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Chapter Text

September 2, 2013

Hermione walked downstairs from her flat above the leaky cauldron to meet Percy. Her stomach was threatening to send up bile and her head felt like a spike was hammered into her temple after too much liquor the night before.

She held the letter in her hand that he had sent. 

Hermione, 

Meet me at Leaky Monday night. Gringotts.  

—Percy

She laid her head on the counter while she waited. 

“Good to see you Percy!” The barmaid smiled. “I haven’t seen your mother in ages!”

“Good to see you too,” Percy replied curtly as he pulled up a seat next to Hermione. “Morning, Hermione.” 

“Hmmph,” she sputtered. She was not in the mood for polite small talk. She ran into him several times a week at Leaky as it was her primary source of food, and apparently his favorite place to frequent for lunch. 

“Sit up before your hair ends up in someone else’s food. Your braid is falling out and you look like you’ve lost your shit.” 

She rolled her head on the counter to face his direction instead and looked up. 

“Bugger off.” 

“Get some class, Granger.” 

A tea cup was placed near her head and clinked too loudly as it made contact with the table. 

“I added some home-brew to it for the hangover, dear,” Bitsy added a bit too nicely. Hermione wanted to slap her. The last thing she needed was someone else’s poorly brewed secret hangover potion that made her hair fall out-–or worse. 

“Regular tea for me,” Percy said. “So, did the ever capable Granger finally crack?” He muttered sarcastically while gesturing to her disheveled, hungover state. 

Hermione glared.

“You’re stretching yourself too thin, you look even more wound up than usual.” 

“What do you have for me? Your letter implied something useful. Get to it or I’m leaving.” 

Percy lifted up both hands in defense. “Yikes, put the claws away, Granger.” 

Bill had convinced her a year ago to take on Gringotts as a client, defending their privacy and security against the ministry. The goblins themselves, however, weren’t particularly fond of her. They begrudgingly hired her, and she managed to squeak by a defensive strategy that proved that they had not swapped any goblin steel artifacts in people’s vaults.

However, Hermione had a feeling that the ministry was preparing another lawsuit, and she felt obligated to learn everything she could about goblins and the bank. The goblins however, did not feel the same way, and were reluctant at best to share any information with her currently. 

She lifted her head to make eye contact and scowl at Percy.

“I didn’t come here for mockery,” she said as she began to push her seat backwards to leave. 

“Who said I was mocking?” Percy replied. “Anyways, there’s rumblings about Gringotts again at the ministry.” 

“I figured.” 

“Any other unexpected guests?” He asked, tipping his head. 

“How do you know about that?” She asked, indignantly. Twice now, her wards had been triggered late into the night as someone had tried to break into her flat. 

“Ron mentioned it.” 

Hermione made a mental note to not share her safety concerns with Ron any more. Defending goblins against the ministry put her in a politically dangerous situation this last year. Enough so that Harry wanted her to move into Grimmauld Place with them, but Hermione refused to accidentally allow his kids to be in the crosshairs. 

“Your letter implied you had something useful?”

“Estates owned by the Sacred Twenty-eight have family records and treasure as old as the bank itself,” he said. 

She sat up straighter, the stabbing pain in her temples momentarily forgotten. 

“What?”

Percy nodded. “I don’t know exactly what. Weasley isn’t part of the twenty-eight.” 

“What makes you think it would help?”

“It’s an educated guess.” 

Hermione briefly shuffled through her memory of the names on the list of the sacred twenty-eight. Malfoy, Zabini, Black, Lestrange, Longbottom, Parkinson, Nott…

“I’ll see if Harry knows anything.”

Percy shook his head. 

“Sirius destroyed most of the family records in a drunken fit when Grimmauld place was used for the Order. I’m sure most of what would have been useful was destroyed with it. The fortune itself will only get you so far.” 

“Neville then.” 

“The Longbottom estate was dismantled years ago by his great grandparents. And Theo’s parents are still the executors of the Nott estate.” 

“Ok, then how exactly is this information supposed to help me? I can’t imagine Pansy is going to let me waltz into her place and start rifling through her family records.” 

“I know someone who will.” 

“Who?” 

“Malfoy.” 

Hermione snorted in derision. She vaguely knew from Ginny that Percy was casually friends with Malfoy, but she wasn’t under the impression that they were close enough to convince Malfoy of that. 

“Be serious,” she scolded. 

“I am,” Percy smiled broadly and unbuttoned his suit coat for comfort. His hair had darkened a bit with age, less orange, and his auburn beard was neatly trimmed. He leaned in before continuing. 

“You and I both know that working with goblins is a risk. The Malfoys, like many of the remaining old families, value the privacy of the bank, and are not fond of the threats being made against it. He will help lean on the ministry.” He smiled devilishly at the end. 

She pursed her lips. She wasn’t fond of the idea.  

“What’s in it for you? Why are you doing this?”

“Welcome to politics. I make an excellent weasel.” He winked. “I invited myself over to the manor tonight at seven, I’ll drag you along to have a look—you can be a genius while I get delightfully drunk.” 

Hermione grimaced at the thought of seeing Malfoy. 

“I’m actually busy tonight,” she lied. Her stomach started to churn when she thought of the manor. 

“Oh? With whom?” Percy asked, eyebrows raised in disbelief. 

“Neville and I have plans.” 

“Nice try, Granger. Hogwarts’s sorting ceremony is tonight. He’ll be there all evening.”

Damnit! 

“See you at seven! If you don’t show, I’ll escort you myself,” Percy said as he stood up to leave. 

She noticed that Percy forgot his tea and opted to drink his instead of the mystery potion. 

It took her almost twenty minutes to muster up the gumption to take the floo to Malfoy Manor. 

Upon arrival, she noticed that she had entered the drawing room and her heart immediately began pounding in her ears. She regretted skipping the calming drought. She glanced around and saw no one, but as she turned to retreat back the way she came, she heard Malfoy’s voice. 

“The arse is always late.”

She snapped her head in Malfoy’s direction, and tried to remember the last time she had seen him. A few months ago at Leaky probably. He was as graceful and lanky looking as he had always been, with a few more lines on his face. 

Her chest was tightening in a panic and her breathing was getting more labored. Her thoughts became less coherent and a blind panic grew in her mind like weeds. 

“You must be desperate. I didn’t actually think you’d show.” He pulled a bottle of wine and a bottle of firewhiskey off of a drink cart in the corner. He poured himself a glass of the firewhiskey, and then what might have been a glass of wine for her, but he didn’t offer it. 

The smell of the woodwork, roses, stone, and books in the drawing room was like poison to her mind. She heard Bellatrix’s maniacal cackle faintly in the background and she pinched her eyes shut, avoiding looking over at the condemned spot on the floor. She felt her blood pressure raising in a panic, and it was getting hard to breathe. 

Malfoy snapped in her direction.

“Get a grip, Granger, what’s gotten into you?” 

When her eyes darted toward the floor, Malfoy’s jaw clenched. 

“Percy knows where the study is,” he said flatly as he began to walk out of the drawing room, tipping his head slightly indicating for her to follow. 

They walked through the grand entrance and off to the wing on the other side of the staircase to a study that also served as a corridor to the library. 

On a table in the study were three books with dates labeled on the covers. 

Hermione, anxious to see what they could be, sat down on a green velvet sofa and picked up one of the old books. 

“Don’t be too eager. You won’t find anything,” he muttered, sipping his firewhiskey. 

Malfoy glanced out the door to check for Percy. Meanwhile, Hermione opened to the first page of the book. Blank. 

“Like I said,” he mumbled. 

“Percy said you would help.” 

“He’s never been one to take no for an answer.” Malfoy’s lip curled as he spoke. 

“What else do you have?” She asked hesitantly. 

“A lot more like that,” he gestured toward the blank book, “Unless you want to read literature or things you’ve already found.” 

“Percy made it seem—”

“The Weasel made an assumption.” 

“Oh! Excellent! You’re already here! Terribly sorry I’m late—was held up at the Burrow with mum.” 

“You’ve missed the grand discovery,” Malfoy said, gesturing to the open book in Hermione’s lap. 

Percy looked only slightly perturbed. “Secrecy charms, damnit.” 

There was grumbling from one of the portraits on the wall behind Percy. Hermione heard muffled words like ‘mudblood’ and ‘blood traitor.’ Percy whirled on the painting. 

“Who said it?” The man in the portrait was immediately silent, and then left. Percy nodded satisfactorily before turning back to Malfoy. 

“Alright, cough it up Draco. How do you unlock the charms.” 

“You can’t,” Malfoy muttered through clenched teeth. 

“Obviously you can because I’ve heard you reference them before, arshole. Which means you can read them.” 

“I can’t undo the charm.”

“I will replace all of your firewhiskey with liquified bertie-bots.”

Percy yelped suddenly as a snake began to slither up his leg. Hermione gasped. 

“Oh, we’re doing this? With company?” Percy exclaimed as he transfigured the snake into a pen that clattered to the floor. “And you claim to be the one with class.” 

Malfoy refilled his whiskey and sat down in the chair opposite Hermione. 

“Roam the library and find something else. Be warned, there’s bound to be half a dozen curses in there too.” 

“Bollocks. She needs the family records for the slimy historical details. Fix the book.”

“I can’t just undo the magic of the estate, Weasley.” 

“Oh, so it’s the estate’s magic. Excellent. Hermione, what kinds of charms might an estate place on their historical records to ensure no one could read them?” 

Hermione’s lips tightened, and she refused to look at Malfoy, knowing quite well what the charm probably was. 

“It’s out of the question, Weasley.” 

“Nonsense. I am quite sure there is a way for Granger to read these.” 

“Only a member of the Malfoy family can read them. Gods, you insufferable twat. I thought you graduated at the top of your year.” 

Percy was unphased and Hermione was getting the distinct feeling that she was being played. 

“That does put a wrench in it, doesn’t it? Now, if you wanted my opinion—”

“—I do not,” Malfoy interrupted. 

“I think that the ordeal seems like a fair trade. Granger gets the information she needs for Gringotts, and the prior death eater gets a softened public image for marrying a muggle-born, and member of the golden trio. I’m sure you’d be delighted to not have the Ministry up your arse on a regular basis.” 

A sickening feeling crawled up Hermione’s spine. 

“It’s out of the question,” Malfoy muttered and took a sip of firewhiskey. 

“You said you’d agree to help,” Percy said. 

“I did nothing of the sort.”

“You forget, Percy, that Malfoy has always had a particular distaste for me, being a mudblood and all,” Hermione chimed in, attempting to extinguish this ridiculous conversation. 

Malfoy’s jaw clenched. 

“All the more reason for improved public image.” 

“Romantic proposition,” Hermione mumbled with an eye roll.  

Percy shrugged.

“Pureblood families have always been practical over romantic with their pairings. Haven’t they, Draco?” 

Malfoy’s answer was delayed as he looked at Percy with an icy stare. 

“Hardly seems worth it for a handful of family records,” she said irritably to Percy. 

“Who said that’s all you get out of it?” Percy replied. “You’d have the money to go anywhere you needed for your research, take whatever time you need, and as a member of the sacred twenty-eight, it will deter a good number of death eater attacks which I know the ministry has been less careful about shielding you from lately, and the manor is certainly more secure than that place you call your flat.” 

Hermione bit her lip, that actually could be useful. 

“I wouldn’t be a member of the sacred twenty-eight though.” 

“Yes, you would,” Percy replied firmly. 

“Mother would never sign on for it anyway,” Malfoy muttered, as he nursed his firewhiskey. Hermione noticed his second glass was already quite low. 

“Nonsense, Cissy and I had tea yesterday. She thought it was an excellent idea—called me bloody brilliant.” 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed at the confession that this was Percy’s plan all along. 

“If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable.” Malfoy rolled his eyes. 

“Fine, she didn’t call me brilliant. But we did have tea and she did begrudgingly agree that the idea has merit. The manor is already settled to be inherited by a halfblood anyway, so her objections weren’t extensive.”

“Who?” Hermione asked. 

Percy tipped his head slightly in surprise.

“Teddy.”

Hmm. Right. 

With the Malfoy line dwindling, it made sense that the next of kin, in this case a blood descendant of house Black, would inherit the estate. 

“Drop it, Weasley,” Malfoy said with a growl. 

“What if Teddy remained heir to the manor?” Hermione asked tentatively. 

Percy turned her direction and triumphantly smiled, and Malfoy briefly paled even more than his usual shade. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Malfoy asked. 

“I mean, Percy has a point. Just, as long as we don’t, um… you know…” She gestured vaguely hoping they both got the hint. The thought of Malfoy touching her made her anxiety prickle. 

Malfoy’s lips pursed with irritation.

“I wouldn’t mention the no shagging agreement to Cissy—still hoping to continue the whole heirs and dynasties thing,” Percy said to break the tension. 

“Percy!” Hermione scolded. 

Malfoy lifted his glass back to his mouth and mumbled, “I think your hair alone would suffocate me…” 

Hermione flushed with rage. 

“Not being able to breathe sometimes is all part of the fun, don’t you think?” Percy interjected with a wink. 

Malfoy’s head snapped toward Percy and drew his wand in an instant.

“Get out.”

Percy leapt up to wander back to the drawing room.

“Congrats to the happy couple!” He said mockingly as Malfoy shot sparklers under Percy’s heels to chase him out. 

Hermione stood up immediately, not wanting to be left alone. 

“Relax, I’m not going to hex you. Just couldn’t listen to that lunatic anymore,” Malfoy muttered. 

“What’s he getting out of this?” Hermione asked. 

“He’s a weasel. Trying to defend the bank without having to write legislation himself and fight it within the ministry.”

“Why?”

“The goblins don’t like being scrutinized, and extensive meddling with the bank right now could be seen as a declaration of war.” 

Hermione nodded.

“And he thinks that would work?”

“Oh, it’ll work. He’s sickeningly good at this but if you tell him I ever said that, I’ll poison your tea. Goblins aren’t well liked by society. He can’t openly defend them or the bank, and keep his position.” 

“He’s an arse but he’s right, I am at a standstill. Since there’s not an active case right now, the goblins are reluctant to share anything.” Hermione said.

“What are you looking for?”

“Anything related to goblins and the bank. If I understand their history better and how they operate, it will be easier for me to build whatever case they file next.” 

Malfoy nodded. His drink was gone and he was nervously brushing the rim of the glass against his lower lip. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Accio!” Malfoy summoned a bottle of firewhiskey from the room that had apparently been behind the desk, and poured another glass. 

Hermione chewed on her thumb nail as she considered. 

“Can the historical information be transcribed?” 

“I doubt it. It’s like a fidelius charm. Even if I told you specifics about that era of the records, without the ritual, you wouldn’t be able to remember anything.”

“That era?”

“It’s just a couple hundred years that was concealed. No one knows how, otherwise my father would have concealed our involvement with the war.” His jaw tightened, and he took another sip of liquor. 

“What kinds of things did they hide?”

“Gruesome but not nearly as thrilling as you would expect considering the strength of the charms,” he shrugged.

Another pause.

“How binding is it?” She finally asked.

Malfoy’s stare was intensely focused on something on the floor. 

“Soul bonding is old magic. Probably related to unbreakable vows and the protective charms Potter had after the Dark Lord tried to kill him. Plus some blood magic for good measure.”

Malfoy was tapping his fingers on the arm rest as he considered. 

Hermione meanwhile, was struggling to keep from appearing too fidgety.

“I didn’t realize it was still common practice to do soul bonding rituals. I thought Theo’s family was just high-strung.” 

Malfoy’s head tipped and he looked irritable.

“Old families have continued the tradition.” 

“Harry didn’t tell me Teddy was going to inherit the Manor,” she said flatly. 

Malfoy chuckled.

“Yes, well. My mother has attempted to shield that detail for years while she lures witches here for me. Unfortunately for her, I’m not as receptive to sweets and bribery as I once was.” 

“So, you don’t care that the manor will go to a half blood? His name isn’t even Black, it’s Lupin.” 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. 

“Have you mistaken me as someone who gives a damn what happens to this place when I’m gone? That cares about a legacy?” 

“So, your plan has just been to die alone here and then let it all pass through to Teddy? What makes you think he’s prepared to deal with all of this? It reeks of dark magic and bigotry here. You’re just going to drop all of this onto a halfblood kid whose father was a werewolf??”

“While I’m aware that ignorance is a foreign experience for you, estate inheritance magic is out of your depth. Watch your tone.” 

