’m so afraid you’ll regret this. Regret me. Realize they’re all right, that I’m a monster and a Death Eater and scum and pathetic and bad and --”

“I’m going to hex the next person that calls you any of that and I’m booking a trip to Azkaban to murder your fucking father,” Hermione muttered and he stilled.

“That. That’s the part that’s scary because it’s too good to be true,” he finished, voice hoarse. She paused, assessing for a moment, before speaking again. 

“Look, Draco, I...whatever it is we could be, I don’t think you’re ready yet.”

Oh, wow, there it is, didn’t even take that long for her to realize I’m not…

“Because I will never stop believing in you and your capacity to be the kind, witty, nurturing man you are, but you don’t believe it yet. And I can’t be the only one,” she found his hair in the darkness, tugging it lightly. “But I will be your friend. I will be right there beside you, cheering you on until you are ready. Because I do. Believe in you, that is.”

Draco buried his face in her hair, drowning in her scent, relaxing into her hold. “That feels right,” he breathed, surprised almost at what a relief it was to hear. Was this growth? Being told not yet and not throwing a tantrum?

“Good,” she replied and he smiled, though she likely couldn’t see it. 

“Yeah.”

“Friends?”

“I still prefer Partners in Protecting Problem Prone Pre-teens, but sure.”

“Pfft, when did you learn the term pre-teen?” she laughed and Draco snickered.

“Sadie got tired of me calling her a child too often and she haughtily informed me she was a pre-teen. She regrets it, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

--

March arrived  and soon spring was attempting to break through winter’s tight grip on the grounds. The C.O.N.K continued meeting and Reginald’s palate increased and he grew until he was nearing his full-grown height of one meter. His elocution increased such that he spoke in complete sentences and could fully pronounce all English sounds. Sadie bemoaned the loss of his adorable speech patterns and Granger badgered him until Draco begrudgingly admitted Reggie’s speech had been cute and not nefarious.

Draco was still often a moody mess around his mind healing sessions but Granger knew now to let him cool off in the dark before hoping to offer an ear or a shoulder. He’d had a conversation with Sadie explaining he would come find her for their Reginald visits because he didn’t ever want to snap at her when he was processing something difficult, so please let him take the initiative after mind healing. She readily agreed and kept the others from pestering him, too. 

Every so often he’d feel trapped by the fog, but mostly it was gone and slowly, Draco began to come to terms with his past. He’d begun writing to his aunt properly again and he’d finally opened his Christmas present from Andromeda which had him crying quietly. It was a framed photo of her, Bellatrix, and Narcissa when they were young, before Bella’s madness and before his father had begun to whittle away at his mother. In it Narcissa’s smirk was just like Draco’s, and her eyes were sparkling. He had no words to convey his gratitude.

He’d opened Granger’s gift as well and he’d laughed until tears again leaked from his eyes at the hideous monstrosity of a garment she’d knit him. When he donned it to take their daily trip to the paddock, they’d all laughed so hard they couldn’t breathe. Reginald was overjoyed at their matching jumpers and Hagrid insisted on a photo. Draco did not smile. 

Sadie had sent him a furby, he learned, when he opened his final present. It was so, so much worse than a pygmy puff and unlike her Draco, which had the decency to abscond away in the night after only a few weeks, would not be discarded. Again and again Draco tried to: a) throw out with the rubbish, b) vanish, c) incinerate, and  d) bludgeon the monstrosity before he learned Granger had charmed it with an indestructibility spell. Sadie, Ella and Hermione were weeping with laughter as he ranted and raved at them, hands on his hips. Finally, he transfigured it into a balloon and let it float to the ceiling of the common room before huffing his way out the portrait hole.

It was a sunny, but still chilly day in late March when Draco found himself at the paddock with Hermione, leaning against the wooden fence and tipping his face to the sun. Granger was reading, perched on the same fence, gone to the world. Their four miscreants had landed themselves detention for shenanigans in the greenhouse and so it was just the two of them and the erkling.

Reginald seemed morose, gaze cast down towards the ground and nary a chirrup to be heard. Realizing Granger was engrossed in her book, Draco kicked himself off the fence and beckoned the erkling to follow. Conjuring a blanket, Draco sat and patted the ground beside him for Reginald to join him.

“Out with it, Reggie,” was all he said and the erkling practically folded in on himself.

“Y-you have to get rid of me,” Reginald confessed mournfully. 

Draco blinked once. Twice. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Reginald sniffled. “You were right. I am a monster,” he said, then gave a disheartened chirrup, tucking his little legs under his atrocious sweater.

Draco sighed. “Look, Reg, I said that because up until you, erklings weren’t known to eat anything other than people, particularly children. To a cow, I’m the monster,” he replied, cursing himself soundly. Sure, he hadn’t known Reginald had an actual conscience or a personality at the time, but clearly he’d hurt the little erkling badly. 

“N-no, I...when we were playing last week, S-Sadie fell and I...I…” he sniffled again, “I wanted to grab her. Just for a moment, but I did, and I...I thought of her like food,” he finished in a pained whisper, tears mounting. 

Draco closed his eyes, letting out a pained breath. Reginald loved all his humans, but it was Sadie who'd found him first and Sadie with whom he’d bonded most.

“I don’t want to hurt friends,” Reginald cried softly, careful not to alert Hermione, and Draco put an arm over the little elf-like creature’s shoulders, tucking him into a hug. His branch-like head came up to Draco’s chin while they were sitting and he narrowly avoided scratching his chin on the edges. 

“How intense was the urge?” Draco asked and Reginald wiped his tears and nodded sharply. It was why the erkling had chosen him to confess to, after all. Draco was willing to make hard calls. Draco was the most callous, the most willing to do whatever needed to be done to protect those he loved. 

Even be a monster. 

“Nearly too much,” Reggie confessed. “I had to count to twenty like they taught me for maths last month and back away. I pretended I had to go potty to get away.”

Draco let out a breath. “Okay. Okay, that’s not...that’s not great, but we can work with that.”

Reggie blinked. “W-what?”

“We’ll keep an eye on it. Let me know if it gets worse.”

“But...but I had the urge to…” he trailed off, confused, huge (and still adorable) eyes searching Draco’s. 

Draco shrugged. “I have the urge to say mudblood still instead of muggleborn. My instincts still think it’s simply the word one uses for muggleborn or an acceptable insult. My instincts are still to lash out when I’m upset. Our instincts, our urges, I’ve been told, are not necessarily ours to blame or praise ourselves for. It’s what we do with them. You decided not to hurt Sadie. You overrode your instinct. Your choice, who you’re deciding to be, is what matters most.”

Reggie blinked and he realized he might have used too big words. Stupid mind healing and stupid Granger, sending him on long-winded rants about choice and change.  

“Er... if you think you can control it, we’re good.”

Reggie bit his lip, sharp little teeth poking out. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. But we’re going to tell Granger and Hagrid and you won’t be allowed alone with them for a while, okay?”

Reggie nodded. Draco rose and so did Reginald and soon Draco had an erkling leaping into his arms, gripping him tightly.

“I should never have allowed them to start with the hugs,” he muttered, patting the little one’s back as it cried and chirruped.

Chapter Text

The adults all agreed there were to be no unsupervised visits to the paddock. Draco tried to keep Reginald’s confidence and wouldn’t reveal why, which did not sit well with his flock of first years, until the erkling himself came over and admitted why it was necessary. 

To Draco’s chagrin, there was much hugging and many tears.

Still, they worked out a schedule and it didn’t change their lives too much. Most days Granger, Draco, or both accompanied them to the paddock anyways, and it wasn’t hard to make sure Hagrid was there when he went flying or she saw her other friends.  