“This isn’t fair to him. He can’t handle this.”

“And how might you know that? Perhaps you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

“I think I know my best friend’s godson,” she spat. 

“Do you?” His eyebrows raised. She swallowed her anger, and held her ground. 

“If you were planning on just wasting away here anyway, the least you could do is help me. If my blood isn’t too filthy to be seen with you, anyway.” 

Malfoy’s jaw clenched.

“Being seen with you would in fact, be the point on my end, Granger.” 

Hermione scoffed. 

“I don’t think you’re going to find what you need,” he mumbled. 

“Why?”

“Because I’m familiar with what is available on the subject here. It’s sparse at best.”

“I’m good at finding things.” 

“So I’ve heard.” His eyes were cold, and he seemed to be deep in thought. “You’re a lunatic if you’re considering this for a job. You can’t back out,” he said finally. 

“What does that make you?” She snapped. 

“Consider for a few days, then send an owl,” he said flatly. 

“So you’ll agree? You’ve decided?”

“I’m not the one considering blood bonding into a family that tried to kill me.” 

Fair.

When he stopped talking, she turned back to the floo network in the drawing room.

Chapter Text

September 3, 2013

“Bloody hell, Hermione.” Harry muttered. 

“How bad would it be?” She asked. 

Harry shrugged.

“I don’t see him much other than the occasional run-in due to Andromeda and Teddy.” 

“Still, more than me,” Hermione muttered. 

Harry shrugged.

“Teddy says he’s fine, which I guess is something. But I don’t think they interact much. Narcissa is the one that sees Teddy.”

“How often?”

“Not much. I think Andromeda brought him to the manor once a month or so when he was little. And Narcissa occasionally visits.” 

“Percy said that Teddy is the one that will inherit Malfoy Manor?”

Harry chuckled.

“Maybe, but only because Teddy is Malfoy’s closest blood relative still alive, and it’ll pass to his next closest blood.” 

Hermione nodded, not pressing further as she didn’t get the impression Harry knew more about the nature of that inheritance. 

“Did you know he’s good friends with Percy?”

“I know Percy sees him once in a while, but I don’t know if Malfoy is good friends with anyone.”

“Percy apparently talked to Narcissa about it before pitching the idea to Malfoy.” 

Harry raised his eyebrows. After a long pause, Harry finally said: 

“I’m surprised you’re even considering it.” 

“Normally I wouldn’t,” she mumbled. 

“It seems extreme.”

“It is. But, even beyond this case, there’s the security issue lately. And there’s a lot I could do with those resources,” she said. “I don’t know if I would, but I could afford to dedicate more time to magical creatures cases like these instead of working for Golding’s.” 

“Then why turn down money from me repeatedly?”

“Because that’s… Different. You’re my friend. You’re like family to me, but taking that kind of money from you feels like I’m taking from your kids’ futures.”

“That’s ridiculous, Hermione.”

“Only a little,” she protested. “Look, I know that because of where you came from and comparatively to Arthur and Molly, it felt like a fortune. But we both know it’s not. Whatever estate the Potter family might have had was dismantled years ago, and most of that old money with it. And most of what remained of the Black inheritance from Sirius was this house. I don’t want you taking care of me to steal from your kids’ futures.” 

“What about your future Hermione?” 

Hermione shrugged. 

“It’s not just about me. The bank is only part of the issue with the goblins right now. There is also talk of more housing restrictions. I’m not just going to sit back and watch the ministry roll out more prejudiced laws against goblins.” 

“You can’t save all of them, Hermione,” Harry said kindly. 

“Your parents gave their lives to make the world better. So did Lupin and Tonks. Neville’s parents gave their sanity. I think… I think I’m ok with sacrificing a little happiness in order to make the world a better place.” 

Harry didn’t argue, but his brows were furrowed as he tried to think of something to say.

When he did open his mouth, he was swiftly interrupted by the sound of Ginny bursting through the door. 

“Oh! Hello!” She said brightly. Her cheeks were flushed from Quidditch practice, and the hair around her face was damp from the exertion. When she noticed the tone in the room, she hissed. 

“Yikes, what’d I miss?” She poured herself a glass of wine and sat next to Harry, kissing him on the cheek to greet him as she did. 

“Just Hermione threatening to shag Malfoy.” 

“What?!” Ginny screamed and turned to Hermione in such a state that Hermione couldn’t place if it was rage or surprise—or both. 

“I did not! ” Hermione protested, slamming her fist onto the table as she did. 

“Don’t scare me like that!” Ginny scolded. 

“Did you know he and Percy are friends?” 

“Don’t remind me,” Ginny replied with an eye roll. 

“Wait, they are actually friends?” Harry clarified. 

“Friends? Drinking pals? Blithering idiots? I’m not entirely sure what the extent of it is, I just know that he does spend a surprising amount of time with the ferret.” 

“How much time?” Hermione asked. 

“How should I know? Do I look like I want to hang out with Percy or, god forbid, Pansy who I think also runs in their circles?”

“He was the one who pitched the idea.” 

“Wait, what idea?”

“Hermione is apparently going to marry Draco Malfoy,” Harry said with a smug grin. 

“Tell me he’s kidding or I’ll hex you,” Ginny growled, wand drawn. Her wine glass tipped as she bumped the table in a fury. Harry’s wand was drawn to catch it before it spilled. 

“Hex your brother, it was his suggestion!” 

Hermione proceeded to explain the state of her case, Percy requesting to meet with her, and his proposal to Malfoy that it could be a mutually beneficial arrangement. 

“You’re bloody mad,” Ginny said when Hermione was done. 

“Excellent, glad to hear you approve,” Harry said with a nod. 

“Of course I don’t approve, he’s a bloody prat. Always has been,” Ginny said with an eye roll. 

“What do you know of him lately?” Hermione asked, fishing for details. 

“He’s an alcoholic ferret from what I’ve heard from Percy. But I haven’t heard about him being involved in any dark magic since the war if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Hermione nodded. 

“You should ask Andromeda,” Harry suggested. 

“We don’t know one another all that well,” Hermione replied, hesitating due to the personal nature of the conversation. 

“I’m sure she’ll want to help.” 

Ginny sighed as she picked up her wine. Half of it was gone before she put the glass down again.

“Just floo me before you do anything stupid.” 

September 4, 2013

“You what?!” Neville exclaimed while sorting rambleweed seedlings. 

The greenhouse on the Hogwarts grounds was far too warm, but Neville insisted that his rambleweed seedlings needed to be prepared for potting. 

“The Malfoys are an old family with a lot of secret records that could fill in the blanks on the timelines, and they have a lot of pull with both the bank and the ministry due to their money.”

“Merlin’s beard Hermione,” Neville was shaking his head. 

“Have you heard much about him since Hogwarts?”

“No, not really. He goes to functions that the Malfoys are invited to. But Theo and I don’t cross paths with him often.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“Nah, bind your soul to the death eater, what could happen?”

“Don’t tell me you of all people are still caught up in school team divisions.” 

“Ok, for one thing, that would be mighty bold of me all things considered. And another: Theo was a slytherin but he wasn’t a death eater.” 

“His father was, though.” 

“That’s different.”

“Convenient.”

Hermione chewed on her thumb nail while the silence grew. 

“Have you gone to Harry and Ginny about this?” He finally asked. 

“Yes, and they reacted similarly. I thought Theo might know more,” she admitted with a shrug. 

“Just because he was a Slytherin?”

“Because he’s a Slytherin and their house is probably closer knit than any of the others. Especially into adulthood.”

“You know Theo doesn’t really run in those circles anymore though,” Neville argued as he lifted a seedling. He swore under his breath as a grub landed on his shoe and he kicked it. 

“Maybe not as much as the rest of them, but he still keeps up casually with Pansy, right? And I hear she’s friends with Malfoy and Percy.” 

“If Percy’s friends with him, why not talk to him about all this?” Neville asked. 

“Because he and I never got to know one another, and he’s biased toward Malfoy I think.”

Neville nodded begrudgingly. 

Hermione looked up at the glass of the greenhouse and decided that having Neville for a friend came with some definitive downsides. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of her neck and melted into the collar of her shirt. 

“I’ll ask him what he knows,” he grumbled. 

She stood up abruptly to leave.

“Excellent. Thank you Neville! I’ll stop by tomorrow night at seven. I’m sure Theo will want to properly eviscerate me himself.” She mockingly blew a kiss to Neville as she closed the greenhouse door.

September 4, 2013

“What ?!” Theo spilled some of his brandy on the floor as he threw his hands up. 

“I’m just considering it. But first I need to know what I’m getting into.”

“So, you’re coming to me because…?”

“You were in the same house as he was! You’ve got to know something.”

“Yeah, I know he was fucking crazy.” 

“Be serious.” 

“Oh I’m sorry, you’re right. Congratulations to the happy couple.”

Hermione scowled.

“Your father was a death eater. You’re saying there’s absolutely no way that Malfoy got out—same as you?” 

“I didn’t have a dark mark, Hermione.”

“Wasn’t he forced to get that to punish Lucius though?”

“Does it matter why?”

“Sort of, yes. Accepting that under duress doesn’t carry the same weight as your fathers who actively wanted it.”

“And yet, others under duress put themselves on the line in a way Malfoy never did. Snape was a double agent, you said Regulus sacrificed himself. Malfoy didn’t get a redemption story for a reason, Hermione. There isn’t one.”  Theo’s tone was serious, and he sipped his drink while glaring at the wall behind her. 

“The ministry pardoned him.” 

“Only because Potter managed to convince the ministry to let him and Narcissa go. He’s naive.” 

Neville glared at Theo. 

“Come off it,” Theo snapped at Neville. “He sees the good in people when they perhaps don’t deserve it. He’s idealistic to a fault.”

“I don’t see how that’s a bad quality,” Neville argued. 

“It gets you into trouble, that’s why,” Theo grumbled. “You end up trusting people who haven’t rightfully earned it. Got his parents killed, you’d think he’d know better.”

Neville’s eyebrows shot up in disapproval. 

“She asked for my opinion. I’m being frank. Take it or leave it. James trusted Peter, despite the red flags in his character, and it got them killed,” Theo snapped. 

“So, you think my living there would be dangerous?” Hermione asked. 

“Frankly? Yes,” Theo replied. “There was no knowing what was going on in the Malfoy house when everyone thought Voldemort was dead. The same could easily be said now.”

“Doesn’t the Ministry audit them regularly?” Neville asked. 

“I think Lucius paid them off the first time to leave him alone,” Theo replied. “Same could be said now, besides, the ministry is shit at their job,” Theo grumbled, taking another sip of his drink before turning to Hermione again. “Plus didn’t you say that Percy was his friend?”

Hermione nodded. 

“Setting aside the obvious dark magic, villain nonsense—why would you agree to this just on a personal note?” Theo asked. 

Neville nervously rubbed the back of his neck and bounced his leg that was crossed over his knee. 

“What do you mean?”

“Old families don’t fuck around with soul binding. You can’t back out of them.” 

“Neither can you and Neville.”

“We made those bonds out of love, the insanity was an unfortunate byproduct my family brought in. And we spent years making sure it was the right decision before committing. You’re essentially considering signing your life over for work.”

“It’s not just for one case. I’d have the resources to do more extensive work for SPEW and other low-to-no-paying clients if I wanted to. I wouldn’t even have to work for Golding’s anymore.”

“So this is a fucked up retirement plan?” 

“Don’t be funny.”

“I’m not, I’m trying to understand your thought process.”

“They’re going to keep coming for goblins, which will either negatively impact their quality of life over time just because they’re goblins, or it’ll trigger violence if goblins decide to retaliate. There’s a possibility of war if that happens. It would be selfish of me to prioritize my own theoretical future over that.” 

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“You don’t even know that you’ll find anything.” 

“Even if I don’t, again, I’ll have the resources to find another way.”

Theo glared.

“Soul binding is fucked, Hermione. Plus, even if Malfoy has by some miracle, changed, you don’t know what Narcissa thinks. Or if Lucius will ever be set free.” 

“What about you and Neville? He and his family fought for the Order,” She argued. 

Theo sighed.

“Our situation was… Different. Neville’s blood status isn’t looked down on like yours is.”

Hermione flinched.  

“The Malfoys had to relent some of their standards on blood status since Teddy is set to inherit the manor if Malfoy doesn’t have any kids.” 

“The backup plan’s compromise is entirely different than who Narcissa would prefer Malfoy marry. I assure you,” Theo said flatly. “Besides, I can’t believe you’d even consider that with him,” he said wrinkling his nose. 

“That was strictly off the table,” she said. 

“So, wait, what does he get out of this if not any heirs?”

“According to Percy it will help their public perception to have a non-pureblood marriage,” Hermione answered. 

“Well played, Narcissa,” Theo said, tipping his glass to Hermione. 

“I think it was Percy’s idea,” she clarified. 

“Possibly. But I wouldn’t put it past that witch,” Theo shrugged. 

“I just feel like if he was truly dangerous, Percy wouldn’t have said anything to me,” she confessed. 

“Since when is Percy the man to exemplify good morals?” Neville asked. “I maintain that Percy is still a brown nosing, slimy bugger.” 

“He reminded me a little of the twins when I was at the manor actually.” 

“Really?” Theo said with a raised eyebrow. 

Hermione nodded. It was odd to her as well, but it seemed that without the looming expectations and pressure clouding his personality, he was delightfully chaotic and charismatic. (And rather grating on the nerves, but that was another similarity to Fred and George). 

Theo sighed.

“I can tell you’ve mostly made up your mind. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Before going home, Hermione stopped by Andromeda’s. Harry sent an owl the day prior letting her know that she had questions about the Malfoys, but that she wanted to discuss it in person. 

Andromeda was sitting with tea, waiting. Hermione startled briefly upon landing. Despite the similar facial features, her hair wasn’t a mess of wild curls like Bellatrix’s. Hermione's heart settled again a few moments later. 

“What in the bloody hell have you gotten yourself into, dear?”

Hermione flushed. 

“Harry says you are hell bent on this case.” 

“So you’ve all been talking about me?” She said. 

“At length.”

“Would I need to take safety precautions?” Hermione asked hesitantly. 

Andromeda’s eyebrows raised.

“That sounds more like a question of best ways to execute than whether or not you should proceed at all.”

Hermione shrugged.

“And?”

“Psychologically? Absolutely. But unless Lucius finds his way out of Azkaban, or you happen across a cursed object in the house, probably not much else. Even if the boy wanted to hurt you, I don’t think he would dare with how close the ministry keeps an eye on them,” Andromeda answered. 

“Percy said he convinced Narcissa. Is that true?” She asked, assuming that Andromeda had also spoken to her sister. 

“Partially true. She was slightly irritable about your blood status. Said she’d prefer if the boy married someone who was at least half blood. I burned her tea for that, and she had the decency to apologize for the implication, but ultimately Percy did convince her that you would improve their image.” 

So, it was Percy's idea.

“Can I ask a more personal question?”

Andromeda nodded and gestured for Hermione to continue. 

“How were you able to make up with her?”

Andromeda’s lips tightened. 

“Make up with her is perhaps a bit generous.” She sipped her tea and her gaze drifted while Hermione waited for her to continue. 

“She was afraid of Bella, and loved Lucius to a fault. Both of which drove her to do terrible things I can’t—won’t—ever forgive. But she and Teddy are all I have left. I sent her a letter a few years after the war asking to see her. She agreed and we slipped back into old habits.”

“But she sees Teddy?”

Andromeda nodded.

“For all my sister’s faults and prejudices, she is wildly defensive of those she considers family. Teddy has a lot of house Black in him.” She smirked at the end of her comment. 

“What about Malfoy?” Hermione finally asked. 

“I don’t know what to make of him. Cissa speaks highly of him but… I don’t trust her evaluation of good character. And according to Cissa, he idolized Lucius.” 

Hermione nodded. That part was true. 

“Percy is sure that what I need is there… Maybe it’s irrational of me but I trust his intuition on it,” Hermione admitted. “Besides, as I told Harry, having access to those resources opens a lot of doors for me to dedicate more time to lower profit cases.”

Andromeda grimaced.

“You say that dear, but you have no real experience with or even concept of that world. The way they display their status may change with the times, but displaying them is part of the job description. Not to mention the children that—”

“—No, that’s not part of the deal," Hermione flushed and defensively cut in. 

The black haired woman tipped her head a bit.

“Not a part of the deal?”

“We agreed that it wouldn’t be part of the arrangement. Any of it,” she said flatly praying Andromeda wouldn’t make her spell it out in further detail. “Just trading public presentation for information and resources. Teddy would still be considered heir to the manor.” 

There was a smirk, and then a smile, and then rolling into laughter. 

“Gods for the first time in decades, I actually wish I was living under the same roof as Cissa. I’d spend good money to see her reaction to that. And Draco agreed?” 

“He seemed even more displeased with the prospect than me.” 

“Interesting,” Andromeda said as she sipped her tea, openly mulling over the new information. “Why would he agree to this?”

“Supposedly to improve public perception, although he seemed mostly apathetic about it. And because Percy asked him to,” Hermione replied. 

“He’s apathetic about anything that isn’t liquor,” Andromeda said with a sneer. “I think you’re a good hearted fool for agreeing to this, but I can see you’ve made up your mind.”

The older witch poured another cup of tea and then continued.

“If something happens to you, just know that I will kill him myself. I hear Azkaban has multiple cells available to House Black on a given basis. What’s one more?” She winked. 

September 6, 2013

She considered who else to ask. She hadn’t talked to Ron, but wasn’t sure if that was a reasonable option considering they dated for a few years immediately following the war. Talking to Molly was out of the question. 

She took a deep breath, secured the letter, and waved off the owl. 

Malfoy, 

I’ll do it. 

-Hermione

She received an owl back when she returned home from work. 

Granger, 

Manor, 9:00 p.m. tomorrow

—M

Chapter Text

September 7, 2013

Hermione landed in what appeared to be a study instead of the drawing room upon arrival. 

Malfoy was reading a copy of the Prophet when she arrived. 

“You changed the floo?”  

“Just the entrance. You can still leave through any of them," he replied dryly. 

She tried to not look too relieved about not standing in the drawing room again, but didn’t comment further. 

“Now what?” She asked, impatient as he was still reading.

Malfoy folded his paper and she noted that he was holding a glass of firewhiskey again. 

“That depends.” 

“On?”

“When you would like to seal the bonds.”

“Oh,” she muttered. 

“It would be easy to arrange by springtime. Even Christmas if you’d prefer to expedite the process. Mother will send notice to the Prophet tonight and we can negotiate further terms.”

“Fine. What terms?”

Malfoy’s jaw tensed.

“I expect parameters on who is allowed to know the nature of the agreement. And when you’re to be seen with me, to name a few. I assume you have expectations as well.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Fine. But I’ve already told Harry, Ginny, Neville, Theo, and Andromeda. So unless you plan on swearing them to secrecy too, I’m not sure what good it will do.” 

“I intend to,” he said flatly. 

“You can’t force them to make vows of secrecy.” 

“My side of the deal is that I get a softened public image and hopefully less scrutiny from the Ministry. That is not possible without properly hiding the nature of the agreement.”

“Fine,” Hermione said. “I’ll talk to them. And I have to tell Ron.” 

“Then no one else.” 

“Fine!” She snapped. “Any other terms?”

“You’re to be seen with me at any major function if requested. Be that a fundraiser, or lunch with the Romanian Quidditch team.” 

“Provided it doesn’t interfere with my work, agreed. Anything else?”

Malfoy shook his head as he poured a glass of firewhiskey for himself, and a glass of wine for her. 

“And what might your terms be, Granger?”

“You won’t interfere with my work.” 

“Of course,” he smirked. 

“I won’t live in a house with elves.” 

He tipped his head with curiosity as he sipped his drink.

“Done.” 

“No convicted death eaters lurking about.” 

Malfoy smirked and took another sip of his drink.

“Luckily you and the ministry both agree on that front.” 

“Including Lucius. And no attempts to get him released from Azkaban.” 

His jaw tightened for a moment.

“Done.” 

There was a long pause.

“Anything else, Granger?”

“Physical intimacy is off the table,” she said flatly. 

“I believe we established that one already,” he said with a smug grin. “So, we shall plan for spring then?”

“Fine. But what about the soul bonds?” She asked. 

“What about them?” He asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowed again. 

Hermione took a breath before continuing. She was nervous that, if she gave herself too much longer to grapple with the gravity of this, that she would change her mind. 

“Isn’t there a way to do that part sooner so that I can work? I don’t really care when the public wedding is.” 

Malfoy’s jaw tightened, and he didn’t say anything for a long time. She shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other and was keenly aware of where her wand was tucked in her holster. 

“We can do the blood bonds to give you full access to the manor’s records right now if you’re feeling eager,” he finally said. 

“I… I guess now is as good a time as any.” Blood drained from her head and she was glad to be sitting down. 

Malfoy’s jaw twitched, then he nodded.

“I’ll be back.” He turned and swiftly left the room. 

She chewed on her thumbnail while she waited. A portrait on the wall of an old man with familiar white hair began grumbling to himself. Hermione couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but she was fairly certain she heard the words idiot, mud blood, and bitch under his breath. Another portrait nearby kept scoffing audibly at Hermione’s presence as soon as Malfoy left the room. 

The wine was beginning to turn in her stomach, and after she was halfway through, she put it down and gave up on the hope that sipping it would dull her nerves. She heard clicking on the tile floors approaching the study doors, and moments later both Narcissa and Malfoy rounded the corner. 

Narcissa scoffed as soon as she stepped inside. Hermione turned to see judgemental eyes examining her. Malfoy looked Narcissa’s way and glared dangerously in warning. He was taller than his mother now, and Narcissa shrank back at his glare. Hermione felt ill. She hadn’t fully considered that she would have to see Narcissa yet, and the icy gray eyes were making her uneasy. 

Malfoy opened a drawer at his desk and pulled out two rings. Each appeared to be a silver snake woven around itself. He then poured three glasses of wine and passed one to each of them. Hermione was starting to feel the panic settle in her throat. 

“Last chance to back out Granger,” Malfoy said, gesturing toward the door. Hermione wished that she had taken calming drought before coming here. Malfoy was stunningly calm and she was suspicious of occlumency. 

Narcissa tapped the toe of her foot barely audibly on the tile, and was eyeing the door. Hermione couldn’t quite place whether or not Narcissa wanted to leave, or if she was impatiently waiting for the frizzy-haired intruder to leave. Hermione exhaled.

“Just do it.”

Malfoy tipped his wine glass, drained it, and swiftly slipped a ring on his left hand, then reached for hers. When she offered it in return, his hand twitched for a moment, then slipped the gold band on her fourth finger. His hand then firmly grasped hers.

Narcissa withdrew her wand and began to weave cords of shimmering gold. 

“Do you swear loyalty to me above all else?” Malfoy asked. 

Fuck. 

“I swear it.”

“Will you bind your soul to mine?”

“I swear it.”

The spell’s fiery cords woven around their hands began to glow. Narcissa looked at Hermione as though she should say something. While she knew generally of traditional blood binding customs, Hermione had no idea what she was supposed to say. 

Malfoy caught the confusion, and continued. 

“Then in return, I swear my loyalty to you above all else.” His hand twitched again. “I bind my soul to yours. You are now blood of my blood, bone of my bone, soul of my soul. May only the fire of death part us.”

When Hermione looked up from the glowing spell’s cords, she found Malfoy staring at her with such intensity that she flushed and snapped her head back down. The magic in the room was palpable, and she grimaced when she felt the unfamiliar magic source start to weave in with hers.

Once the spell was complete, Hermione hesitantly pulled her hand away from Malfoy’s. When she initiated, he released her hand instantly, and flexed his hand to release tension. As though touching her was offensive. 

Narcissa then sliced the palm of both Malfoy and Hermione’s hands with a small, golden dagger. She took blood from each of them and combined their blood in a vial, tucking it in her pocket. 

Narcissa then clasped Malfoy’s bleeding hand in Hermione’s again, and cast some sort of blood magic she was unfamiliar with. 

“As blood mixes, may a new soul be grafted to our roots, and may their bonds be stronger than death.” 

Their hands were woven together again by another golden cord while their blood pooled and mixed. Thick droplets landed on the floor. Plink, plink, plink. Hermione felt lightheaded at the sight of the blood, and the feel of the blood magic was palpable in the air. Her whole body was flooded with warmth and then cold. 

Without notice, the golden cords vanished. Narcissa whirled and glided out of the study immediately, purple robes flowing behind her. Hermione heard a chain of mumbled profanity about the lack of dignity, and doing something so significant in the study, then something about Lucius. Hermione released what felt like all of the air in her lungs, pulled her sliced hand away from Malfoy, and collapsed into a green velvet sofa nearby. 

She tried casting numerous healing charms but the wound insisted on bleeding. Her blue robes were now stained as droplets fell into her lap and the blood was pooling in the palm of her hand. 

“That won’t work. Blood magic has some archaic downsides.” Malfoy sat in the chair across from her and took her hand in his to wrap it in a crimson cloth bandage he had conjured. It wasn’t affectionate by any stretch. But he wasn’t as abrasive as she expected him to be, and her face grew warm.

“Never expected you of all people bandaging people in muggle style.” 

Malfoy smirked, notably amused, but didn’t look up. 

“Is she angry?” Hermione finally asked. 

“Mostly about the fact that I didn’t recite a few of the traditional vows.”

“Like?”

“Undying love, fidelity, and dutifully providing me heirs to name a few, depending on the texts you choose from.” His lip curled as he spoke.

Hermione didn’t respond to that, but was silently grateful as she was reminded of her conversation with Andromeda. 

“And it’ll work without them?” She asked as she gestured toward one of the charmed books that had been left on the table.

Once her hand was bandaged, Malfoy reached for the book, opened it, and handed it to her. This time when she looked, the words on the page revealed themselves, fanning out like spilled ink, and then appearing as though it had simply always been that way. 

She accepted the book and began rifling through the pages curiously. This particular copy didn’t appear to be anything insightful, and was primarily a list of names and their belongings from the 17th century. She resisted the urge to comment on the ordinary nature of it. 

“Your room is up the stairs, second door on the left,” Malfoy said, causing her to look up from the book. 

“I get my own?” She asked, realizing she was perhaps a little too enthusiastic about that. She half expected to have to share a room to conceal the full extent of their agreement from Narcissa, too. She cleared her throat.

“I mean, I wasn’t sure what your mother knew. And I don’t have any of my things… I wasn’t expecting to—I mean, I didn’t think I’d have to be here yet.” 

His face was unreadable again.

“You’ve never been known for doing things moderately, I was expecting you to want access to everything as soon as you made a decision, so I had a room prepared.” 

Hermione’s stomach flipped. She assumed she would have more time to adjust before actually being expected to live here. 

“Oh,” was all she could manage to say. 

After a long pause, Malfoy stood up and gestured for Hermione to follow him. Across from the study was another set of doors into a library. She felt a wave of nausea at the smell of dark potions and black magic in there. There were bodies of house elves mounted to the top of the walls similarly to house Black traditions. But there were dozens, all peering down on whoever chose to read there. There were dark artifacts scattered throughout, and the energy was oppressively heavy. 

“Back left corner is where most of the Malfoy history will be. Other than that….” He shrugged. “I don’t really know what you might find useful here.”

He suddenly looked nervous, and cleared his throat. He then turned and left without another word.

She continued to hold the book that he offered her moments ago, and when she couldn’t bring herself to take another step into the library, she retreated back through the study to investigate her room. She slipped upstairs as discreetly as she could. When she arrived at the doorway to what would be her room, she stepped in and looked around. It was clearly arranged with her in mind. 

The bed frame had ornate snakes carved into the reddish wood; And the bedding was a sea of opulent emerald green quilts, wool blankets, and down pillows. 

There was a desk in the far corner near a window, a large stack of blank parchment was waiting for her, a brass ink bottle, a beautiful black raven quill, and a bookshelf filled with stories and magical history. 

It was a surprisingly considerate amount of effort put into creating a space for her on short notice. She moved over to the window and was relieved to see that it faced the outside world, not further into the manor gardens or property. 

She chewed on her thumb nail as she looked out the window, trying to decide if she should go to retrieve her things now, or take a closer look around first. When she sat in the chair, she drifted off to sleep unexpectedly, due to either physical or emotional exhaustion. 

September 8, 2013

“Malfoy you bastard! You bloody bastard! Where are you??”

Hermione bolted out of bed in a panic, and made a run for the stairs, where she found Percy storming through the main floor below, wand in hand, sparking manically with rage. 

“Draco I swear to Merlin, Slytherin, and Godric Gryffindor himself, if you don’t get out here this instant to ap—oh hello Hermione.” His tone immediately shifted to a pleasant greeting. 

“What the hell are you rattling on about?” Malfoy rounded a corner at the bottom of the stairs. 

“You! You arse! You got married!” The fireworks returned. 

“Hardly.” 

Percy threw a hex at Malfoy which Malfoy deflected effortlessly and threw aside, knocking over a table in the process. 

“Hardly? Hardly?? My best friend made blood bonds with a witch and I wasn’t there!? ” Percy threw another hex, which missed Malfoy and shattered a giant marble statue of what looked like an old family member behind him. 

“Watch it!” 

“Oh piss off, you’ve threatened to break that thing yourself at least three times in the last month. It’s a blasted pain in the arse to walk around and ugly as sin. Good riddance.” 

“It was really nothing, Percy,” Hermione interjected from the top of the stairs. 

“I will strangle you both with her hair!” 

“Hey!!” Hermione scolded, indignant about someone else joining the mockery of her hair.

“You weren’t supposed to do it immediately! I expected the both of you to push back for a few weeks at least!”

“I needed the charms unlocked. I wasn’t about to wait weeks or months for it once I made the decision,” Hermione replied. 

Percy flung another deadly hex toward Malfoy, who deflected again and redirected the flames to nearby curtains. He then smothered the flames in an instant. 

“You’re right, I should have known better than to think that Hermione Granger would have a rational level of self preservation instincts when research is on the line. My fault.” Percy flung another curse, this time something sharp. Malfoy yelped as the hex grazed his shoulder and tore his shirt. 

“Ha!! I got one!!” Percy cried, victorious. 

“Bloody hell, fine. I’m sorry for not inviting you to the fraud blood bonding ritual performed on zero notice in the study so that Granger can read a damned book.” 

“Forgiven, almost. I’ll get the memory from Cissy later.”

“Wouldn’t count on it. She wasn’t thrilled with the informality.”

“Good, you ought to have more than one person around to do this to you.” Percy discreetly transfigured a rose nearby into a shoe and promptly dropped it on Malfoy’s head. 

“Gods you’re insufferably dramatic,” Malfoy said as he turned the shoe back to its rose form and returned it to its nearby vase. “How did you find out so fast?”

“Cissy sent me an owl last night.” A smug smile spread on his face. “You’re right, she’s pissed.” 

Percy turned toward Hermione at the top of the stairs. 

“Lovely to see you, Hermione. Please ensure that I am present for the ministry-approved wedding.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Cissy tells me she sent notice to the Prophet last night.”

Shit. 

“Lucky for you,” he continued, “They managed to squeeze that delicious news onto the front page last minute.” He pulled a copy of the prophet from his suit coat and handed it to Malfoy as Hermione walked down the stairs. 

Malfoy skimmed the page and mumbled, “Fine.” 

Hermione reached out her hand for it. In a thin column next to the main story about the new year at Hogwarts was the title, 

MALFOY MANOR NOW MUDDY

Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger have announced their partnership, much to the shock of wizarding society. Narcissa Malfoy herself submitted the announcement. Hermione Granger, member of the Order of the Phoenix, has agreed to marry the alleged prior death eater. News of the romantic history of both parties has been noticeably slim in recent years, and multiple individuals have speculated that the couple has been seeing one another in secret. 

A formal wedding will be held at Malfoy Manor sometime in the coming year according to Narcissa Malfoy. More details to come and congratulations to the scandalous couple.

Hermione snorted in derision at the headline and stopped reading only a few lines in. Alluding to a slur should be beneath them, but they occasionally sink to new lows. She was relieved that Rita Skeeter wasn’t the one responsible for writing the article at least. 

Percy smiled broadly, this time genuinely. 

“About as good as we could expect! I hope you don’t mind; I retrieved your things for you this morning, Hermione.” He summoned her bag with an extension charm from around the corner, and dropped it at her feet.

“You made the task simple enough, having most everything packed away already due to space constraints. Excellent touch.”