That was another change. Somewhere along the way, he’d stopped flying, but after Kane decided he was aware enough to safely take to the skies, Draco frequently spent time in the air. He’d known better than to try out for the quidditch team this year, but he secretly hoped he was nurturing new talent for Slytherin with Sadie and Ella. Indira was a great flyer but simply had no interest in the sport (shame for Hufflepuff, really) and Marcus...Marcus he was coaching to just be able to fly in a pinch. Reginald loved to watch them practice, so they’d taken to flying near the paddock whenever Granger was absent for one reason or another. 

He’d resigned himself so much to this way of being he was entirely unprepared when, just two weeks before the April quidditch match, he was asked to be seeker once again.

“I’m sorry...repeat that?” Draco asked and Fatimah Qadir, Quidditch Captain for Slytherin House, swallowed her pride for a second time.

“We’re terrible. You know we’re terrible, and Dunne is just not seeker material. He was much better as chaser and McClellan was much better as a spectator. The other teams are terrible too; the war messed up all our rosters, but we’re worse. But, if we win the next two games—” 

“There’d be a tiebreaker,” Draco finished for her. Just because he spied on the games from a disillusionment charm by the exits didn’t mean he didn’t watch them. 

“And you’re...sure about this?” Draco asked and Qadir nodded.

“Yes. Frankly, I don’t hate you, I read the trial transcripts and I’d have done anything to save my parents in your position, too. I’m not going to judge those of you who didn’t have family elsewhere to escape to when I got to just flounce off and be safe. The school hated you and that made you a bad choice for seeker because you’d have been an easy way to ruin our team,” the sixth year sighed, “But we ruined ourselves anyway by making it clear you weren’t welcome. So what do you say? No one’s going to touch you after McGonagall’s spiel after the Puffs got you, and we need to not come in last!”

Draco’s head was spinning. “Can I let you know by tomorrow evening?”

“Sure, sure, think it over, talk to Granger, whatever it is you need to do. Just think about it,” she reassured and Draco’s stomach flipped. 

“Why would I need to talk to Granger, exactly?”

Qadir waved a hand. “We see the writing on the wall, regardless of whether or not you’re officially courting. Just think about it, Malfoy!”

And she was off, thick braid bouncing behind her. Draco remained, opening and closing his mouth like a fish before finally snapping it shut and walking towards the library where he certainly was not going to talk it over with Granger. Since she wasn’t his keeper or his lover or his girlfriend or whatever other nonsense.

Sadie, Ella, and Indira were at their own table across from where Hermione sat and Draco gave them a wave as he slid in across from the witch. She greeted him with a radiant smile and Draco immediately spilled the contents of the conversation he’d just had. She listened seriously, nodding along as he described the terrible state of the Slytherin quidditch team before breaking into a wide grin when he told her Qadir’s request.

“Draco! That’s wonderful!” she enthused, reaching across the table to grab his hand and he offered her a hesitant smile.

“I just don’t want this to backfire, but I’ve...missed it,” he admitted. Hermione rubbed a thumb across his knuckles. 

“I’d love to see you play again. I never got to actually root for you before,” she teased and Draco sat up straight.

“You’d...you’d come to watch me?” 

“Of course I would,” she frowned, displeased by the question.

“You hate quidditch.”

“Well spotted.”

“So you see my confusion at you attending a quidditch match?”

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. “I go for Ginny and I went for Harry and Ron, why wouldn’t I go for you?”

“They’re your preferred idiots,” he replied and he surprised her enough he was rewarded with a frustrated chuckle.

“You’re also my preferred idiot--”

“But a different kind of idiot,” he cut in and she glared at him and continued, 

“So get over it. I’ll have to borrow something green,” she sighed.

“Lucky for you, I happen to have a few dozen pieces in the correct shade,” he responded, grinning wickedly. She may not actually be his witch, but his ego was preening at the thought of her wearing one of his Slytherin green jumpers to watch him play. 

“An old jersey perhaps?” she smirked, “That way everyone would know who I was there to support,” she continued, her voice casual but her eyes glittering.

A rush of arousal flooded him at the thought and he leaned forward on crossed arms. “Careful, Granger, or people will start to suspect something.”

“We’d cause quite the stir, you know. The pureblood and the muggleborn,” she mused, drifting closer too.

“Death Eater and the Golden Girl,” he countered, standing and walking around to her side, offering a hand. He needed to be closer to her. 

“You’d be desecrating your line,” Hermione mentioned as she took it, rising and standing so close he could feel her breath on his neck. 

“You’d be sullying your reputation,” he put his arm around her waist, drawing her nearer. 

“They’d say I was after your galleons,” she continued, breathless, her chest brushing his. 

“Or I was using you to rebuild my standing,” he replied softly, hand tangling in her curls. 

The library was warmly lit, the shelves flanking the tables here towards the back, and the smell of books and parchment wafted through the air, her vanilla scent resting perfectly atop it. Her skin glowed and her pupils were dilated, her pink lips had parted slightly and her lashes were fluttering shut as he leaned ever closer, until his lips settled over hers. 

The kiss was soft, chaste; a question. Hermione drew back after, just for a moment, with a small gasp of air. Then her hands were in his hair, fingers tangling in it and she pulled him down to meet her, his free hand traveling to her biceps to steady her. The second kiss was coming home, resolution after dissonance, release after tension, rest after strife. His arm snaked around her waist once more and he lifted her off her feet, holding her to him. Draco felt her smile against his lips. 

Cheers and applause erupted and both of their eyes sprang open wide and they quickly turned towards the commotion.

The four first-years were whooping and cheering and while the two older students merely gawked at them, the children began exchanging galleons.

“I knew it’d be before the end of the month!” Ella crowed, collecting her reward while Sadie grumbled she thought he’d be a scaredy cat until at least May. 

Hermione buried her face into his chest with a groan and Draco reluctantly set her on her feet once more. He gave a soft kiss to her temple, then dropped his lips to murmur in her ear. 

“Black Lake, after dinner?” he asked and she nodded into his chest. He gave her a final squeeze before retreating from her and grabbing his bag, refilling it with a swish of his wand.

“You lot,” he pointed to them with his wand, “have horrific timing,”  he told them, sweeping from the library, robes billowing, nose in the air. Like Snape at his terrifying best.

They were not deterred.

--

Hermione arrived at the Black Lake just after dinner, wearing a periwinkle dress over gray stockings and laced up boots, sporting earrings and a dash of eyeliner. Draco broke into a devilish grin at the sight of her. 

“Did you dress up for me?”

Granger blushed. “Maybe,” she allowed, moving closer and when she saw what was behind him, she let out a tiny squeal.

Draco quickly lit the fairy lights he’d strung amongst the branches and Granger pulled his arms around her while she took in the scene. He’d laid out a large flannel blanket upon the ground and two candlesticks stood at attention beside a basket full of food, a bottle of elf-made wine, and two wine glasses.

“How did I not expect you’d be a romantic?” she wondered, chuckling and leaning her head back to see his face. 

“No idea, you call me dramatic at least once a week,” he pointed out and she giggled again. They sat, and he unpacked the basket and plated her croque-monsieur and salad while she poured the wine. 

“To us,” she toasted, lifting her glass and Draco clinked his glass with her before taking a swig.

“Merlin, this is fantastic!” Hermione moaned and Draco chuckled.

“Perks to being a Malfoy, loads of very good wine. Not even the Death Eaters managed to entirely raid our cellars.”

“To incompetence!” she cheered again.

“Here here!” 

They ate and chatted about her unnecessary, but interesting, additional foot of parchment she wanted to add to the assigned prompt for their Transfiguration essay.

“Brevity is the soul of wit, Granger.”

“Well, excuse me for valuing a thorough job!”

“It’s already thorough, going off on a tangent undermines your argument!”

“If I had a word processor this would be an interesting footnote and we’d be done with this discussion,” she muttered, grumpily taking another sip of her second glass of wine. Draco recognized this as her conceding the point and mercifully changed the subject.