“How did you get in there?” Hermione asked, irritated that Percy had not only gotten into her home, but went through her things. 

“Oh, I provided Laurel a copy of this morning’s paper, and let him know that the happy couple had a late night and could use some rest after all the exertion.” Malfoy’s lip curled as Percy continued, gesturing to himself dramatically. “I told him that Draco sent his best man for the rest of his love’s things.” 

“Get out,” Malfoy hissed. 

“Good morning, Weasley,” a voice behind Hermione spoke coldly. Narcissa. 

“Morning, Cissy. You look lovely this morning.”

Narcissa’s face was unnervingly still. 

“Good, you brought the girl’s things.” 

“Narcissa I’m sorry,” Hermione began, flustered and warm with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to spring this on you. The circumstances were just rather convenient and—“

“Hush.” She waved the hand at her side almost imperceptibly. “Percy, see to it that the ministry isn’t unnecessarily obtrusive when they question her.” 

“Me?” Hermione asked. 

“They’ll inevitably send someone here sometime this week to interrogate you about your sincerity,” Malfoy said coldly. She felt a prickle of anxiety run down her spine. 

“The kitchen is through the door beyond the study. A maid will bring you breakfast and dinner, lunch is at your discretion. Most of the manor isn’t in use, we’ll open up the banquet wing for the wedding. The remainder of the bedrooms are in the main house down the hall. The family crypts are in the basement, and gardens in the back.” Narcissa provided a brief summary. 

“I’m begging you to tell me who you find in the crypts,” Percy whispered. 

“What?”

“Not a Malfoy,” Malfoy said flatly. 

“Oh.”  

Hermione could feel Narcissa’s eyes boring into her. She avoided eye contact until, with a whirl of purple robes, Narcissa vanished again. 

“Tsk tsk,” Percy scolded. 

“Oh bloody hell, what are you still doing here? Remind me to tell Astoria to buy you a leash.”

“Astoria?” Hermione asked. 

“You didn’t know?” Percy asked, with a hint of sincere disappointment. “I suppose; mum has never liked her. But yes, I stole her from him. Told Draco I had to have her. I offered to duel him for her.”

Hermione smiled at the thought. 

“Wedding’s supposed to be soon. Still trying to get mum to promise not to scream during the soul bonding ceremony before we iron out the exact date.” 

Hermione was shocked to hear Percy refer to soul bonding so casually. She could understand why Molly Weasley was not fond of the idea. 

“Well then, best be off,” Percy said as he turned and bounced off toward the study for the floo. 

Malfoy refused to even look at her before turning and disappearing off beyond the door to the kitchen. 

Hermione slowly made her way toward the library. 

“The boy bonded to that mudblood filth, gods she’s wretched.”

“I was sure Lucius taught him better than this.”

“Tssk tssk.” 

Hermione snapped her head to the left and saw three portraits conversing with one another, along with five or six blank squares on the same wall. The wallpaper around the empty spots was notably more faded, indicating that there had been portraits there and they were probably recently removed. 

The angry, elderly paintings were immediately silent when Hermione turned their way.

She was struck with how heavy the space felt, and wandered to the back left corner of the library, wanting to familiarize herself generally with how the library was sorted. 

It was, as expected, immaculately organized. There were carefully designated sections for history, economics, potions, literature, and philosophy. She intended to spend as much time in here as possible, enthralled at the amount of literature she had never seen before, and potions references by authors she had never heard of. 

As she opened a Malfoy family index, she suppressed the anxiety prickling in her gut that she possibly dug herself a hole too deep to climb out of. 

Chapter Text

September 9, 2013

The following morning was a whir of confusion as she woke up at half five in a panic. After scrambling to find her things in the bag Percy had dropped, and a significant amount of cursing at the way he unceremoniously dumped her things, she took the floo to Diagon Alley and made her way to the firm.

The air was immediately tense when she walked in, and she tried to not notice the whispers as she walked by. Several copies of The Prophet could be seen on peoples' desks, and she knew what they were whispering about. 

Most people present, to her relief, did not confront her about her engagement. There were two notable exceptions.  Francie littered Hermione with questions all day about her scandalous engagement. 

“We were all so surprised! I didn’t even know the two of you spoke! None of us did!”

Hermione nodded, trying to not engage with the topic. 

Francie proceeded to fawn over her ring. Why wasn’t there an emerald? What is it like to live in that giant house? How is Narcissa? Where will the wedding be? When Francie asked if Malfoy was a good shag, Hermione slammed her fist into her desk. 

“Francie!” The witch giggled but took the hint and scattered. 

When Montague approached her desk, Hermione debated apparating straight onto the muggle subway system tracks. 

“Well, Hermione Granger, finally won over by a man.” 

“Yes,” she answered curtly as he leaned against her desk. 

“One of these days, you’ll have to fill me in on what a known death eater has that I don’t.” He winked and it made her skin crawl. Bold accusation for him to make considering what he did at Hogwarts during seventh year, and the fact that he always wore long sleeves. When he reached out to bump her shoulder with a rolled up newspaper as a lighthearted gesture, she flinched. 

“Would you like the annotated version?” She asked dryly, refusing to look his way as she spoke.

“Golding wants you to take the mandrake case,” he replied. 

Hermione did her best to contain her irritation. She was fairly certain that Golding did not in fact request that, but she was sure that Montague was ensuring she took the mandrake case out of spite. 

Everyone was avoiding it because it was the worst case available right now for two reasons. 1) Golding’s client had a distinctly worse hand and 2) There was no thrill to be found in a land dispute between neighbors. 

Excellent. 

Work was otherwise uneventful, and by the end of the day, she shuffled paperwork into her bag with a quick swish of her wand, eager to leave. She attempted to be as discreet as possible as she made her way to the floo, but Montague took notice of her standing to leave as soon as she stood up. 

“Hermione! Let me walk you to the door. Shall we grab a bite? I wonder if you have that annotated list for me yet.”

She glared at him, but didn’t answer and shuffled a bit faster. 

“I believe the pub in Diagon Alley opens any minute. If they’re not open yet, I would be fine with Leaky.” 

“Game is over Montague,” she said dryly as she stepped into the lobby. 

“Technically not until the wedding, I’m not that easy to get rid of.” He smiled brightly. “We had a great time that day. We make sense. You’re brilliant, beautiful, we work together, and neither of us enjoys quidditch.” 

“You played quidditch, Montague.” 

“Fine, you don’t like it. And I don’t prefer it anymore.” 

She had never more thoroughly regretted agreeing to a date. A date four years ago that she thought would make him realize they were not compatible. Montague was relentless ever since, despite her numerous rejections. 

When she reached for the floo powder, his hand clasped over her wrist and he yelped as he did so. A nifty charm he hadn’t figured out yet that jolted him with static electricity if he touched her. (She had stolen a bit of his hair a few weeks prior when he fell asleep at his desk.)

She swiftly stepped into the floo with a smile. 

“Grimmauld Place!” 

When she stepped out from the fire, Harry looked up with a smile. 

“Hermione! You’re back soon. What did Andromeda say?”

“Is Ginny here?” Hermione asked. 

“No, she’s at quidditch practice for another half an hour, then we trade and I have to get back to the ministry. Why?”

“Ok, well. Depending on how long this takes I might just need you to pass it on,” she said, secretly relieved that Ginny wasn’t expected at any moment. 

“What happened?” 

“I made a decision.” 

“Well, I figured that much. You have scary-Hermione face on.” 

“Scary Hermione face?”

“You look like that anytime you decide on something dangerous but brilliant. I won’t lie, the brilliant aspect of this plan is still eluding me but you seem convinced.” 

“Oh. Well, yes. I did decide. And… More than that, I sort of did it.” She held up her left hand. 

“You sort of did it?” Harry said, and his jaw dropped as he realized. “You really went through with it? Already??” 

“Just the bonds—”

“Just the bonds?? Hermione that’s the worst part. Merlin you did, you did it.” His eyes widened and he sat down in the chair behind him, putting his head in his hands briefly before tousling his messy hair in frustration. 

“You know I needed to do the bonds in order to work, and since that’s the whole point of this, there wasn’t any point in delaying. There will be a formal wedding too at some point I suppose. But listen, that’s why I’m here.” 

“Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself. “I actually didn’t entirely think you’d do it.” 

“Harry, listen to me!” She clapped to get his attention. He looked up at her and apologetically blinked to indicate that he was listening. 

“That’s why I’m here. Since Malfoy’s end of the bargain is that his public image is improved by being with me, you can’t tell anyone that I did it for work. Ginny too.”

“You can’t be serious,” he grumbled. 

“I’m completely serious! People have to think that this happened organically.” 

“Yes, and next thing we’ll tell people is that Nifflers are generous givers,” he said with an eye roll. 

“Harry, I’m serious. Not a word.” 

“Fine,” he conceded, putting his hands up. 

“Fine. Who else knows?”

“You, Ginny, Neville, Theo, Andromeda, and Percy. Other than that on Malfoy’s end I’m not sure. But that’s everyone I know of. I’ll tell Ron.” 

Harry nodded. “Ok, I’ll make sure Ginny knows. You better get out of here before she gets back and hexes you though.” 

Hermione stepped back into the fire. “Agreed.”

With a whirl of fire and smoke, she stepped inside the fireplace of Neville and Theo’s flat, and called out for both of them. 

“Neville is still at Hogwarts,” Theo muttered as he rounded a corner, nose still in a book. He glanced over the top before continuing. “Something about his rambleweeds and Hagrid’s dog, I’m not entirely sure if I’m being honest.”

“Have I mentioned you are an excellent listener?” Hermione asked sarcastically. 

“I don’t do dirt. He knows that. Whatever mess he’s in is all his,” Theo said as he grimaced and closed his book. 

“So,” he said flatly, his eyes flicking to her left hand for a moment. “I see you have news.” 

“Yes, and a favor. Since part of the bargain is that the public thinks we’re together, no one else can know the full story. So far it’s just you, Neville, Harry, Ginny, and Andromeda. We need to keep it that way.” 

Theo nodded.

“Still seems unlikely to stick but fine.” 

“What do you mean?”

“No offense, Granger, but the majority of people with brain cells aren’t going to believe that there isn’t some ulterior motive here.” 

“Well, I’m doing what I can.” 

“So I see. I talked to Pansy.” 

Hermione’s stomach flipped. 

“Yes? Did she have anything interesting to say?”

“She apparently already knew about the deal from Daphne.” He shrugged dramatically. “Good luck with this secret. I’m afraid it’s already out of hand.” 

She knew from Daphne, who knew from Astoria, who knew from Percy.

“They’re friends?”

“They’ve been dating for years.”

“Really?” Hermione’s eyebrows raised. 

“We’re not a rarity,” Theo said as he lifted his nose indignantly. 

“Obviously, I just wouldn’t have expected them together. Daphne was always nice, relatively speaking.” 

Theo shrugged.

“People will surprise you at times.” 

“What did she say?”

“Not a lot. She was relatively irritable about the whole thing and had some choice names for you.” 

“Me?” 

“She seemed to think that you were using Draco,” Theo shrugged. “Point being, she didn’t have anything overtly negative to say about him. I’m still suspicious, but do with that information what you will.”

Hermione nodded.

“Will you let Neville know?” 

“Yes. It’s late, have you eaten?” He asked. 

“No, but don’t invite me to Leaky or the pub. Montague is probably camped out in Diagon Alley waiting for me. We can go downtown.”

“I wonder if there’s ever been a man as dense as that one.” 

“He cornered me twice today.”

Theo rolled his eyes.

“I’ll rescue you tomorrow for lunch. Neville won’t be out of that greenhouse for another two weeks anyway, and I’ll be damned if I have lunch in there.” 

Hermione smiled in agreement.

September 10, 2013

Hermione heard the floo come to life in the study from her seat in the library

“Andromeda,” Draco mumbled

“Draco.” 

Hermione held her breath, and pressed her back up against the wall, hoping she wasn’t noticed as she listened. She had gotten to the library before Malfoy had taken up residence in the study. 

“My mother is in the greenhouse,” he said flatly. 

“I’m not here for my sister.”

There was the sound of paper shuffling. 

“How then, may I help you dear aunt?”

“Don’t be coy with me, boy. I may be less legendary than my sister for my ruthlessness, but I assure you, my blood is equally Black.” 

“Your affection for broken things and degenerates doesn’t support that assertion, but do go on.” 

“I would like to know what you’re getting from this, and why you did it in secret.” 

Hermione gulped. She had not taken the time to talk to Andromeda yet, but clearly Narcissa had. 

“I believe my mother has already told you the benefits.”

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s no concern of yours.”

“Like hell it’s not.”

“The bonds have been made Andromeda. It’s done.” 

“Why in secret?” She asked again; Her voice became colder. 

“It wasn’t done in secret. It was done the evening the decision was made out of convenience, and because Granger takes her work seriously.” 

“You know she’s muggle born and doesn’t know the gravity of these customs.”

“If you believe Granger to be so naive, perhaps you have overestimated her abilities.” 

“And she tells me you’ve agreed to not consummate the bonds?” 

“You’ve heard correctly.”

“You are the head of House Malfoy. An heir is expected of you.”

“House Malfoy has an heir.”

“Bullshit.”

“You seem fond of that word. I’ll include it in your holiday card this year.”

“Cissa is insistent that you have children to continue your legacy. That won’t change.”

“Won’t it?” Malfoy said, his voice cold. “I believe that since I am now bound to a witch, her options to push the matter have become distinctly more limited.”

“So, you’ve bonded with a witch to hinder your mother’s meddling? A childish maneuver like that should be beneath you.”

“Select any reason you find most believable, Andromeda.”

“Teddy doesn’t deserve this. You’re willing to offload the burden of this hell hole onto him without a thought.”

“Ah yes, we all know that every young man’s worst nightmare is to inherit a fortune.” 

“Don’t evade the point. You know exactly what I mean. If it were just the money, I wouldn’t be here. There’s old blood magic here he will be left to handle because you refuse to.” Andromeda’s voice broke at the end. 

There was the sound of chair legs sliding as Draco presumably stood up from his desk. 

“Since my solutions henceforth have been unacceptable to you, what would you have me do Andromeda?”

“Merlin, you’re an insufferable replica of your father with the tongue to match.”

“My finest qualities, I’m told. If you would prefer Granger’s thoughts on the subject, we may ask her to come in. She is eavesdropping in the library.”

Hermione felt her blood drain as she realized she was not as well protected as she assumed. 

“No need, I’ve had enough of you for the time being.” Hermione heard footsteps as Andromeda stormed back to the floo. As she did, she called to Hermione: 

“Goodbye love! Please visit sooner rather than later.”

There was silence for nearly two minutes. After an extended period without the sound of shuffling paper, Hermione decided that Malfoy must have left. She stood up to slip through the study and leave. When she stepped around the corner and almost walked into him, she nearly screamed and dropped her book. 

“Gods!! You scared me.” 

“Has everyone agreed to keep quiet?” Malfoy asked. 

“Yes. I told you I’d handle it.” 

His jaw tightened.

“And you’re certain?” 

“Yes.”

“What about a secrecy charm?”

“Not necessary.” 

His eyebrows raised.

“Bold.” 

“They’ll stay quiet because they are my friends and I asked them to.”

“People like to talk.”

“True. By the way, I hear that your friends have been talking about me,” Hermione said dryly. 

“If by talking, you mean replying to your friends’ allegations of me, then yes.” 

“They were legitimate concerns and I had every right to get all the information I could before making a decision.” 

“Indeed,” he said flatly, his gray eyes revealed nothing and she found it disconcerting. 

“What about the manor isn’t safe for Teddy?” Hermione asked. 

“Goodnight, Granger,” Malfoy replied, ignoring her question as he slipped out of the study. 

Chapter Text

September 11, 2013

It was strange to return to the manor at the end of the day. All past residences; The Leaky, her flat in London, and Grimmauld place felt more like home than here. 

She briskly made her way to the library after work, trying to forget about the damned mandrakes and instead, immerse herself in the Malfoy records looking for anything related to goblins. She had not seen Malfoy since the morning after she arrived, but a new book on the Malfoy histories was on the table next to the window of the library for her when she arrived each evening. It wasn’t exactly a kind gesture since she wasn’t sure what Malfoy knew, but she accepted nonetheless. And so, she spent yet another day reading about the torture of muggles by some other awful Malfoy ancestor. 

Elf corpses watched her read in the library. She had tried to find a spot away from their dead, black eyes but there wasn’t one; and she considered casting a curtain charm in front of the rows of dismembered heads. 

Today, she couldn’t take their deadly stares and clutched the book she was working through, Malfoy Manor: Foundations, and slipped back out of the library. 

“Well hello there Miss Granger.”

Malfoy and Minister Parry were in the study. 

“Hello.” 

“Draco here was just telling me how well you’re getting on here. I must say most of the wizarding world was stunned to hear of your engagement.”

She nodded.

Of course. 

Malfoy glided to her side and put a hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t seen him in several days, and the touch caught her off guard. She flinched as Malfoy continued.

“As I said, Minister. Granger has settled into life at the manor quite well.” 

Hermione figured that the Minister himself stopping by was not a good sign. 

“Still mind boggling to me. How did Narcissa and Lucius agree to such an arrangement?” The minister asked pointedly. 

“My father’s opinion on the matter hardly matters as he’s an impending corpse in Azkaban. Miss Granger, despite her…” he trailed off and snarled. “Blood status, is one of the brightest witches of the century. Mother has reluctantly come around in hopes that the pairing softens our image.” 

Minister Parry chuckled. 

“Draco, will you excuse us for a moment?” 

Malfoy stiffly squeezed Hermione’s shoulder.

“Of course,” he said before gliding to the door to leave them. 

Minister Parry dropped the charm and met Hermione square in the face. 

“This is highly irregular on all sides, Miss Granger. The ministry needs to know if the Malfoys are putting their noses in places they don’t belong again.” 

Hermione shrugged.

“It’s true,” she muttered. 

Minister Parry’s eyes narrowed.

“You’ll have to convince me, Miss Granger.” 

“I think the Ministry puts too much emphasis on the grudges of children,” she shrugged and tried to come across as nonchalant, doing her best to restrain her urge to ramble. “He is hardly affectionate with his own mother when an audience is present. I sincerely doubt I could convince you of undying, mutual love between us either.”  

Minister Parry didn’t elaborate on his suspicions, and Hermione heard the door click. 

Malfoy slipped back into the room and took a few firm strides to Hermione’s side, stepping behind her and grasping both of her shoulders. 

“Are we finished?” He asked. Parry nodded with a step toward the floo. 

“Yes, I believe we are,” then vanished in a plume of fire and smoke from the mantle.

Malfoy released her shoulders and sat back down at his desk, dipping a quill in ink. He was signing the bottom of parchment she couldn’t read from where she stood, then stuffing envelopes. 

“What do you do anyway?” She asked, remembering that she still wasn’t sure what his job was.

“Not anything of interest,” he murmured. She was irked with his evasiveness. 

“So, a spoiled trust fund man after all.” It felt good to lash out at him. His jaw clenched for a moment, then his demeanor relaxed into arrogance. He sat back in his chair and gestured to the mansion generally, and then to her left hand. 

“Welcome to old money my love,” he barked. “No one worth a damn can  centuries of compound interest. You needn’t worry about running out anytime soon.” He dipped his quill and signed another sheet. 

“Not all old wizarding families have this kind of wealth.” 

Malfoy scoffed in derision.

“If you’re talking about the Weasleys, where do you think the generations of mockery started, Granger? My family has been on the losing side of at least three wars, and still has managed to maintain significant resources.”

“Don’t try to justify how you’ve treated them.”

Malfoy scoffed. 

“Grudges of children,” he said, indicating that he had been eavesdropping. “My criticism of their legacy stands.” 

Hermione’s lips pursed in irritation.

“If you don’t believe me,” Malfoy continued, “you’ll run into the records eventually. The old families overlap so much; You’ll see mention of the Weasley family, and probably the story of the drunken generations that spent and gambled their fortunes away.” 

“They had bad luck is all; they’re not idiots,” she spat angrily. “And to think that Percy considers you a friend.” 

He raised an eyebrow.

“Percy is my friend. But that family has been damned with lazy prats and gambling addicts for generations, and the family lacks the structure and discipline to beat sense into them.” 

Hermione flushed with anger. 

“Tell me Granger, haven’t you wondered why the Weasley’s occasionally couldn’t even afford to buy their children a new wand at times, despite their frugal lifestyle and Arthur’s position at the ministry?”

His eyes narrowed, but Hermione refused to respond. She knew quite well that Arthur was known to frequent the Jack-a-lope tracks, but refused to give Malfoy the satisfaction of acknowledging the gambling. 

“So you think that the Malfoy family has always bred more naturally intelligent, refined folks?” She asked through bared teeth. More blood purity bullshit. 

“It’s a matter of discipline, not breeding. My father was also an imbecile. But tell me again how Ronald Weasley has performed at the ministry since taking over Arthur’s position?” His tone was rigid and cold. 

He poured a shot of firewhiskey and threw it back. Hermione wondered about his drinking habits, noticing he had dark circles underneath his eyes. 

“Bold accusations from the man with a drinking problem and no job.”

He looked up from his work and stood up slowly, walking around the desk to stand directly in front of her. She kept forgetting how tall he had become. 

“If you are so curious about my work, Granger, you may accompany me to my office near the crypts. I assure you, it’s quite dreary,” he glowered. 

Before she could reply, Malfoy wandered back to his desk, then opened what looked like a novel and Hermione took that as her queue to leave. She slipped out of the study and up the back stairs to her room, grabbing a few pasties in a napkin on her way up the stairs.

September 13, 2013

Malfoy quietly followed her into the library to pick through the shelves, presumably to hand her a book instead of leaving it on the table for her. 

“I’d prefer if you didn’t just sulk and pass off homework to me. If you’ve got nothing better to do you may as well help me find something actually useful.” 

Malfoy pursed his lips and glared at her. 

“Thanks, I have no desire to drift off reading about the history of toad curses and muggle blood potions.”

“You’re worse than Harry and Ron.” 

That offended him. 

“We both know they never found a damn thing when you dragged them off into the library. It was well known that those two sods only finished school because of you.” 

“Of course not. But they at least sat with me there sometimes.” 

Malfoy’s lip curled. She wasn’t even sure she wanted his company but she was going stir crazy in this house alone in the evenings, and she was sick of the only eyes around being the dead elves. Even Narcissa was a rare sighting, as she preferred to retire early. 

“Fine,” he declared. He summoned the firewhiskey and a glass with his wand, and opened one of the Malfoy family history books. Hermione again wondered how much he drank. 

“Ah yes, Uncle Malice. Charming bloke. His hobbies included raping muggles and then experimenting on any subsequent muggle children to try to learn why some of them inherited magical abilities, and others didn’t.”

Hermione felt a wave of nausea. She had read plenty of awful things in this room since arriving but it sounded so much worse out loud. 

Malfoy shook his head.

“No Gringotts during his time though.” 

“Right, he was before the first goblin rebellion.”

Malfoy tipped his head, waiting for her explanation. 

“There’s tons of magical history and magical families—all extremely detailed from about 1269 AD after the Wizard’s Council was formed, through today. The last two goblin rebellions occurred during that period.” 

She laid down her parchment with a makeshift timeline.

“But before that—the dark ages—are too vague. There’s some general family history, and mention of another goblin rebellion, but it’s always mentioned in passing as though the reader already knows the details. And I can’t find records of any fortunes prior to that point, deals with goblins, or even wand records.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows raised. 

“Clever, Hermione Granger.” His face was blank. 

“Anyway, I want to know more about that time period. Anything I can find on the first goblin war really.”

“Noted,” Malfoy said flatly and took a swig of firewhiskey before standing up to search for another book. He looked over his shoulder as he got up. 

“I assume you’ve already taken precautions, but be wary of touching strange objects. I’ve removed or broken a lot of cursed artifacts over the years. But there’s hundreds of years of muggle and half-breed hatred built into this place.”

He paused before continuing.

“I think most of it is made useless by your born magical abilities and the blood bonds. But you should watch out.” 

“I don’t trust anything in this house,” she said flatly, thinking back to the fight with Andromeda and Teddy not being safe here. 

Malfoy bowed mockingly as he pulled a book titled Goblin Greed off of the shelf.

“Ah, ladies and gentlemen, the brightest witch of her time has deduced that the death eater’s mansion may, in fact, not be safe for a muggle-born.”

She scowled but accepted the book when he handed it to her.

This became their new normal. She typically left for work earlier than the maid, so she would brew herself some tea in the office. After spending the day trying to dodge Montague and hiding in litigation preparation, she would make her way to the manor’s library and read, waiting for Malfoy to join her in the evening. 

When Malfoy did sit with Hermione, he was quiet, which was surprising. She was used to studying with people who complained through the bulk of it, leaving her to research. Instead, Malfoy had seemingly taken great offense at being compared to Harry, and chose to be a diligent reader. He rifled through books quietly, marking any interesting pages and gently placing them on her side of the table to review. Then he would put the rest away and slip away silently around nine. 

She didn’t realize how much mental energy sifting through stacks of unrelated information drained her ability to problem solve effectively until someone else was doing the grunt work for her. It was irritatingly pleasant.

September 17, 2013

She struggled to stay focused at work, counting down the minutes to leave. She was running late due to yet another heated negotiation between the neighbors on the mandrake case. 

Once back at the manor, she waited until half seven, well after Malfoy usually wandered in. She was restless, and chewed on her thumb nail as she tried to suppress her impatience. Curiosity at what could be keeping him was bubbling up in the back of her mind. 

After rifling through a few books, she found herself becoming more irritable, and decided to brave the crypts (where he mentioned his office was) to investigate. 

Down the stairs from the kitchens, the temperature dropped, and the air felt damp. She heard a sizzling sound coming from down a hallway. 

“What is the filthy thing doing down here!?! She’s even uglier than Morticia said.” 

Hermione jumped, then heard another voice. 

“Look at that hair!! Seven hells, she reeks of muggles. I wouldn’t fuck her either.” Then a cackle. 

Hermione’s face burned. 

There was a whoosh in front of her, then behind her, knocking her off her feet, and laughter erupted. 

Ghosts.

Malfoy had stepped in the hall and she wished not at that moment because she had fallen in a lot of dust and the ghosts had done a thorough job of tousling her hair on the way down. 

She then silently berated herself for being disarmed by Malfoy stepping into the room. 

“Granger? What the hell are you doing down here?”

She brushed dust off her robes and wrapped her hair quickly behind her head into a low bun to dodge his mockery.

“I was looking for you.” 

“I’m working.” 

“On what?”

“Seven hells, just come to the bloody potions room.” 

The room was nearby and, as he had said, near the crypts. She saw rows of caskets in the chamber across from where the sizzling noise was coming from. 

It smelled foul. 

“Oh my!” She exclaimed through choking and coughing. Malfoy smoldered the coals beneath the cauldron and then covered the pot, preventing the mysterious, smelly goo from dissipating further. The cauldron itself looked like it was warping from the concoction. 

“Excellent,” he muttered sarcastically. “I just bought this cauldron.” 

“Draco Malfoy has an actual job?” 

“I do. Of which I’ve spent too much time evading to sit in that fowl library with you every night.” 

She flushed for some reason. He wasn’t wearing his usual tie and his shirt wasn’t tucked in. She pretended not to notice him as he turned his back to roll his sleeves down to his wrists, covering what she knew was probably still on his left forearm. When he was finished, he poured himself another glass of firewhiskey.

The thought occurred to her that he probably worked late because he struggled to get up in the morning due to the liquor. 

She decided to ask again since he was being honest with her for once.

“What do you actually do?”

His eyes narrowed a bit in suspicion, but he answered. 

“I manage potion patents. Sometimes I sample them. I send any interesting prospects to Universities for further analysis. Once the trials are completed, they end up on my desk again to write-up the patent for whoever is registering it.” 

She was annoyed that the work actually sounded interesting. More interesting than she expected for the drunk, arrogant man with the wealth of a small country at his disposal anyway.

“You do all of that while piss drunk?” 

He scoffed. 

The place was unruly, littered with whiskey glasses and parchment notes everywhere. There were a dozen half baked theories on a board on the wall, and a stack of papers that looked like recipes he wanted to test. The walls were covered with a mess of ingredients devoid of any organization. 

There was a dingy chaise in the corner, covered in coats, ties, and more paperwork. She got the impression he slept down here frequently. 

“How can you possibly work here? It’s a disaster.” 

“No one is supposed to be down here,” he retorted. She poured a shot of liquor into one of the glasses sitting out that looked least dusty, and there was an uncomfortable silence. 

“I need to get through at least four more of these tonight,” he said, hinting that she should leave. 

Hermione opted to sit on a spot on the desk that was clear, as the chaise and the desk chair were claimed by clutter. 

“I’m not done,” she declared and grasped the first paper on the pile. “Hmm, hair growth cream.” She peered at the sizzling cauldron. “I believe this sad soul should expect a rejection letter.” She reached for the next page. “Oh, an energizing boost? Supposed to replace the need for sleep for three nights. That would have been useful...” She muttered. 

“The potential side effects of misuse are a problem,” Malfoy replied curtly. He didn’t appear to be particularly pleased to have her in his secret office. 

Hermione read the bottom of the page. Risk of coronary explosion if used more than three consecutive times.

“Yes, that would be a problem,” She murmured. “But people should follow instructions.” 

Malfoy shook his head.

“A recreational potion needs a higher margin of safety and less dire consequences for misuse. But the recipe was elegant and easy to reproduce. I assumed it could be scaled back.” 

Malfoy rubbed the back of his neck and Hermione felt a surge of anxiety for some reason. 

“Sorry about the ghosts,” he said after a long pause. “They’re… not delighted with the situation. I’ve blackmailed them into staying in the dungeons figuring you wouldn’t come down here.” 

“Stop, please,” she said. 

“What?”

“Being nice to me. It’s disconcerting.” 

Malfoy took a swig of liquor and reached for the next sheet. 

“If you’re going to be down here, get your own damn cauldron off the shelf then. I could use the alleged Granger work ethic to get through these.” 

Hermione scowled. 

“Alleged??” She cried in mock offense, then asked, “How do you know I won’t screw something up?”

Malfoy chuckled. 

“There are many people I wouldn’t allow down here for fear of blowing up the manor. You are not on that list. Besides,” he held up his whiskey glass, “I’m piss drunk, remember?” 

Hermione covered her face to hide a laugh because Malfoy wasn’t funny. He was barely tolerable company. 

It was two in the morning before Hermione realized the time and scrambled upstairs. She had completely let the evening get away from her. 

This routine alternated for the next few days and Hermione found it oddly pleasant, even though it was Draco Malfoy she was spending so much of her free time with, and they rarely spoke more than a dozen words each night. He would help her try to find additional clues for her research in the library, and the next night she would help him test a few new potions. 

It wasn’t awful, which surprised her. 

Chapter Text

September 18, 2013

Percy and Draco were in the study and appeared to be well into a bottle of firewhiskey when she got back from work the following night. 

“Hermione! Excellent. We were just making plans.” 

“There's no ‘we,’” Draco interjected. 

“For what?” She asked, narrowing her eyes at Percy. 

“Your birthday.” 

“And?” She did not like where this was headed.

“And lucky for you, I love to throw a party.”

“No thank you," she said politely and started to leave. 

“Hand it over,” Malfoy muttered, palm open toward Percy. 

“Hand what over?”

“Five galleons,” Malfoy said flatly. 

“So, you bet that I wouldn’t want a party?” She said in an irritated tone. 

“I believe his words were that you’ve ‘never been known as the life of a party’ before, and that yes, you’d turn down the suggestion,” Percy said begrudgingly as he dropped five coins into Malfoy’s palm. 

Hermione scowled and turned her head to Malfoy to glare. 

“For your information, I happen to already have plans.”

“Oh? And what might those be?” Percy asked. 

“None of your business.”

“Nonsense. Everything is my business. I’m a politician. My job is to be a pain in your arse.”

“I happen to have plans to go to a pub in London.”

Percy began guessing the guest list. 

“Hmm. I would assume that the guest list includes Harry, Ginny, Ron, Neville and Theo, obviously. George possibly” Percy nodded to himself as he listed names. “Oh, and also Draco and I will—.”

“—no.” Hermione interrupted. 

Percy nodded.

“It’s no trouble, we shall drop in, irk you with birthday wishes, and dash.” 

“We will be doing nothing of the sort,” Malfoy snarled. 

“We most certainly will. Would be a shame if anyone found out about fourth year now wouldn’t it?”