“Have you thought of doing muggle university?”

“All the time,” she answered, waving a hand, “But it’d be quite a bit of effort to arrange my fake scholastic history and goodness, can you imagine how much maths and science I’d need to study up on? I’d have to major in literature or history or something.”

“Those sound like two interests you have, why not?” he suggested and she grinned at him.

“True, true. Have you given more thought to the Potions mastery?”

Draco nodded. “I’m going to work on some applications this weekend, actually. Kane’s been kicking my arse to ‘imagine a future’ and all his other shite, and I…” he trailed off, biting his lip, and glanced at the witch across from him. She furrowed her brow.

“Draco, what is it?”

“Do you think I’d be any good at teaching?” he asked quietly and Granger beamed at him.

“You’re excellent at teaching, Draco! Sadie’s a tremendous flyer now, and Marcus won’t fall to his death in an emergency!”

Draco let out a breath and gave her a hesitant smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed and set down her wine glass to crawl over and kiss him soundly. Draco groaned and pulled her more thoroughly onto his lap, fingers diving into her hair. She straddled him, skirt riding up, and wound her arms around his neck. His tongue darted across the seam of her lips in question and she opened for him in response. Draco lost track of time and self and everything as he melted into her kisses. When they finally broke apart, breathless, Hermione leaned her forehead against his. 

“So you think I’m ready now?” he asked quietly.

“You wouldn’t have kissed me if you weren’t ready,” she responded just as softly, planting a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

“I know there will be dark days, for both of us, and I don’t mean to say you have to have it all together. Not at all. Obviously,” she chuckled slightly, gesturing at herself. “But I just want you to understand that you make me happy, that you make me feel more alive. I know your self-worth isn’t going to rebuild itself in a month or a year or anything, but I couldn’t have you always considering yourself a pity project deep down,” she breathed as she gazed into his eyes.

He kissed her before she could get on a rant (not that he didn’t love most of them), before she could tell him what a worthwhile person he was. He wasn’t sure he’d ever totally believe it, but he was beginning to understand that he was worth something. Because Hermione Granger didn’t snog idiots (see: Cormac McLaggen) and Andromeda Black Tonks didn’t waste her time on people without a good heart (see: the rest of the Black family) and perhaps first-years didn’t just get attached to any random older student, but the ones they trusted enough to guide them and help them. 

Maybe his judgment had been poor, maybe he’d been put in terrible situations, but perhaps he hadn’t entirely deserved everything he’d endured. Perhaps who he was, deep down, was worth salvaging, worth polishing and growing until it resembled something like a good person.

“I trust you. Even when I don’t trust myself,” was all he said when he pulled away for just a moment, “But I’m learning to trust myself again.”

Hermione silenced him with another kiss.

--

“So I kissed her.”

Healer Kane’s head snapped up from where he’d been glancing at his notes and he offered Draco a wide grin.

“Brilliant! Well, that’s just brilliant then!” he exclaimed, dropping his quill and looking chuffed beyond measure.

“Yeah,” Draco replied, his own dopey grin he’d been wearing since last evening still stuck on his face. 

“How are you feeling now that you’ve done it?” he asked and Draco paused for a moment to reflect. He’d kept Kane apprised of their relationship. At first he’d told himself it was to have something to talk about besides the pain, guilt and shame of his childhood, but eventually he could admit he just didn’t have friends and he needed to talk to someone about it. 

“I...I feel really good, Kane. I want her. I want this,” he admitted and Kane nodded.

“Oh,” Draco blinked, “Also I’ve been asked to resume playing seeker for Slytherin.”

“And what are your thoughts?”

“I mean, I want to. I love quidditch and flying and --” Draco cut off, imagining Hermione in his old jersey, then imagining Hermione in nothing but his old jersey and he cleared his throat, hoping to hide his blush.

“I think I’m in favor of it,” he replied, voice an octave higher than usual. 

“So you plan to do it then?”

“Yes. I mean, maybe. What if…” Draco trailed off, biting his lip. Kane raised his brows at him to continue. 

“What if it’s all too good to be true and something terrible’s waiting round the corner?” he rushed out. 

Kane leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Draco, I’m not sure you’re realizing the progress you’ve made these past months. Four months ago, you’d have said something terrible was waiting because you were terrible, you could only expect terrible, and perhaps only deserved terrible. Now, you’re in the position of having good things in your life and your fear is quite a natural one for someone who has encountered as much of the world’s evil as you have.”

He paused, making sure Draco was tracking, then continued. “You can’t know for certain. Life is full of unknowns, but joy comes in acknowledging the uncertainty and appreciating the happiness, the people you have in the moment, and hoping for the best.”

“Loving her...it could break me. I barely pulled myself back together after Christmas and Hermione...Hermione could shatter me,” Draco confessed quietly and Kane raised his eyebrows at him sternly.

“Only you decide what breaks you, Draco. You’ve had a rough go of it, but you’ve never let it break you. Tell me, why do you want to be with Hermione?”

A smile stole onto Draco’s lips. “You know, they call her the brightest witch of our age, and they mean her brain, and they’re right, Merlin, she’s brilliant, but...she’s the brightest thing in my life. She’s curious about everything, she’s passionate, she makes life seem sunny and happy, even when she’s crying or letting me wallow in my sadness. She's so present and real that everything is brighter, more...more clear, and verdant, really, when she’s around.”

Kane blinked a couple times at him. “Merlin, Draco, write that down, clean it up a bit, and keep that in your pocket!”

Draco groaned, placing his head in his hands. “I know, I’m such a sap, that’s the kind of nonsense people spew at weddings and we’ve just kissed!”

Kane shook his head, trying to focus. “Draco, regardless of the part where Ms. Granger makes you wax poetic, is she worth the risk? Is the joy she brings you now worth the fear of one day maybe parting?”

Draco paused, worrying his lip some more. 

“Yes,” he breathed, “Yes. I just want her, and...I can be happy, at least for a while. Can’t I?” he asked, grey eyes vulnerable and unsure.

“You can,” Kane replied reassuringly. You know that you can, but I’m happy to give you permission if you need someone to say it. You can play quidditch and court Hermione Granger and apply to potions masteries and whatever else it is that makes you happy.”

Draco blinked back his tears and let out a watery laugh. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay,” Healer Kane smiled at him.

Chapter Text

Slytherin’s penultimate match of the season was against Hufflepuff, and Draco, frankly, had a score to settle.

He caught the snitch in 37 minutes. Hufflepuff had only scored ten points. 

Granger, who had, in fact, donned his old jersey, raced down the stands, Sadie, Ella, and Marcus whooping at her heels. She launched herself into Draco’s arms, kissing him soundly.

Naturally, someone snapped a photo and the next day’s front page of the Daily Prophet featured Hermione kissing him then drawing away, cupping Draco’s face with a look of pure adoration on her features. For Draco’s part, he was holding her aloft so she was taller than him, and he gazed at her like she was the answer to the world’s every riddle.

“Told you it’d be ‘Death Eater and the Golden Girl,’” he told her as she slouched into the seat across from him at breakfast, ignoring the stares at her crossing house table lines.

In fact, the headline was ‘Death Eater Draco Malfoy and Golden Girl Hermione Granger - The Love of a Lifetime or Con of the Century?’ and continued to speculate as to whether or not Hermione was imperius’d by Draco’s hand or whether the brightest witch of her age had gone soft in the head.

“The picture, though, is priceless. That’s gotta be featured at your wedding,” Sadie reassured them, patting Draco’s shoulder. He chuckled, not altogether hating the idea. 

Marcus raced over to their table. He’d been clingy since learning he had missed the kiss, pouting and demanding galleons for guessing the library locale correctly in their bet.