“What happened in fourth year?” Hermione asked. 

“Nothing,” Malfoy replied through bared teeth. “You wouldn’t dare,” he growled to Percy. 

“Willing to gamble with the odds, Malfoy?” Percy winked. “You talk too much when drunk.”

“Do you always make fully detailed plans behind people’s backs and then present them to people as a half baked idea?” Hermione asked. 

Percy and Malfoy replied at the same time with:

“Of course not,” and “Yes.”

September 19, 2013

Hermione had bitten her nail down to the nail bed so far that it burned a bit. When she stepped into the pub, half a dozen people tried to hug her at once. 

“Hello, Hermione,” a soft voice spoke. Hermione smiled at Luna, and she felt a swell of happiness for her sweet friend who, at that moment, wasn’t looking at her with any judgment or suspicion. Just regular Luna. 

She leaned in and whispered into Luna’s ear.

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” she said with a smile. "Besides, his hair is lovely." 

Strange compliment. 

Hermione ignored that.

“Hi, Hermione.” She turned to see Harry, and stepped forward to hug him, burying her face in his neck. 

“Are you alright?” He whispered, concerned. She nodded into his shoulder. 

When she brought her head back up, she felt a hand on her wrist yank her away from the group, and looked up to see Ginny dragging her off to a secluded corner. 

“Hermione!” She cried in a shrill whisper. Hermione’s heart began to pound with anxiety. 

“Ginny, I can expl—”

“You bloody cunt!! You just go off with that and no warning?? You have quite the nerve!” 

“You’re mad.”

“Of course I’m mad! I found out you agreed to this insanity through The Prophet, and then you have Harry swearing me to secrecy!” 

“It wasn’t quite like that,” Hermione said hesitantly. 

“Don’t make me hex you.” 

“I um…” She looked down to her feet. “I mean mostly we just did the whole whole blood bonds thi—”

“You what?!” Ginny screeched. 

“Didn’t Harry tell you?” 

“He might have mentioned it but in his defense, I was busy cursing through all of the updates I had thrown at me that day!”

“Everything alright over there?” Percy’s voice cut through the crowd. 

Hermione dropped her head into the palm of her hand. 

“What the bloody hell is he doing here?” Ginny grumbled looking over Hermione’s shoulder. “Gods, you invited Malfoy?”

“I did not,” Hermione protested. “I’m fairly certain he’s here against his will. Apparently one of Percy’s hobbies is tormenting Malfoy; which, I have to admit, is an aspirational hobby. I just wish I wasn’t the source of it lately.” 

“Shall I rescue you?” Percy called out. 

“Go away please!” Hermione called back. 

“So, you also had to make promises through the grapevine?” Neville said as he approached. 

“Apparently,” Ginny replied with a grumble, following Neville to the table the crowd had gathered at. 

“Hey Hermione.” Ron. 

Ginny had apparently had enough.

“Oh for the love of Merlin,” and stopped at the bar to order a drink.

Malfoy already obtained a glass of firewhiskey and was sipping his drink while refusing eye contact with anyone. 

“The two of them are impulsive gits, that’s what. I wasn’t even invited,” Percy said as he lifted his glass. “I spent half an hour throwing hexes at Draco the morning after they made blood bonds.”

“You what??” Ron was aghast, looking to Hermione for confirmation. 

Harry scratched the back of his head nervously, and Hermione willed him to shut up. 

“Gods. Fine. Yes. We made blood bonds already. The public wedding won’t be for a few months. It’s not as thrilling as you all are making it seem," Hermione rambled in an attempt to explain.

“Yes, loads of sense. Especially considering his history with you. Nothing at all to be concerned about,” Ron said sarcastically with an eye roll. 

The air in the room became stiff. 

“Are you implying something?” Malfoy asked calmly. 

“Ron, Hermione has—”

“—Well, you did sell her out to your crazy aunt who tortured her, so, yes. I would think her safety would come into question actually,” Ron interrupted Harry. 

Malfoy’s jaw tightened. 

“Let it go, Ron,” Percy said firmly, his lighthearted tone was unusually cool. 

“So, we’re all just pretending that this is fine?”

“Granger isn’t a hostage, Weasley,” Malfoy said through gritted teeth. 

“Like hell she’s not. You made her do ritual bonds with you? So she can’t leave? Sounds like a hostage to me.” 

“Or maybe she prefers my company to yours after the novelty of childhood wares off.” 

Hermione shot Malfoy a threatening glare. 

“This isn’t the time,” Harry said. “Hermione, we’ll be right back,” he said as he grabbed the collar of Ron’s shirt to drag him off and berate him. 

There was an awkward silence. 

“Malfoy didn’t tell her who I was,” Hermione finally said. 

“What?” George said. 

“Technically it…” Narcissa. “I don’t want to talk about details. But just so everyone is clear. Malfoy isn’t the one who revealed who I was. Someone else did.”

She silently hoped that Harry was reminding Ron of that fact as well. 

The room was silent for what felt like an unbearably long minute. When Harry and Ron returned, Ron was irritable but notably silent. Their relationship had been strained at best ever since they broke up, and Hermione grimaced. 

When Ginny broke the silence finally, Hermione vowed to hex her tea with a laxative before her next quidditch game. 

“Alright, at least tell me if the sex is worth it. I might forgive you for not telling me sooner if you share some villainous sex stories.” 

The room erupted with laughter. Harry bit his lip trying to contain his, and when he accidentally met eyes with Hermione, he shrugged. 

Hermione silently hexed all drinks at the table with essence of bitters, with the exception of Luna and Malfoy as they refrained from laughing. 

“Excellent, Ginny. I think they need to be bullied in pairs. Draco has refused to give details,” Percy said with a twinkle in his eye. Hermione could have slapped him. 

Malfoy’s face was completely unreadable.

Occlumency.

Damn him. 

Hermione on the other hand, felt blazing hot with embarrassment. 

Ginny noticed both reactions, and smiled smugly. 

Neville was the next to sip his drink and began choking.

“What the hell, Hermione?” 

She smirked. Percy and Ron took a drink at the same time. Percy dropped his glass as he grimaced, and Ron spluttered a string of curse words. 

The corner of Malfoy’s mouth turned upward as he took another sip. Ron looked aghast when he realized that she hadn’t cursed Malfoy’s drink as well. 

“So, seriously when did this start?” George asked. 

“A few weeks ago. Can we talk about something else?” Hermione asked. 

“No one else has gossip,” Ginny replied. 

“You’ve never been anything less than efficient, Hermione. Good on you.” George waggled his eyebrows. 

“When did you even get here??” Hermione asked. 

“Don’t you have a game this weekend?” Neville asked Ginny, attempting to change the subject. 

“Not until tomorrow. So, who was at the wedding?”

“It wasn’t a wedding,” Hermione grumbled. 

Both Hermione and Malfoy jumped and shook out their hands from an electrical jolt. There was a splash of spilled firewhiskey, and Hermione looked to Percy to see his wand drawn. 

“Bollocks! The other wedding Cissy is planning is the fake one. You only get to make blood bonds once.”

“So, was anyone there?” Harry asked. 

“Just Narcissa,” Hermione answered, becoming annoyed that Malfoy wasn’t engaging with the conversation. 

“Not your parents?” Luna asked. 

“No,” Hermione said firmly.

“Can’t believe anyone does blood bonding anymore,” Ginny said, glaring at Percy. 

Neville and Theo both suddenly were avoiding eye contact and sipping their drinks. 

“Well it’s not like mum and I have been fighting about linen colors,” Percy replied. 

“It’s those damn estates. The families are relentless about it,” Neville sighed. 

“Still, I’m surprised Narcissa agreed to it, all things considered,” Theo said, alluding to her muggle-born background. 

The room became a buzz of pleasant conversation again, with the exception of Malfoy who silently drank his firewhiskey at the end of the table. 

“You’re really ok?” Harry asked tentatively when they ended up in conversation alone. 

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Have you checked the manor for bargle beasts yet?” Luna asked, cutting into the conversation. 

“The what? Er—no, I haven’t.”

“Remind me to lend you a niffler,” Ginny said, sipping her wine. “Just to see what it brings back.” 

As the evening wore on, Hermione became more and more relaxed. After an hour or so, Percy had taken advantage of Hermione returning to the bar for another drink to steal her seat, leaving the only available seat next to Malfoy. 

Arsehole. 

Hermione silently cast a charm to remove the screws from one of the chair legs on his seat a few minutes after sitting down. 

Percy collapsed onto the floor with sufficient drama, and she lifted her nose indignantly. Grey eyes darted her way momentarily, and Malfoy smirked again briefly. He appeared to be the only one at the table who noticed her meddling. 

“How long is he making you stay?” She mumbled his direction. He stared blankly, face forward.

“There’s a strong likelihood that I’ll be seeing you home against my will,” he hissed. 

Harry and Ginny left first to get back to their kids. Then Luna, followed closely by George, Neville, and Theo. 

Ron stubbornly stayed through the night’s entirety until only he, Percy, Hermione, and Malfoy remained. 

“Well, we should be off,” Percy said, gesturing to Ron. 

Ron was glaring at Malfoy with intense distaste. He stopped briefly to turn to Hermione. 

“Shall we go to a joint in London?”

Hermione hesitated. 

“It’s getting late,” she replied. 

“We don’t have to be out much longer. Besides, if you drink too much to safely floo or apparate, you can always stay at my flat.” 

“No,” Malfoy said stiffly. 

“I didn’t invite you. Blood bonds don’t prevent her from staying out late with a friend, Malfoy.” 

Malfoy turned his head to Ron, and his gray eyes darkened a bit. 

“True. But they absolutely preclude her from spending the night with her ex.” 

Well that’s dramatic and untrue. 

“Ron—“

“—We haven’t dated in years,” Ron protested. 

Malfoy held his ground, glaring intently at Ron. 

“Let’s get lunch here tomorrow, Ron,” Hermione suggested. Ron didn’t even look her way. 

“We’re friends. Whatever this is between you two doesn’t change that,” Ron said bitterly to Malfoy. 

“Whatever this is?” Malfoy said and tipped his head. 

Ron opened his mouth to press further but before he could, Malfoy offered his hand to Hermione. She reluctantly accepted to avoid Ron picking a fight and pressing her to stay with him for the evening. Malfoy’s hand twitched when she placed her hand in his. 

“One on the hour tomorrow,” she muttered to Ron. 

Both she and Malfoy stood up, and once on their feet, he offered his arm to escort her out the door. She accepted and followed him without checking behind for Ron. Her anxiety flickered at the feel of Malfoy’s robes, and the smell of his cologne when she stepped so close to him. 

As soon as they stepped out of the pub, she withdrew and they wandered to a secluded place to apparate back to the manor. 

When they arrived back to the study, Malfoy turned quickly to leave. As he did, he mumbled “Goodnight, Granger” over his shoulder.

She left moments later, making her way up to her room. When she stepped inside, there was a red dragonhide bound notebook on the desk along with a new, dark blue feathered quill. 

Inside the notebook was an inscription. 

Granger,

Your loose parchment notes have overtaken the library. Condense them. 

-Malfoy

Chapter Text

September 20, 2013

It was half past one as Hermione sipped her drink before Ron finally walked through the door, nodding a greeting to a few people on his way in as he did so. 

He swiftly found the seat in front of her and nodded curtly. After a long silence, he finally spoke up. 

“You going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

“There’s nothing to tell. I’d rather just spend some time with my friend, which was what you wanted last night.” 

“Come off it, Hermione.”

She considered telling him the whole story, but the way his jaw was tightened and his eyes irritable, she decided against it and went with a half truth. 

“It makes more sense than you might think.”

“Malfoy?”

“Yes.”

“Like hell it does.” 

“Ron.” 

“I can’t believe you of all people have been dating him.” 

“We haven’t been seeing each other,” she mumbled. “It’s a professional arrangement. Besides, the manor is more secure than my flat was, and doesn't put anyone's kids in danger if death eaters send more unpleasant visitors.” 

Ron snorted in derision. 

“What do you care?” She asked. “We haven’t dated in years, and you’re with Katie now. You acting like a jealous prat doesn’t help your situation.”

It was well known that Hermione was a sore spot with Katie. 

“Leave her out of this,” he snarled. “I’m not jealous. You just deserve better.”

“I won’t leave Katie out of this. It’s not right to her that you act like this about all of my dates.” 

“Well, you keep dating pretentious wankers," he muttered with an eye roll. “They’re not your type.” 

“How would you know? Just because I dated you? Maybe you’re the exception, not the rule.” 

She could feel her blood pressure rising. 

“It’s not like I approve of your type but you don’t see me criticizing you for it. You and I were just never compatible. It’s why we didn’t work out, and I wish you’d just let it go so that we can both move on.” 

“Why do you assume I haven’t moved on?”

Hermione didn’t reply right away, as she didn’t want to admit that Harry had told her a few things from after their breakup. She also didn’t have any recent evidence anyway. 

“It’s just an assumption based on how irritable you get when I have a date," she muttered as she chewed her thumb nail. “Plus, Ginny has said that Katie wants to get married but you’re dragging your feet.” 

Ron sighed.

“There’s no rush. I don’t know why that’s an issue.” 

“Because you’re in your thirties, settled in your careers for now at least, and I’m sure she wants kids.” 

He looked a little ill at that statement. 

“Don’t give me a panic attack.” 

“What’s the big deal? I thought that’s what you wanted. You’re doing well at the ministry, you have a nice flat together in London, you’ve lived together for years now. I don’t see the issue.”

Ron looked as though his mind wandered off for a minute before he sighed again. 

“I suppose so. It’s just—not what I imagined.” 

“What isn’t?”

“I thought I’d be doing something different with my life. Not just working at the Ministry,” he confessed. "I hoped I'd have more of my life sorted out first."

She bit her tongue to keep from commenting on his habitual lack of goals. 

“Well, that sounds like a you issue and not something to put on Katie. Think about it.” 

Ron nodded.

“I better get back anyway, Percy has set up something with the department of mysteries, something to do with ancient muggle artifacts? I’m honestly not entirely sure, his explanation was really long.”

Hermione nodded, and the two of them hugged briefly before going their separate ways. It didn’t exactly feel like closure, but it was sufficient for now. 

Smoke dissipated as Hermione returned to the study after work, and Narcissa was seated on the green sofa reading a book. 

“You’re back,” she said flatly. 

Hermione nodded.

“I’ll be out of your way,” she said briskly while trying to rush out of the study. 

“Wait,” Narcissa said calmly. When Hermione turned, Narcissa gestured curtly to the chair across from the sofa. Hermione hesitantly sat down, bracing for the worst. 

“Will your parents be available in May?” She asked bluntly. 

“What?”

“Your parents. For the wedding.” 

“Oh. Er, no.” 

“Fine then. April.”

“No, I mean, they’re not available at any time. So, don’t plan around them.” 

Narcissa’s eyebrows lowered a bit, but she refrained from asking why not, for which Hermione was grateful. 

“Alright. Dress robes. You’ll wear traditional black?”

“Traditional?” Hermione asked. 

“White was inspired by muggle traditions, not wizarding ones. We wear black.”

“Oh. Yes, that’s fine.” 

“I’ll need measurements. Mary will take yours tomorrow.” 

“Ok.” 

“I’m also considering having the drawing room redone,” she said flatly. “It’s never been to my taste, but Lucius refused to allow any changes to it. I figure he’s been gone long enough now.” Her eyes snapped to Hermione’s without moving her head. “Shall I change anything in particular?”

The question was pointed, and Hermione briefly wondered if this was intended to be an olive branch from Narcissa. 

“Oh. Erm…” She considered the broken tile that flashed in and out of her vision in her nightmares, and her blood pressure began to rise. “No thank you.” 

Narcissa tipped her head just slightly.

“You haven’t any ideas?” 

“What did you take??” As Hermione’s head thrashed, the tile floor flashed in and out of her vision. Tile and black curls.

Hermione closed her eyes to hide tears that started to burn.

“No.” 

Narcissa said nothing, and Hermione waited a few moments before opening her eyes. When she did, the white witch was already gone. 

She stood up and began to hurry out of the study as Malfoy entered. 

“Excuse me,” She mumbled as she tried to move past him, but before she could cross the threshold of the door, his hand firmly clasped around her wrist. Her throat started to burn and she attempted to yank free. 

“Granger.” 

“Let me go.” 

“What did she say to you?”

“Just let me go please.” 