“You two snog a lot,” he commented, giving the paper a look of mild disgust, before settling in beside Ella who grunted into her tea. Indira came running over next, skidding to a stop with her arms over Marcus and Ella. 

“The ONE time I go hang out with my housemates instead of you lot and our favorite couple lands in the Prophet!?” she lamented before ducking under the table to sit beside Sadie. 

“Fear not, there’s sure to be more slandering my name so long as Granger puts up with me,” Draco reassured her with a wink and she giggled. Hermione fumed.

“Oh no there will not! Rita Skeeter will be getting a letter from me and she will remember our deal, so help me --”

Draco drew back, peering quizzically at his witch before he broke into a slow smile. “Granger, tell me, are you the reason behind Skeeter’s sudden disappearance during the Triwizard Tournament?”

Hermione glanced at the first-years out of the corner of her eye before primly replying. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” before shooting Draco a sly smile.

Merlin, that look made him want to repeat their previous night in the Room of Requirement celebrating his victory. There had been a great deal of snogging -- also drinking and talking until they fell asleep in each other’s arms -- but mostly snogging. 

“I love your vindictive streak,” he murmured in a low voice while the kids were distracted by something Indira had said, and Granger blushed. They both turned back to the paper and Draco sighed.

“Should I suspect the Dynamic Duo will now be setting out to murder me?” he asked, only half-joking. 

Hermione shook her head. “I wrote to them Thursday. I figured it’d get back to them regardless if I wore your jersey.”

Draco arched a brow at her. “And?”

“And,” she sighed, “Harry and Ron would like to come have lunch with us next weekend.”

“Splendid. Children,” he clapped, drawing their attention, “it was lovely being a part of your lives, but I am to be murdered Saturday next. I’ll make sure to revise my will to leave you each a chest full of furbies, a good broom, and a list of all creatures you are not to befriend because they will murder you.”

They all groaned and Sadie smacked him with the Daily Prophet. 

“Shouldn’t you endeavor to treat a man in his last days with more courtesy?” he admonished, sighing, and Sadie almost successfully covered her giggle. Hermione snatched up her copy of the Prophet and joined Sadie in thwacking him with the rubbish newspaper. 

“Wow, after all you know about my father, and still you abuse me,” he quipped, hand over his heart and Hermione gaped at him in horror.

“That’s...that’s not funny, Draco!”

“Kane says not to judge my coping mechanisms,” he teased back, throwing her a wink and Granger rolled her eyes. 

“Fine, fine, keep your twisted humor,” she allowed, scooping her eggs onto toast.

“Wait,” Sadie said, “why were you saying you’re dying next week?”

“Potter and Weasley are going to interrogate me over Hermione,” he replied as Granger protested “they are NOT!”

Sadie frowned. “Wait, Harry Potter is the one who gave you those scars on your chest right?”

Draco furrowed his brow, and Sadie crossed her arms. “In November, after the incident in the halls, I saw them in the infirmary. Hermione, didn’t you say that’s what happened?”

Hermione flushed. “Er, well, yes, but Harry’s…” she stammered, failing, and Draco heaved a great sigh and came to her aid defending Potter.

“Yes, Potter cursed me and nearly killed me, but Sadie, we were all involved in a war way over our heads and made plenty of mistakes. He also testified at my trial and at my mother’s after defeating the monster ruining our lives, so he’s not all bad,” he explained. Sadie relented, but still looked wary. 

“We’ll be watching, just in case. Heroes don’t like to do bad stuff in front of pre-teens,” she threatened, and Draco gave her a soft smile. 

“Thanks, little snake.”

“What are baby snakes called?”

“I don’t know. Snakelets?” he suggested and she rolled her eyes. 

“Ugh, no, that sounds stupid!”

“It actually is snakelets,” Granger offered. 

“HA!” Draco celebrated while Sadie groaned again, resting her head on her arms.

--

Saturday came all too soon and Draco was dreading it. They’d agreed to meet at Hagrid’s, since he couldn’t join them in a restaurant, and Hermione thought it would be best to have another person to attest to Draco’s improvement in character.

Draco rubbed his eyes tiredly as he waited for Hermione to join him outside the Great Hall. Nightmares still plagued him regularly, though no longer nightly, and his anxiety about lunch with his old school nemesis meant it was a night of horrifying dreams. Tired meant irritable and he was meant to be on his best behavior today. 

“Just show them who you are,” Kane had advised.

Utter poppycock, that. What on earth was he paying the bloke for?

Sadie and the rest of the C.O.N.K. were being horrifically unsubtle, preparing to “happen to go to visit Reginald” at the same time the Golden Trio and Draco would go to Hagrid’s. They were essentially loitering a few meters off.

“Do they think they’re acting natural?” Granger asked as she trotted up beside him. Her chocolate eyes were bright and her smile was contagious; Draco felt his lips twitch upward, particularly as his witch gave him a quick kiss in greeting.

“A travesty, really. Ella and Sadie are shaming Slytherin House,” he replied back, tucking an already errant curl behind her ear. 

“That must hurt, given how little pride you lot were left with,” Hermione said seriously and he flicked her nose. Hermione’s hands darted across his ribs and Draco had to use every ounce of control he had to not let out a giggle. 

“You’re turning red,” she noted.

“Mmm?”

“Just give in,” she taunted as he desperately tried not to squirm.

“You’re cruel,” he gasped, attempting to force her into a tight hug so her fiendish ministrations would cease, but Granger resisted. She stood on her tiptoes so her lips were just brushing his ear, and her fingers ceased their tickling as her hands smoothed down his sides. 

“You love it,” she whispered and Salazar, Godric, and Rowena , this witch was going to be the end of him. He simply kissed her rather than respond, hand immediately winding in her hair and Granger melted into his embrace.

“Oi, I did not want to see that!”

Draco stifled a groan. Fucking Weasel. 

Granger drew back with a broad smile. “Ha! Need I remind you of all the shameless snogging I have endured from you previously? You, Ronald Weasley, will get over it!”

Weasley grumbled, hands in his pockets as Harry gave an awkward wave. 

“Hey ‘Mione,” he greeted with a smile-turned-grimace and Hermione chuckled as she left Draco’s arms to throw her arms around The Boy Who Lived To Fuck Over Draco, followed by Weasel. Draco took in a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth. Potter saved you from Azkaban and defeated the monster wreaking havoc on your life, let the love of your life hug him, just breathe --

His eyes widened as he realized what he’d just thought. 

Well, he’d given her an ‘I could love you’ speech as she’d called it, surely he wasn't that surprised the inevitable had occurred?

“Oi, ferret, you coming?”

If you punch him, you’ll go back to Azkaban, he reminded himself and Draco stepped forward.

“Ron, no names,” Hermione scolded, crossing her arms defiantly.

“Oh come on, he’s called me Weasel for years and I can’t do the same?”

“It’s fine, Granger,” Draco sighed, tucking an arm around her and squeezing her shoulder gently. She turned her wide, pleading and yet still somehow defiant eyes up to him and Draco was defenseless against them. 

I’m such a pathetic sod, he thought to himself as he took a deep breath and his eyes searched the heavens for something to strike him dead before he had to do this. 

“I owe you an apology, Weasley,” he ground out through gritted teeth. Weasley’s eyes bugged out of his head as he gaped at Draco.

“Uh, yeah Malfoy, one or a thousand,” he scoffed. Draco narrowed his eyes.

“No, one,” he hissed, “Hermione I owe a thousand, but you have always given as good as you got and you fucking started it so, no, Weasley, you get one. ”

Weasley turned red in frustration as he sputtered, and Draco held up a hand to stop him before he started. “It is not my fault I was better at being a prick than you, but you attempted plenty against me.”

“You know, Malfoy, I can’t say you sound all that fucking sorry!”

Draco laughed derisively, “Well, that’s because I’m only sort of sorry! You clearly don’t care about your part, why should I care about mine? For the war, yeah, I’m sorry for all of that, genuinely and truly, but for tearing into you when you laughed at me in the first ten seconds we spoke? For participating in an antagonistic rivalry that you were just as involved in? No, I’m not all that sorry, Weasley.”

“You were a fucking bully, ” Ron hissed and Draco held up his hands.

“ Obviously, Weasley, but not to you. I bullied Granger and several other muggleborns and several of my housemates, and Longbottom, yeah, I owe him a few dozen apologies, even Potter gets a couple extra, but you, no. You get one. I crossed the line several times, I wasn’t a good person, but guess what Weasley? In Slytherin that’s exactly what you sign up for when you start something you aren’t prepared to finish.”

Weasley was about to reply when Potter, of all people, gripped him by the arm. “Ron, he might have a point. We weren’t angels in return.”

The redhead sputtered again, “He made fun of my family for being poor all the damn time even before we were fucking sorted and I’m supposed to say oh, we had equal share in our rivalry, and let bygones by bygones?” he asked incredulously.

“You made fun of my name before that,” Draco replied, and he could feel Granger gearing up beside him to call them children, but he held up a hand to stop her. “But we were eleven. I’m not going to grovel like you want me to, or beg for your forgiveness, but I will say that I’m sorry. I was jealous of your loving family and I was  horrendously insecure about the pressure of being a Malfoy so I skewered you for laughing at me and I never let up. It was overzealous and I’m sorry.” 

“Now, Hagrid’s?” he asked, turning to his witch, and it seemed he stunned her as well because her mouth kept opening and closing like a fish.

“You’re just full of surprises,” she said quietly through a smile, and took the arm he proffered to walk to Hagrid’s. Draco could hear Potter drag Weasley along, still shocked. The firsties, pretending not to have been spying on them, began moseying their way down to the paddock.

“Merlin, they’re obvious,” Draco muttered just as Potter asked, “What’s with the littles tailing us?”

Hermione chuckled, “They’re rather protective of Draco, you see,” she answered and Draco sighed.

“Oh, they’re the C.O.O.K. kids?”

“C.O.N.K.” Draco and Hermione immediately corrected.

“Godric, they’re in sync,” Weasley muttered.

“Yes, they’re our young friends. I’m not sure how long we’re meant to pretend we don’t see them before we can introduce you,” she admitted. 

“Give them til the paddock at least,” Draco suggested, “They’re trying so hard and failing so miserably.”

“Why are they so protective of you, Malfoy? Can’t protect yourself?” Weasley sneered. Draco shot Hermione a look, as if to say, see? It isn’t just me, before replying.

“After an accident, Sadie saw the scars from the sectumsempra and Granger divulged their origins to her,” Draco replied then paused, stopping suddenly.

“Actually, Weasel, you do get two apologies,” he said, turning to face the astounded ginger. “I am sincerely sorry for the incident with the mead that nearly killed you.”

Weasley just stared at him and after a minute of silence Draco just nodded and continued walking towards Hagrid’s. The half-giant welcomed their party eagerly and blew the first-years’ attempt at covert observation by heartily greeting them as well. He began to invite them in, but Hermione stopped him, saying this lunch needed to only be the five of them. 

They sat, and Winky had delivered some food for them (thankfully, Draco did not fancy having to visit Granger’s parents for the damage his teeth would have endured had Hagrid cooked) and they started eating awkwardly.

“Look,” Hermione began, nearly throwing down her fork, “I know our history is sordid, but Draco has changed,” Draco winced internally as he always did when someone said that. He didn’t feel all that different. “But we also never really knew him. Now… Now his wit makes me laugh. He reads nearly as much as I do and can keep up with me when I go down a rabbit hole about arithmantic theory or a particular plot point in my novel without his eyes glazing over!” she took a breath before launching in again, “And he’s observant and sweet and yes, surly and vindictive, but I frankly like that about him, and he makes me feel like I can do anything but it’s okay if I don’t do anything at all and I want you to like him or at least tolerate him, please, for me, because I’m not planning on letting him go any time soon!” she finished in a rush, completely out of breath.

All four men stared at her, wide eyed, and Draco’s heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. 

“Merlin, ‘Moine,” Weasley muttered and Potter just kept glancing between the two of them. 

Draco leaned over to whisper in her ear as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Nice speech, love,” he teased, nose ghosting along the curve of her ear and she blushed. 

“I can’t help it, I like you,” she muttered, resting her head on his shoulder as he placed a kiss atop her head.

“What about you Malfoy?” Potter finally asked and Draco’s eyes snapped up to meet his.

“What about me?” 

“Hermione’s made it clear why she thinks we should accept your relationship. Why do you think we should?”

Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. A part of him wanted to deflect, to say something shallow but sweet, but he knew if he really wanted to make Granger happy, if he really wanted her friends to trust him with her, they needed him to be honest.

Salazar’s fucking bollocks , he hated being vulnerable and to these two, of all people! 

“Frankly, Potter, she asked and that’s all the reason you should need because you ought to trust her,” he sighed, buying himself some time to get his thoughts in order. 

Potter frowned. “Maybe, but she says you’re a whole new wizard, basically. What happened to the vile git calling her mudblood every time she entered a room or who let her be tortured on his floor? Explain that to me,” he nearly snapped, but his eyes remained steadily on Draco’s.

“I was disappointed you didn’t kill me in that bathroom, Potter,” he said quietly and everyone straightened to attention. “I saw the logical conclusion of all the vile shit I spouted at Hogwarts and it was...awful,” he concluded lamely. Took a deep breath and dove in again. “Everything I was taught broke down, so I can assure you that no, I do not think Hermione is lesser than me or anyone, for that matter. 

As for the rest and what happened last year, everything you hate me for in the war I did to protect my mother. Most everyone thinks I’m a monster, and maybe I am,” he admitted with a shrug, “I’ve certainly spent plenty of time thinking so. Because I will do anything to keep those I love safe. In that moment, it meant letting a witch I knew be tortured even though it was tearing me apart. Being anything less than loyal would have ended my mother’s life. I’m not proud of that Potter, her screams haunt my fucking dreams. But now, Hermione is someone I love, someone I would die for, someone I would protect even at the expense of my humanity.”

Draco sighed, frustrated that he still wasn’t getting his full point across, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m not…I’m not a whole new wizard, I’m still me. But for my whole life, my world has been my parents. Loving them meant loving only them and fuck all the rest. But Hermione...loving her is loving the world in turn. 

“Everything is different through her eyes, and I want to see life that way. Hell, I want to see myself that way. So to keep Hermione alive, maybe I’d be a monster again; I’m still capable of what I did before. But honestly, I think maybe I can’t love her and really be one. Maybe that’s why you should bloody trust this, trust us, because to be so enamoured with Hermione Granger that I am spilling my guts to you two of all people should indicate that the better angels of my nature rise to the occasion of her regard.”

Everyone at the table sat in stunned silence and Draco blanched slightly as he realized he’d gone full Granger and given a bloody soliloquy. Or maybe he really was just that dramatic.

Potter was the first to shake himself out of it. 

“Yeah. Okay,” he allowed, taking a sip of his tea in bewilderment.

Weasley looked at Draco hard. “You love her,” he finally said and it wasn’t a question. 

Draco glanced at the witch to his right, who was looking at him with something like adoration and astonishment in her eyes. “I haven’t actually told her yet, so if you could let me admit it after I’ve made a romantic gesture out of it, that’d be ideal.”

Hermione chuckled. “This is a pretty romantic gesture, I’d say.”

Draco sighed, “You always lower your expectations for these two, but fine. Yes, Weasley, I love her. I’ve spent the past year slowly falling and now there’s nothing to be done about it.”

Weasley rubbed his eyes. “Merlin, this is going to take some getting used to,” he muttered.