Malfoy tugged on her wrist, pulling her toward him.

“Not until you tell me what she said.” 

The urge to fight was taking over and she tugged more urgently. Panic was settling into her throat and her breathing was getting shallow. 

“Let me go!” Her voice cracked. She bared her teeth and drew her wand, and Malfoy released her. 

“Wait here," he said flatly, silently disapperating.

Hermione’s ears started ringing and she dug her nails into her wrist until she felt the skin break. Her vision became less and less focused, and there was no air in the room to gulp. She screamed and flung her wand to the right, sending a vase in the study crashing into the wall, spilling the water and flowers within it. 

The sound of the crash made her heart flutter with something other than fear. She reached for the little table inside the door and kicked it. It clattered satisfyingly onto the floor along with the books that were resting there. 

“Granger.” There was a hand on her shoulder and she swung around and slapped Malfoy reactively. 

He flinched on impact but didn’t retaliate. His hand caught hers after the swing, and he pressed a vial into her palm. 

“Drink it.”

Hermione’s heart was pounding in her ears, and she stared at the vial, trying to process what it was. 

“It’s calming drought. Drink it.” 

She eagerly opened the vial and poured the contents into her mouth, then closed her eyes. Within seconds, she felt warmth flooded her body as her blood pressure decreased, and her skin stopped vibrating. She could hear, and breathe. 

“What did she say?” He asked again. 

Hermione didn’t answer, and instead fixated her gaze on a tassel on the rug.

“Granger.” 

“She asked about making changes to the drawing room. I don’t want to talk about it!” She barked. 

He nodded in acknowledgement but didn’t ask further, then his eyes flickered to her forearm. Hermione reflexively touched her sleeve to make sure her scar was covered, and instead found the blood red, crescent shaped marks on her wrists. She pulled her sleeve down further. 

“If she says anything out of turn, you will tell me.” 

“I have to go,” Hermione mumbled, and turned toward the stairs to her room. 

Half an hour later, there was a knock on her door. 

“Go away,” she mumbled. Another knock. She stood up from her seat and made her way to the door, mentally preparing a monologue about wanting to be left alone. When she opened the door, she found no one. Instead, there was a tray on the floor with a pot of tea and an arrangement of milk, honey, and sugar. 

Hermione gratefully picked up the tray and retreated back to the safety of her room, closing the door behind her. 

September 21, 2013

After an irritating Saturday morning at the firm, Hermione floo’d back to the manor where she planned to spend her Saturday afternoon studying. When she landed, Malfoy was at his desk and pretended not to notice her.

“Thank you for the tea,” she muttered. 

He nodded. 

“Someone is here about dress robes. Proceed with caution.” 

“Already caught you?”

“Twice,” he replied irritably. 

“Dungeons?” Hermione said. 

He looked up at her and seemed to be trying to decide whether or not she was serious.

“Yes,” he agreed and maneuvered quickly out from his desk. 

When they stepped out of the study to make for the stairs in the kitchen, Hermione could hear Narcissa’s footsteps above them. She almost bumped into Malfoy as she stepped into the stairwell when she heard Narcissa speaking. She stepped close enough that her nose brushed the back of his shirt. 

“Will she look for me down here?” Hermione asked. 

“Probably not,” Malfoy replied as he grabbed a glass and poured his firewhiskey. “I’m not even sure she knows you’ve ever been down here.” 

He sat down in the hard chair, leaving Hermione the chaise. 

“For once I don’t have any trials to brew. Everything else is upstairs.” 

Hermione nodded.

“I dropped my work bag in the study as we ran. Everything else is in the library.” 

Malfoy’s firewhiskey was suspiciously low already, and he eyed the door.

“They already cornered me. You’ve no need for me down here.”

“How long do I have to hide?”

“A few hours at least," he replied. 

There was an awkward silence. 

“Do you have any books down here?”

Malfoy shook his head. His thoughts seemed to wander for a moment. 

“You haven’t mentioned your parents.” 

“No.”

“Do they know?”

“No.”

“Do you plan on telling them?”

“Considering they don’t know who I am, no,” she immediately regretted saying too much.

Malfoy met her gaze, and said nothing. 

“I obliterated them during the war to make sure no one found them. But it was too intricate to undo,” she said to fill the silence. 

“How intricate?” He asked. 

“As far as they know, they never had me. I removed myself from their memories, and gave them the sudden motivation to move to Australia.”

Draco blinked.

“Just yourself?”

“What?”

“You only removed yourself from twenty years of memories?”

“Eighteen. And yes. I couldn’t risk it.” 

Draco smirked and Hermione’s blood boiled at the thought of it being funny that she had essentially orphaned herself. 

“Bloody hell, Granger. There are experts at the ministry that struggle to remove a week’s worth of memories without triggering insanity. Removing a single person from twenty years of existing memories shouldn’t be possible.”

“Eighteen, and like I said, too complex to undo. Why potions?” She asked, changing the subject. 

“My career options were limited. Why law?”

“It was either that or healing. And I had S.P.E.W.”

Another pause.

“Didn’t you have a cat?” Malfoy asked. 

“Crookshanks. Yes. He was part Kneezle. He died a couple years ago.”

“I’m running out of subjects,” he said irritably.

Hermione flung herself onto the chaise in a huff, and twisted her mane around itself, attempting to contain it in a bun. 

“Do you know a way out?” She asked. 

“Are you suggesting we sneak out like children?”

“I’m sorry, would you prefer to go upstairs and discuss wedding plans?”

“Point taken.”

“How do you get out of here?”

“There’s a tunnel that exits near the forest on the east side.”

“Excellent. I’m starving and could use a trip to The Leaky.” She stood up and brushed her robes off. 

“You’re going to drag me out of here to go to that rubbish?”

“I’m not dragging you anywhere. You can come with and attempt to be pleasant, or you can stay here and sulk. I distinctly remember running into you at that rubbish place on occasion over the years, so, there must be something there you can tolerate.” Hermione turned toward the door.

“Fine.” He stood up to follow. 

Hermione heard murmurs of mudblood, foolish boy, and beastly from the ghosts as they wandered past the dungeons and the crypts, and down the tunnels. 

The tunnel exit was just outside the forest as Malfoy had promised. They quickly emerged and ran for the forest. 

“Apparate to the alley?” She said once they crossed into the forest from the manor’s property line. Malfoy nodded. 

Both landed in Diagon Alley with a light crack. Relieved to be out of Narcissa’s potential eyeshot, she leaned toward Malfoy and whispered:

“How did you blackmail the ghosts anyway?”

“Most of them only have one old friend’s portrait remaining.” 

“What happened to the rest?”

“Percy and I hosted a family bonfire a few years ago.”

Hermione covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. 

“Morticia still does as she pleases, but she also tends to keep to herself. I recommend staying out of the attic," he said as they stepped through the door of The Leaky Cauldron. When they sat down at a table near the far window, Hermione could feel all eyes glancing their way. Some tried to be more subtle than others. 

“Maybe this was a mistake,” she mumbled over the table. 

“My half of our bargain is that you be seen in public with me, Granger. That being said, if Rita Skeeter walks in here you have my full support silencing her again.” 

“How do you know about that?” She barked. 

Malfoy smirked. 

“I was one of the prats whispering rumors in her ear. At one point during her time off, I overheard her complaining about how a bratty child with wild hair blackmailed her, and only one name came to mind.”

“She’s an unregistered animagus. I made an indestructible jar and trapped her there. Made her promise to take a year-long sabbatical.”

“So, you just casually imprisoned a witch in fourth year.”

“I suppose so.”

The two of them ordered food and drinks. 

“Alright, so what else have you done that will make me regret letting you live in my house?”

“I technically swore loyalty to you so, I’m pretty sure I can’t kill you.” 

“Based on what I know of you thus far, I’m not convinced.” 

“Hmm… I’m not sure. Second year I made polyjuice potion successfully. I was rather proud of that.”

“Less impressive.” 

“I dated a professional quidditch player.”

“Yes, but did he ever learn how to pronounce your name?”

“Oh! I set professor Snape on fire in first year when we thought he was trying to kill Harry.”

Malfoy blinked twice, then the corner of his mouth turned up a bit as he lifted his drink.

“The fact that you say that so brightly is extremely disconcerting, Granger.”

“How did Harry’s testimony keep you and Narcissa out of Azkaban?” She asked, changing the subject. 

Malfoy shrugged.

“Our case was self defense, and trying to keep each other alive. All Harry’s testimony did was provide outside evidence that it was true.” 

“So, they just let you off the hook?”

“No. I was on probation for five years and am barred from working in politics or education. As is my mother.”

“What about you and Percy? How did that happen?”

“We’re not dating, Granger.” 

“You know what I mean.”

“Sometimes mother provides the manor as a venue for fundraisers or events. He made himself a fixture after a while.” 

There was another pause, and Malfoy had taken to brushing the rim of his empty glass on his lip again, which Hermione had learned by now was a nervous tick. 

“Find anything else on the goblins?” He asked, changing the subject. 

“No,” she sighed. “I’m going to contact Professor Flitwick to see if he can tell me anything about the rebellion histories.” 

Malfoy nodded, and the two of them fell back to uncomfortable silence. 

“Why’d you agree to this, anyway?” She asked. 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. 

“I mean, you haven’t seemed to care much about public perception in the last decade. And it was clearly Percy’s idea. But, why did you agree to it now?”

His eyes met hers.

“Because you’re a brilliant witch, and I’m bored.” 

Hermione flushed at the compliment, despite him being abrasive about it. 

“Did Draco Malfoy of all people just compliment me?” She mocked. 

“Just to be clear, you’re exhausting as well.”

“So, you blood bonded with a witch for entertainment? That’s your explanation?”

“It’s less ridiculous than blood bonds for work.” He paused. “Don’t tell the Weasel. I can’t stand his meddling.” 

Malfoy irritably dropped a few coins onto the table, then set down his glass and stood up, indicating that he was finished before slipping out of the building. 

Chapter Text

September 22, 2013

Hermione heard the floo activate as she read, only to be immediately irritated by the sound of Percy’s voice calling out for Malfoy. 

When he rounded the corner of the library doors and saw her, he waved cheerily. 

“Morning, Granger. Where’s the ferret?” 

Hermione shrugged. She rarely saw Malfoy in the morning and figured he was drunkenly passed out somewhere still considering it was hardly six o’clock. 

“I swear to Merlin, if he makes us late…” Percy grumbled, then let his eyes wander once over Hermione. “You’re not ready either.”

“Ready for what?”

“Oh, bloody hell—Draco!!” He yelled and stormed around the corner. Hermione stood up to follow curiously, and stepped into the study as she heard stomping in the kitchen. Percy might not have been allowed in the crypts but she wondered if the potions room was an exception. 

When she rounded the corner, a blonde woman a bit younger than Hermione was standing by the floo in a wool coat, hat, and thick denim jeans. 

“Oh. Hello.” The woman who was clearly Astoria tipped her head in confusion and similarly glanced at Hermione's attire. 

“Hello,” Hermione said quietly as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear again. 

“What’d I miss?” Hermione finally asked after a giant BANG downstairs made them both jump. 

“Draco didn’t say?” She asked. 

Hermione shook her head. 

Astoria nodded.

“He… He’s never been a morning person.” 

There was frantic rustling up the stairs and loud clattering down the hall before Percy rounded the corner, looking out of breath and slightly worse for wear. Hermione could have swore there was a singed burn mark that wasn’t on his coat a few minutes ago. Malfoy rounded the corner behind Percy, also wearing a warm coat, and looking slightly hung over. 

“You, coat. Hurry up,” Percy snapped, pointing at Hermione. “I’ll explain on the way.” 

“Granger doesn’t like flying,” Malfoy said flatly. Hermione was slightly taken aback that he knew that about her. 

“So, that’s your excuse for not inviting her?” Percy said tartly. Malfoy shrugged and Percy turned his head back to Hermione. “Just get your coat and any other layers you want for a cold outing. Daphne and Pansy are probably already there.” 

“He’s right, I don’t like flying,” she was admittedly curious about what the fuss was about, but Malfoy was refusing to look at her and she did not want to intrude on their plans. 

“Go ahead. Hermione and I will meet you there," Astoria said kindly, which sounded infinitely more painful than just following the group. Hermione jumped. 

“Merlin, fine. I’ll be back in five minutes.” She apparated to her room, quickly pulled on a pair of wool socks, pulled a wool coat over her robes, and stuffed a beanie in her pocket. She appeared back in the study to see everyone else waiting by the floo. 

“Interlaken!” Astoria and Percy vanished in a flash. Malfoy vanished right after. Hermione momentarily debated not following, but decided against the inevitable fight with Percy. 

“Interlaken.” 

She emerged from the floo into the resort in the Swiss Alps. There was a brief shuffling of wands as she stepped through the floo, documenting travel across borders. Once settled, she saw Astoria, Percy, Malfoy, Pansy, and who she assumed to be Daphne to her left. 

Percy smiled and waved to her as she cautiously stepped toward the group, and suddenly she felt like a kid starting at a new school where everyone else already knew one another. 

“Daphne, Hermione,” Percy said, quickly introducing the two for which she was grateful as she couldn’t remember Daphne. “You remember Pansy.” 

“You’re late,” Pansy said in a clipped tone. Percy pointed at Malfoy. 

“Hex him, you know he doesn’t wake up. And he didn’t even tell Granger so neither of them were ready.” 

Pansy glanced over at Hermione before turning back to Percy.

“I thought she hated flying?”

“Why does everyone else know this and not me? For Merlin’s sake she dated my brother.” 

“You didn’t take flying classes with her,” Malfoy shrugged. 

Hermione scowled.

“It’s not like I can’t fly, I just don’t prefer to. Where are we going?” She asked, feeling a little uneasy about being in the mountains while having this conversation. 

“Unicorn migration,” Pansy replied. 

Daphne shrugged.

“They’re her favorite.” 

“You all would agree if you had any class,” Pansy snapped. 

“It’s what, forty miles around the mountain?” Astoria asked. Hermione’s stomach lurched. 

“Yep.” 

“Six brooms then?” Percy asked. 

“Five,” Daphne replied. “The wind makes me uneasy. I’ll ride with Pansy.” 

Percy looked to Hermione for confirmation and her heart was pounding in her ears. There was no way she would be able to fly forty miles in the wind. 

“I—um—actually, I’m not really—”

“—Four,” Malfoy said flatly. When she snapped her head in his direction, grey unreadable eyes met hers. “Unless you want to drive,” he said with a mocking drawl. 

Hermione shook her head, and Percy turned toward the desk at the far corner to retrieve their brooms. 

Hermione was slowly retreating to the floo when Percy returned with brooms. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at her. 

She sighed and rejoined the group as Percy handed out brooms and they walked toward the terrace to take off. 

The cool wind immediately sapped into her bones, and she cast a warming charm over herself before putting her hair in a braid quickly behind her back. 

“See you soon!” Pansy waved and took off with Daphne behind her. Astoria followed, gracefully lifting off the ground and picking up speed to pass Pansy and Daphne. 

Percy on the other hand seemed to be waiting to make sure that Hermione didn’t sneak off. He was pretending to fiddle with the settings on his broom.

Prat.

Malfoy cleared his throat.

“Front or back?” 

“Umm…” It had been months since she flew solo, and years since she had ridden with someone else. She couldn’t remember the pros and cons of riding in either place. “Back I think?” 

Malfoy gave her a quizzical look and tipped his head slightly. 

“You think?”

“I’ve only ridden with someone a few times! I always default to the driver’s preference,” she snapped.  

Malfoy’s jaw tightened.

“Back. If you ride in front I won’t be able to see.”

“What?” She said, anxiety swelled as she peeked over the edge of the terrace, down the mountain. 

“Even with the braid I’m fairly certain you’ve got enough damn hair to block my vision, Granger.” 

She scowled.

“Ugh! Just get on the damn broom.” 

Once he was adjusted, she hesitantly swung her leg over the broomstick and her stomach dropped. 

“Wait! You haven’t been drinking, have you??” She exclaimed. 

She heard Percy laughing as he took off. 

“I’m not trying to kill either of us. Bloody hell just hold on so we can leave.” 

She tentatively gripped the back of his coat, flinching when her leg touched his and she smelled his cologne. He took off more aggressively than she expected, trying to catch up to the rest and she impulsively wrapped her arms around him to keep from loosing her balance. 