“Well, Weasley, anytime you need me to remind you I’m still an arse, I’ll be happy to insult you,” Draco offered with faux pep in his voice. 

“You are still you, oh joy,” Potter chuckled. 

“I’m no’ sure I really helped much, but Draco’s a fine lad it turns out,” Hagrid added, laying a meaty hand upon the blond’s shoulder. Draco offered a cautious smile to the half-giant. Weasley muttered “traitor” under his breath, but it had no real heat to it.  

--

The conversation was stilted, but at least the tension had died. When he could take no more, Draco suggested Potter and Weasley meet the first-years, to which they rapidly agreed. 

When Draco emerged unscathed, the four decided they could resume hero worship of Potter and, to Draco’s chagrin and surprise, even Weasley. Quickly though, in the way only children could, they were simply discussing different magical creatures and their quirks as they introduced the two wizards to Reginald. When they mentioned their flying, Weasley of all people suggested they show off, and they raced to fetch their brooms. 

And so it was that Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy bonded over assisting Sadie in learning the corkscrew turn. 

“You have to really use your obliques, Sadie!” Draco called out as she wobbled instead of turned for the fourth time.

“How is it you don’t know what genetics are but you know body parts?” she shouted in response, annoyed.

“Anatomy is an older science,” he called back and she grumbled, trying again. 

“Oh, is that the reason?” Granger asked, slinging an arm over both his and Weasley’s shoulders where they sat.

“Pre-Statute of Secrecy science,” he reasoned, completely concocting the idea on the fly, but it sounded feasible enough.

“You have to turn with enough gusto to really get your momentum going!” Weasley advised Sadie, “Otherwise you’ll just be upside down!”

“That kid’s a wicked flyer,” Weasley grinned and Draco nodded. 

“She is. She’s an overall talented kid.”

“They all are,” Granger added, smiling at the sight of Indira and Potter in the air. 

“So, what level of chummy do Malfoy and I have to get to before you’re satisfied?” the redhead asked and Granger grinned. 

“Mm, I’d say quidditch at the Burrow levels would be ideal, but this is a fine start,” she said seriously and Draco and Weasley both shot each other a panicked glance. Granger chuckled at them and gave them each a kiss upon the cheek before heaving off and joining Marcus, Ella and Reggie. 

“Not a chance of that happening, right?” Ron whispered, horrified. Draco shuddered. 

“Right, Weasley. Not a chance.”

--

The second of May came entirely too soon. Draco had missed from his fog or ignored for his sanity most of the tittering about the Victory Ball. He had every intention of hiding in his room as much as possible that day and the days ensuing; reminding everyone how evil Death Eaters were was not going to go well for him. 

Alas, like all his other intentions for this year, Hermione had other ideas. 

“ Please, come Draco! Andromeda will be there!” she begged and he gaped at her.

“Seriously, Granger? Why would anyone want a Death Eater there?” he’d ask and she’d insist that she was a bloody war hero, and if she wanted him there, then the rest could all bugger off. 

It was cute. And he thought she’d give up on it. But she didn’t.

“Love...you mean everything to me, and I see no possible way this ends in anything but embarrassment for you,” he told her softly, tucking a curl behind her ear. She gripped his face in both her hands.

“Let me decide what I’m willing to endure, Draco. Trust me,” she insisted.

“You’d let yourself be burned to ash if it made others happy, Hermione,” he reminded her. In the week or so after the article in the Prophet, they had both received plenty of howlers. Most of them arrived at mealtimes, and Longbottom and Weaslette had been the ones to incinerate Hermione’s, which made Draco’s throat tighten. Real friendship was a lovely thing. Draco, for his part, used them as a teaching experience for the first years and they became quite good at a targeted incendio . 

But, within the madness, he’d gotten a piece of post he was actually happy to receive.

Dear Draco,

I’ve been debating writing for months. On the one hand, you were an infuriating git for years and why should I check in on the prat that became an actual Death Eater? You ignored me fifth year when my mother married a half-blood and it was clear to me blood supremacy meant more to you than friendship, if friendship was what we had.

On the other, however, I’m not ignorant to what Lucius was like as a father. I know you were desperate to please him. So part of me knew you could use a friend this year, but did I want that friend to be me? Could it be me, when I’ve been safe in Italy this whole time and haven’t seen the horrors I’m sure you’ve witnessed?

So I’ve been wavering. But I saw the Prophet. I’ve known you for years and you’re an excellent actor, but I have never seen you look the way you did gazing into Hermione Granger’s eyes after she kissed you. So I figure you’ve let the blood supremacy bit go. I’m still staying in Italy for now, but if you’d like a pen pal, I’m open to trying again. Perhaps an honest friendship this time.

Sincerely,

Blaise Zabini

Draco had written back immediately with an apology, and he was cautiously optimistic. It could be Zabini wanted to work the Golden Girl connection Draco now had, but...Blaise was right. Even after he’d ignored Blaise like an arse once his mum married the half-blood (who was gone within the year), Blaise still encouraged him to eat and talk about what was bothering him during sixth year. Blaise might have actually cared. So, with Kane’s encouragement, he gave it a try. 

Granger was ecstatic; apparently Weaslette had had good things to say about Zabini when they dated briefly years prior and “honestly, Draco, you need some friends. It’s a little sad.” He also thought perhaps it would distract her from the Victory Ball insanity. It did not, and they’d left one another the evening of 1 May at an impasse. 

But, at 4:00 on 2 May, Tippy popped into his room with a loud crack. Draco lowered the wand he’d had pointed at her with a shaky breath. 

“Master Draco, please get dressed,” she greeted, and with a snap of her fingers his dress robes appeared. Draco’s eyes widened, but he could infer the involvement of his witch, so he obeyed. He’d have to be on guard all night, but if she wanted him there, he would come. Draco dressed quickly, Tippy fussing as she artfully tousled his hair and fixed his bowtie, standing on a stack of his books to reach.

“There! Master Draco looks amazing!!” she beamed at him and Draco caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He did look rather good. The dark circles under his eyes were present, but lighter than they’d been, and the rich black of his robes brought out the steel in his gray eyes and made his hair look luminous. And though he overwhelmingly favored Lucius, as Draco smiled at Tippy behind him, still angled towards the mirror, Draco realized his smile...his smile was his mother’s. 

Shaking his head at himself, he thanked Tippy again and moved toward the common room so he could exit and fetch his witch. 

“Wow, Hermione’s is going to love that!” Ella gasped as he emerged from the hallway. Indira pretended to swoon and Sadie made him take a picture with her muggle camera. He agreed, but only if they were in it with him. Marcus sighed dramatically but smiled the largest in the photo. He couldn’t convince them to stay in the common room, so Draco made his way to Gryffindor Tower with the four firsties at his heels, only to be told partway there Hermione would be making a grand entrance into the Victory Ball, similar to the Yule Ball. Draco sighed and the firsties whined, since only fourth year and up were invited. 

They’d made it to the doors, the four still bemoaning their boring fate, when they ran into Potter and Weaslette at the doors.

“Wow, Malfoy, Hermione might drool when she sees you in that,” Ginny greeted and Draco chuckled despite himself. He certainly wouldn’t mind inspiring that reaction. Draco had to admit that he hoped his attendance would ensure him some quality time later where he could peel whatever fancy dress she wore off her frame and give her the adoration she deserved for being a war hero at this victory ball. 

“You look lovely yourself, Ginny,” he greeted with a small bow and she offered him a genuine smile for once. She was wearing a deep purple color, and he found it an intentional symbolism. The Ministry’s new color was, quite accidentally, associated with Minister Shacklebolt’s penchant for shades of plum, lilac, and violet. It was an appropriate choice for the ball.

“I can’t believe we can’t see them dance together. We've been their number one supporters this whole time!” Ella whined.

“They probably wouldn’t even be together without us!” Sadie agreed, pouting 

Potter laughed, and, looking around discreetly, waved the four of them closer. Draco merely sighed, assuming whatever shenanigans they got up to would be relatively harmless. Couldn’t beat befriending the Death Eater or a creature who craved their flesh, could it?

“Well, I’ll see you in there, I guess,” he sighed, bracing himself for the glares and insults he knew would be lobbed his way. He could only hope they didn’t insult Hermione on his behalf. 

“Where are you going, ferret!? Weaslette scolded, grabbing his arm and tugging him back.

“I...to the ball my witch has demanded I attend?” he asked, brow furrowed, glancing to the main entrance where several couples were milling about waiting to enter.

“No, you dolt, you’re escorting Hermione!” she swatted him and his eyes widened.

“That is such a terrible plan,” he breathed and Ginny waved her hand dismissively.

“Nonsense, it’s a great plan.”

“Ginny, people hate me! It’s one thing for people to...to know she’s dating me, but it’s quite another to debut her Death Eater boyfriend at the Victory Ball for vanquishing Voldemort!” he hissed, trying to avoid a scene. 

Ginny looked up at him, her warm brown eyes a shade lighter than Hermione’s, and held his gaze. “Draco Malfoy, I thought you were meant to be bright. You’ll figure it out soon enough, but trust me -- everyone has thought this through and you’re perfect. For her and for this,” she finished, squeezing his arm before returning to Potter, who was alone, no first years in sight.

“They could’ve said good-bye,” he muttered, folding his arms and leaning against the wall to wait. Weasel came, Padma Patil on his arm looking much happier than she had at the Yule Ball during fourth year, both resplendent in golden dress robes. They merely nodded at one another in greeting. 

As the crowds near the doors thinned, everyone presumably inside, McGonagall rushed out. 

“Okay, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Patil, you two first. Potter and Ms. Weasley, you next. Mr. Malfoy, you and Ms. Granger will enter last,” she instructed. At the first notes on the violin, the doors opened and Weasley and Patil entered. Draco glanced around. Where was Granger?

Two minutes later, Potter and Weaslette entered the door. 

Well, fuck. She’s missing! They’ll think I murdered their Golden Girl…

“Draco?”

He turned towards the staircase and his breath caught.

Hermione was a vision. Her curls were left down, but the sides were pinned back to show her face. Her dress was white, beginning in a fitted bodice with a sweetheart neckline, and as the dress flared at her waist and continued to the floor, a riot of colors appeared. Royal blue, verdant green, rose red, petal pink, canary yellow, lily orange…

She was spring. 

She floated towards him, smiling radiantly, and gently closed his jaw with one finger. 

“You’re...a miracle,” he breathed, kissing her forehead. 

“That’s you, my love,” she replied, her lips, painted a pale pink, stretching into another smile. 

Draco offered his arm, and she placed her hand on it. 

“You’re sure?” 

“About you? Always.”

And then McGonagall ushered them in. 

All eyes were on them as Hermione dipped into a curtsy and Draco bowed; they remained trained on the couple as she stepped into his hold and as they began the Viennese waltz. Potter and Weasley were off to the side, grinning at them, with Weaslette and Patil at their sides and suddenly Draco got it. 

Weasley’s gold dress robes and Patils’ golden dress were for the Golden Trio.

Weaslette’s purple gown and Potter’s deep purple, nearly black, dress robes were for the future of the Ministry.

And Draco and Hermione were new birth. They were revival, the Death Eater and the Golden Girl, the pureblood and the muggleborn, tradition and revolution. He was the deep black of soil, of formality and history, and she was the vibrant blooming of new breath, new blood, new bounty. 

He wasn’t her dead weight to carry around. 

He was her match. He was the foundation from which she could spring forth, he was the symbol of what had been hatred choosing love, the Death Eater choosing life. They were the first blooms in spring breaking through the harsh grip of winter and bursting forth into the world. 

Draco smiled at the witch in his arms and she beamed back at him. 

Soon the other two thirds of the Golden Trio and their dates re-entered the dance, though Hermione and Draco remained at the center. As the music crescendoed and they reached the peak, Draco lifted Hermione into the air and she tipped her head back and laughed, pure joy erupting from her. When he set her back down it was merely another few steps before the resolution of the song. 

When he bowed and she curtsied again, their eyes never left one another and their smiles could not be contained.

The Great Hall exploded in applause.

Draco couldn’t help himself. He took her in his arms and kissed her soundly.

--

Later, after the four first years had been caught under Potter’s invisibility cloak (from wolf-whistling at their kiss, no less) Hermione hardly ever let go of Draco’s arm. They parted for him to dance with Andromeda, who wore a yellow dress in honor of Tonks, and for Lovegood, who wanted a turn and forgave him openly for her time in his home’s dungeons. Shacklebolt clapped him on the shoulder and Arthur Weasley gave him a warm embrace 

“Hermione’s like one of our own. If she chose you, you’re welcome, too,” he told him and Draco’s cheeks flamed as he stuttered his thanks and apologies for being an abhorrent git for so many years. Molly Weasley nearly crushed him in her hold when she bustled back over to meet him formally as well. 

When they toasted the dead, no one called him a Death Eater. No one hexed him or demanded he leave. He knew it wouldn’t last, healing didn’t work that way, but tonight he saw his future. He saw color and spring and hope rising from the ashes of hate and destruction.

Chapter Text

EPILOGUE - SIX YEARS LATER

Draco observed the Potions Lab in the dungeons, hands in his pockets, wondering how long it would be before his not-so-stealthy shadow made herself known.

The door flew open behind him and Draco smirked to himself.

“You bloody wanker, how dare you deny me the ENTIRE YEAR I could have been the absolute worst student you’ve ever had? I’m bloody graduating, you git!” Sadie seethed, flopping dramatically onto one of the desks. 

Draco chuckled, “So I take it you heard I got the position?”

Sadie glowered at him. “Yeah, yeah, I heard. Think of the potential if you’d applied last year! You know old Sluggy wanted to retire sooner!”

“You couldn’t get through five minutes of a class with me as your professor without completely undermining me and you know it,” Draco admonished with a grin.

“You,” she pointed a finger at him, “are no fun.”

Sadie had grown into a tall young woman, taller than Hermione, and reaching to Draco’s nose. To Draco’s deep distress, she had abandoned her signature buns after second year. She’d gone through several styles over the years, settling on tight dreadlocks that reached her shoulders, and he could admit the style suited her, even if he bemoaned her getting older and requiring a more mature style in the first place. Currently she wore her uniform, with her tie loosened and sleeves rolled up, serpent necklace resting at her collarbone.

“I’m plenty of fun,” he replied, leaning against the desk opposite her and crossing his arms.

“You’re a professor now, Draco, you’ve signed away your rights to shenanigans and general tomfoolery,” she accused. 

“Nonsense, now I’ll just never be suspected as the culprit,” he countered with a mischievous grin. 

Sadie sat up on her elbows, regarding him. “Dad expects you to visit soon. I believe he’s insistent we both be present for the week after graduation and to celebrate your late birthday.”

Michael and Lynette Perkins had, for all intents and purposes, adopted Draco as their son. When Sadie had told them he was the big brother she’d never had, they opened their arms and home to him such that after his probation he was able to show the Wizengamot his commitment to change by living with muggles. Michael had gotten him into kickboxing, though Michael himself preferred tai chi these days, and Lynette had taught him how to cook. They’d patiently explained all their technology to him and insisted he visit as often as he liked. 

The first time Draco had met them, at a parents weekend Hermione had organized for muggleborn students, Michael had scooped Sadie up into his arms and she’d giggled, embracing him tightly. Draco’s chest had tightened painfully at realizing that was what fathers were meant to be like. He’d never said it aloud or in so many words, but Michael Perkins understood and became the father figure Draco never had. He’d brought Draco with him to the gym to meet the other young men there, taught him to drive a car, and when he was confused or lost or lashing out, he calmly and without raising his fist, taught him how to be better. 

“I can visit frequently during the day for the week, but I can’t stay for more than the weekend,” he replied and Sadie arched a skeptical brow at him.

“Good luck telling him that.”

Draco smirked. “I have a decent excuse. By the way, I have something to ask you.”

Sadie groaned, flopping back down, “This is the beginning of a corny joke, isn’t it? Don’t do this to yourself, Draco, you’ve got at least three more months before you’re a professor. Enjoy your genuine humor while you can!”

“Never too early for dad jokes,” he admonished, “but no, it isn’t jesting.”

Sadie sat all the way up this time, intrigued. “Oh? What is it, Draco?”

He uncrossed his arms, and straightened, meeting Sadie’s dark, shining eyes with his own. “Will you be my child's godmother?”

Sadie’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened. Then she covered her gaping mouth with her hands and continued to stare at him. 

“You’re -- she’s-- Hermione’s pregnant?!” she finally managed, arms falling back to her sides.

Draco nodded, a smile playing at his lips. “Two months, now. We’re announcing it next month, so mum’s the word til then, please. I’ll tell your parents at dinner this weekend.”

“Oh, no you don’t, I want to be there!” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to supplant your graduation, and that’s the next time you’re due home.”

“McGonagall will let me home for an evening if you ask her,” Sadie pointed out and Draco agreed. He shifted his weight.

“So, ah, will you? Agree to be godmother to our snakelet?”

“Of COURSE, you idiot! Never call them that again, my first act on behalf of my godchild!” she scolded, crying lightly, and wrapped her arms around him. Draco relaxed into her hold. Over the years they’d grown closer and he knew it was only the beginning. “Besides, I’m your little snake. The kid gets its own nickname,” she mumbled into his shoulder. 

“Fair enough,” he laughed, releasing her. Sadie was teary-eyed so he had mercy and changed the conversation. “Where’s Ella so I can torment her suitably for daring to date you?”

Sadie playfully whacked him, “You will do no such thing!”

“Ten points from Slytherin, no violence against professors!”

Sadie paused. “Sod that, but apparently you're going to be a father, so I best not be maiming you,” she sighed, resuming her seat upon the desk.

Draco grinned. “Hermione’s both overjoyed and panicking. Andromeda and her mum have been trying to calm her down but she’s read six parenting books already and it’s only been eight weeks.”

“Did you honestly expect any different?” Sadie chuckled. “I bet her mum’s over the moon, she started hinting about grandkids before you two had even made it down the aisle!”

“No, I didn’t,” he replied with a smirk, shaking his head. 

Five years ago, only a year after they’d left Hogwarts, Draco had proposed. They married the year following that at the Manor, which Draco had steadily restored until it was not only as lovely as it had been during his childhood, but a proper home, filled with natural light, portraits that did not shout slurs at his beautiful wife, and nary a muggle-repelling curse to be found. Narcissa loved it once she was able to return home after nearly two years of intensive therapy at St. Mungo’s and a strict medication regimen. It was Hermione who’d suggested St. Mungo’s incorporate some muggle treatments, and the fourth prescription did the trick. She remained fragile, but usually cognizant. Draco had quietly wept the day she returned home. 

Not only had Narcissa regained her health over an arduous treatment period, but she’d bonded greatly with Hermione’s parents and the Perkinses. Narcissa adored Sadie, taking her shopping in Diagon Alley, usually dragging Hermione along too. Narcissa ultimately chose to live with her sister, and Andromeda had become nearly as close to Draco as his own mother. 

“What?” Sadie asked, nudging his leg with the toe of her boot. Draco smiled at his friend, his sister in all but blood, and shook his head.

“Nothing. Just sometimes I realize how ludicrously happy I am and it amazes me. I have to pause and take it all in.”

“Awww, were you that excited to tell me?” she teased, and Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah I was,” he admitted and Sadie jumped back up for another hug, ruffling his hair.

“Hey, hey watch the hair!” he ducked.

“Damn, I can’t make a good dragon pun out of that,” Ella lamented, leaning against the door jam with a smirk.  

“Hello, darling,” Sadie greeted, and Ella came to stand beside her, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Be forewarned, Draco’s going to practice his overprotective father speeches on you,” Sadie advised and Ella crossed her arms.

“Bring it on,” she challenged, smirking. Ella’s fiery red hair was pulled into a severe ponytail high on her head and Draco couldn’t help but think she looked like Weaselette when she assumed that particular pose. It didn’t help that the two redheads adored one another and would continue spending time together when Ella joined the Holyhead Harpies next season. It made their family matches at the Burrow all the more intense.

Because, yes, Draco was invited to holidays at the Burrow, and yes, he and Ron played together with the rest of the family. Granger had been smug about it for weeks. 

“We’ll save the dad speech trials ‘til next time, I’m in too good a mood today to risk losing a battle of wits with you,” he waved her off. 

“And what has you in such a good mood, Malfoy?”

“That’s Professor Malfoy to you,” he replied haughtily and Ella grinned.

“Congrats, Draco!”

“But wait, there’s more,” Sadie teased and Ella turned to Draco, intrigued.

“Sadie’s agreed to be the godmother to Hermione’s and my child.”

This time, Ella squealed, embracing Draco in a bone crushing hug. “Let’s go tell Indira and Marcus! They’re already out at Hagrid’s visiting Reg - he’s helping with classes now, you know!” she began to ramble, grabbing Draco and Sadie’s hands to tug them along after her. Sadie rolled her eyes at Draco where Ella couldn’t see and he smirked at her. 

“You love it,” he mouthed at her and Sadie smiled sheepishly and nodded. As they exited the front gate of the castle, Ella ran ahead to their friends while Sadie and Draco strolled leisurely behind her. Sadie looped an arm through Draco’s, a habit she’d learned from Hermione.

“You’re going to be a wonderful father,” she told him quietly and Draco gave her a shy smile. 

“With Hermione, and you and our family...I believe it.”

“Just don’t name your kid a stupid constellation, alright? Don’t ‘dragon of bad faith’ the poor kid.” 

Draco laughed. “Hermione already shot down Scorpius if it’s a boy, so she’s looking out for your interests.”

“Merlin, Scorpius?! What a mouthful! Hey, my name means ‘stinging critter of bad faith, what’s yours?’ Good God, man, cut the kid a break!” she ranted, throwing her hands in the air before smacking him in the arm. “Scorpius! Honestly!”

“Read a list of constellation and star names and tell me I didn’t do decently,” he dared her and Sadie acquiesced, slipping her arm back in his. “Fine, fine, we’ll work on it, it’s a difficult genre, I’ll admit.”

“Have you decided whether to accept Falmouth’s offer or head to Cambridge?” he asked seriously and Sadie sighed. The Falmouth Falcons had put in a bid for Sadie to play for them as chaser, and Draco knew the deadline was approaching to train for the upcoming season. 

“No, but I’d better soon,” she sighed before perking up, “I’ll need to be getting my godmothering schedule in order, I know Hermione will be making spreadsheets and charts any day now,” she teased.

“She can pin it next to her ten year plan which she’s spent the week modifying. She’s thinking she’ll run for Minister at 35 rather than 33 now.”

Sadie closed her eyes, trying to hold in her chortling. “I so badly want that to be a joke but I’ve seen her study in the Manor and it’s really pinned there.”

“Color coded and everything,” Draco laughed. 

“Reginald’s going to be so excited! He’ll probably knit a baby blanket or something.”

Draco groaned. “Granger’s created a monster teaching him that.”

“Lucky for me, I’m rather fond of monsters,” Sadie winked, and tugged him along.