The wind whistled in her ear so loudly that even if Malfoy was talking, she was sure she wouldn’t be able to hear him. Nausea was bubbling up from her stomach as he dipped down. She pinched her eyes shut and found herself clinging to Malfoy so tightly that her hands hurt. The second time they dropped altitude, she pressed her face into the back of his coat impulsively and willed her body to not vomit (yet). 

Hermione wasn’t paying attention to landmarks or the passage of time, but when she felt the air in her hair slow down, she opened her eyes just enough to see the approaching ground and withdrew her face from the back of Malfoy’s coat. She didn’t let go until she felt her feet touch the ground, after which she flung herself from the broom with such fury that she crumpled into the dirt. 

Gravity felt stronger than it did when she took off. 

“What took you so long? You left right after me,” Percy asked. 

Malfoy shrugged.

“Got lost.” 

Just then her stomach decided to protest the events of the morning, and she leaned over to vomit her breakfast. 

Excellent. 

“You alright Granger?” Percy asked. 

She signaled that she was fine, and refreshed her warming charm as she straightened out and looked around. The group had gathered on a slab of rock at the edge of a canyon, with a view of the river a hundred or so yards below. 

“It’s nearly eleven. We took a walk before you got here. No one we’ve run into has seen the herd moving yet, but they should be by in a few hours.”

“What exactly are we watching for?” Hermione asked. 

“Most unicorns migrate into the mountains for the winter,” Astoria replied. “This is the biggest herd in Europe, and they winter in the Swiss mountains. There’s thousands of them. Wand makers from all over the world come here to source hairs, too.” 

“My life’s greatest tragedy is that my wand isn’t a unicorn core,” Pansy said as she set up a silencing charm all around them so that they could continue to talk without disrupting nature.  

“What core do you have?” Hermione asked. 

“Phoenix feather. You?”

“Dragon heartstring," she replied. All eyes bounced up.

“Really?” Daphne said. “But you’re a Gryffindor?” 

Hermione noticed the corners of Draco’s mouth turn slightly upward. 

“That doesn’t mean anything. It’s all superstition," she muttered irritably. 

“It’s not all superstition,” Astoria said with a shrug. “Wand cores connect with the wizard it chooses for a reason. People just take it to extreme lengths and like to stereotype.”

“If you ever figure out why my wand chose me, let me know,” Daphne said with a chuckle. 

“What’s your wand core?” Hermione asked. 

“Kneezle whisker. It’s an old Ollivander model from the 18th century.”

Hermione smiled. “Oh! I used to have a cat that was part kneezle! That’s delightful! I didn’t realize their whiskers could be used as wand cores.”

“Kneezle whiskers, thestral hair, veela hair, acromantula web, even pixie wings have been used. A lot of people consider kneezle whiskers a sub par core, but only because they don’t know they have to be paired with cherry or holly. Those quirks are why most wand makers end up only specializing in two or three cores. They’re all so temperamental, and there’s no way to understand all potential cores well enough to make proper wands,” Astoria said. 

“How do you know so much about them?” Hermione asked. 

“I make them," Astoria replied. 

“What?” 

“She put the rest of our arithmancy marks to shame," Percy chuckled. 

“In my case, that doesn’t mean much," Daphne replied. “I was rubbish with arithmancy.”

“Most of us barely got by in that class,” Pansy shrugged.  

“Draco and Hermione I think were the only ones who received an exceeds expectations from Professor Vector in recent memory,” Percy chimed in. “That man was brilliant but frankly, a total arse.” 

“Wait, did you get an outstanding?” Hermione asked Astoria, whose cheeks and nose turned bright pink. 

“Yes.” 

Hermione felt a tinge of jealousy.

“How does one even get into wand making?” Hermione asked. 

“It’s a craft, not a trade. You generally have to know another maker and they guide you,” Astoria replied with a shrug. “Our grandfather and Ollivander were friends. I spent a lot of time in the shop as a child; Learned the basics from him over the years before he died. The rest is an art.”

Hermione flushed with shame. 

“I’m sorry, I guess I just assumed you just worked in the shop. I didn’t realize you made them.”

“Oh, currently I just run the shop. None of my wands are available yet for sale. In a few years maybe. But Ollivander has thousands available for students in the meantime, and I’m familiar with his work.” 

“Merlin, everyone shut up!” Pansy gasped and pointed just before clutching Daphne’s hand. Daphne in response, leaned her head on Pansy’s shoulder and the sight made Hermione smile. 

In the canyon below, it appears more like a flood of shimmering silver that wove through the forest, over the river, and then out the other side of the canyon. The herd moved through in a little under twenty minutes, and Hermione chewed on her thumb nail for the last ten or so minutes as she tried not to disturb everyone else’s sight-seeing with more questions. 

Hermione noticed Astoria remove a small vial from her coat pocket at one point, and quickly drank the contents. After which, Percy subtly caught her attention and almost imperceptibly seemed to ask if she was alright, to which Astoria nodded once. 

As soon as the last of the herd rounded the corner, Pansy withdrew a bottle of wine and opened it dramatically. 

“Ok. Best day of the year is over.” 

“You are unhinged, love,” Daphne said as she reached out her glass for Pansy to fill. 

“Don’t complain. I make your life more interesting.” 

As they gathered for wine and sandwiches, Hermione made a point to sit next to Percy, leaving Malfoy to sit between Pansy and Astoria. With the other people along being couples, she wasn’t going to risk being accidentally grouped too close to Malfoy. 

Conversations wandered again, and everyone ate and drank. Hermione quietly appreciated that this outing was far more pleasurable than her birthday at the pub had been, and she swallowed some bitterness toward her friends for spending so much of that evening berating her. 

A few hours later, she quietly excused herself to internally recharge on a short walk. She made it half a dozen paces before there was a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find Pansy glaring at her. 

“Oh, hello,” Hermione said quietly. 

“Just so we’re clear,” Pansy began. “You have no idea who Draco is.”

“If this is about—”

“I’m not done!” She snapped. “He is my friend. Because of that, and because he and Percy both told me to play nice, I’m giving you a chance. You win me over? I’m the most loyal bitch you’ll ever meet.” She jabbed a finger in Hermione’s face. “But you fuck with my friends? I’ll personally knock on Lucifer’s door so that we can have a chat.” 

Hermione nodded.

“My friends share similar sentiments.” 

“All good over there, Pansy?” Percy yelled their way. There was a tone of warning underneath. 

“I’m being nice!” Pansy snapped. 

“Ah, yes, you sound peachy.” 

Hermione saw Astoria pull another vial from her coat, and drank the contents as Percy helped her stand. 

“I think we’ll be off now.” He muttered cheerfully, handing Astoria her broom. “Meet you back at the manor.” 

Daphne and Pansy also swiftly jumped onto their broom, and Daphne looked nervous. 

“We’ll be right behind you.” 

After everyone had taken off, and Hermione was left standing with Malfoy, she turned and shrugged questioningly. 

“What’s all that about?”

“Astoria.” 

“Yes, I got that from her drinking multiple vials of potions. Is she sick?”

“It’s not contagious.” 

“So she is sick.”

“Yes.”

Malfoy readied the broom, and gestured. 

She begrudgingly mounted the broom again behind Malfoy, and wrapped her arms around his waist before taking off. This time though, the launch wasn’t nearly as aggressive. She still pinched her eyes shut, waiting for the rapid ascent and dips, but none came. After ten minutes or so, she opened her eyes to see that they were traveling rather low to the ground and moving slower than when they left the resort. 

“Is this why we were late?” 

Hermione couldn’t hear his response with the wind, but she saw him nod. She gratefully closed her eyes again, and hoped that this time when they landed, that she wouldn’t vomit. 

The return to the manor was all straightforward after a more successful landing this time, and turning in the borrowed broom. Malfoy seemed a bit agitated to get to the floo. He gestured for her to step into the fire with him, and she obliged. They returned with a puff of smoke. 

When they emerged from the floo in the study, Astoria was laying down on the velvet sofa looking rather pale, and Percy was pacing around the room. 

“You’re back! I wasn’t sure where—”

“I’ve got it,” Malfoy said briskly as he disapperated. 

Hermione nervously fiddled with her thumb nail for a moment before asking Percy quietly: 

“Is she alright?”

“What?” He seemed to be pulled out of deep thought. “Oh. Yes, she’ll be fine. Draco just has a potion that manages the pain better than most of what you can buy.” 

Hermione didn’t push further. 

Malfoy returned moments later with a handful of vials. Percy shoved all but one into his coat pocket before moving back to Astoria on the sofa and handing one to her. She accepted the vial readily, and waited a few moments for it to settle before trying to sit up. 

“I’ll bring more to you in the morning,” Malfoy muttered and gestured to the fire. 

“Thanks. We’ll be off. Was lovely to see you,” Percy muttered as he helped Astoria up and walked with her to the floo. 

Once they were gone, Hermione turned to Malfoy and asked:

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Blood curse.”

Hermione’s stomach flipped. 

“Oh gods, how long?”

“It’s genetic.”

“How bad is it?”

His eyes darted to hers.

“Bad.” Then vanished. 

Chapter Text

September 25, 2013

“What do you know about blood curses?” Hermione asked. 

Neville cringed.

“Yikes. I dunno. They’re rare. And there are no cures, that’s about it. Best you can do is slow the curse down.” 

“What if it’s genetic? And how much can one blood curse vary from another? Marvolo Gaunt’s ring was cursed with what was assumed to be a blood curse, and if all you can do is slow it down, that sounds accurate.”

“I’m not a healer, Hermione. What’s this about?” 

“Astoria.”

“The Greengrass girl?”

“Yes.”

“That’s bad luck, isn’t it?” He shook his head as he contemplated. 

Hermione nodded.

“She took three vials of some sort of experimental pain relief potions before they went home.” 

“Experimental?”

“Malfoy. He brews something for her I guess that isn’t available for purchase.”

“That’s not suspicious at all,” Neville grumbled with an eye roll. 

“I mean, if nothing else is working, I get it,” Hermione said as they stepped into the main living space. 

“If what isn’t working?” Theo said looking up from his book as he rounded the corner into the living room. Hermione and Neville were on the floor cataloging seeds.  

“The Greengrasses apparently have a blood curse,” Neville said. 

“Astoria? Yeah, she was always sick. Frankly I’m surprised she made it past twelve.”

“You knew?” 

“It’s not a secret," Theo shrugged. “Best they’ve been able to do is slow it down. She apparently started experimenting with her own treatment at like sixteen.”

“Really?” Neville replied, eyebrows raising a bit. 

“What sort of experiments?” Hermione asked. 

Theo shrugged.

“Don’t know the details. I always just assumed that the blood curse is why Draco called off the engagement. But then he agreed to marry you, so, what do I know?”

“Why would he call it off because of that?”

“Because everyone knows Narcissa wants to continue the Malfoy reign of terror,” Theo shrugged. “But the survival of any kids she had would also be a coin toss.”

“Gods,” Hermione swore under her breath. 

“This is the witch who runs Ollivander’s shop now, right?” Neville asked as he tried to place her. 

“Two years below us and yes. Apparently she makes wands.”

“Impressive,” Neville replied. 

“I’m just surprised I knew so little about her,” Hermione confessed.

“Wand people are weird, always have been,” Theo shrugged. “You typically don’t know anything about them until they make their name known as a respected craftsman, and even then they mostly keep to themselves. Her chronic illness probably isolates her even further.” 

“Yes, but she’s also dating a politician.” 

Theo shrugged.

“True, but he’s generally well liked and doesn’t get into trouble or fights often enough for people to try and dig up dirt on him.”

Hermione chewed on her thumb nail, and tried to swallow the gnawing memory of how tired Astoria looked as she proceeded with her day. 

September 26, 2013

“How do you take your tea Miss Granger?” Professor Flitwick asked. 

“Milk and honey please," she replied. 

Professor Flitwick handed her a cup, and sat down across from her at his desk. 

“Lovely to see you again, Miss Granger,” he smiled kindly. “Your work has been astounding. What is next for you?” 

“That’s actually why I’m here," she confessed. 

“Oh? How can I assist?”

She proceeded to tell him about her last case with Gringotts, her findings in the Manor, and her desire to know more about the first Goblin rebellion to better understand the histories. 

Flitwick’s eyes narrowed. 

“So, you are here because I am part Goblin," he said flatly. 

She flushed.

“Yes. I was wondering what you might know on the subject.” Embarrassment prickled up her spine as she wondered whether or not Professor Flitwick was offended. 

“What is it you are trying to accomplish? You have not told me the nature of this case yet.”

“Um. Technically I don’t know what the next case will be, but I know that the ministry will push back on Gringotts again. So, not only is the privacy of the bank at risk, but the well-being of goblins day to day life is under more scrutiny from the ministry. My goal has always been to help those in the magical world considered second class citizens, as seen by my work for SPEW. Each case has just been a natural progression toward that goal,” Hermione said quietly. 

Flitwick tapped his fingers on his desk and contemplated for a moment. 

“I have a book that was my grandmother’s.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Flitwick paused before continuing. 

“You might not find it useful. I wasn’t raised in the Goblin way.” His eyes met hers. “I’ll find it and send it to you by owl tomorrow.” 

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” 

Professor Flitwick’s eyebrows furrowed a bit, and for a moment it looked like he wanted to ask Hermione a question. Instead, he changed the subject, for which she was grateful. 

“Well then. I suppose you’ve heard from Neville that a few students were too curious about his rambleweeds.” He shook his head and chuckled under his breath. “Poor children were a babbling mess of confessions for days.” 

Hermione smiled. Neville had sent her an owl about it a few days ago, and suggested that she slip some rambleweed in Malfoy’s tea over breakfast one morning just to see what happened. 

She accepted some of the dried root—just in case. 

September 28, 2013

Hermione waited anxiously by the window in the library, watching for an owl in the distance. Her pinky nail was bitten down to the nail bed and she began chewing on her thumb nail again. 

“It’s not going to arrive any faster by staring,” Malfoy said without looking up from his reading. 

She snapped her head in his direction and glared for a moment before turning back to the window. 

“Open a book, Granger.”

“No thank you," she said curtly. 

“Will you accept bribery?”

“No.”

“Then come read this riddle. I’ve been staring at it since dawn.”

She sighed and begrudgingly held her hand out for the back page of the Prophet he held out for her. 

“Crosswords in muggle papers are much more relaxing," she muttered. “But they get harder and harder the longer I live here.”

“I should hope the blood supremacy in the water doesn’t infect you that easily, Granger.” 

“They require a pretty thorough knowledge of muggle culture to solve them," she replied with a shrug. 

“When do you get muggle papers?” 

“Sometimes I cross into the muggle side of London when I need a break during the day. No one comes looking for me there.”

“Where do you go?”

“Most often a little cafe with a striped awning in Leadenhall Market on the muggle side of the Diagon Alley.” 

There was a flutter at the window. Hermione gasped and reached for the package the brown owl in front of her carried. As soon as she did, the owl swiftly returned to the air. 

Hermione Granger,

Enclosed belonged to my grandmother. I hope that you are able to glean what you need from it, and wish you good luck. 

Sincerely,

Professor Flitwick 

She eagerly tore off the paper wrapping. The book’s cover was made of leathered dragonhide. Scales glittering in the light, and the characters embossed in gold on the cover weren’t letters. They looked like runes. 

“Gods,” she muttered. Malfoy leaned over the table for a closer look. 

“Good luck with that. No one can read ancient goblin runes anymore.” 

Hermione leaned her head on the table in frustration. This book was potentially the biggest breakthrough she had recently to learn more about goblin history, but unless she could find a way to read it, it meant nothing. 

She opened the book and carefully rifled through the pages. Each page was filled with hand-written runes, and occasionally beautiful illustrations with gold leafed paint. 

The illustrations themselves never featured a character. The pages were littered with images of mountains, stones, tombs, tunnels, and fire. 

“Does the Malfoy estate get a personal contact at Gringott’s?” She asked. 

“Yes, but they’re not likely to agree to be your personal translator.” 

Hermione scowled. 

“Banking is the only industry they’re allowed in wizarding society. So, the best way for me to manufacture a way to talk about this would be either a personal connection through the estate, or through Bill.” 

“What’s the likelihood Bill would do it?”

“Hello!” Hermione looked to the door to find Percy walking through. 

“Bloody hell, do either of you ever go anywhere?” Percy asked, glancing around the library. 

“Malfoy didn’t say you would be here," Hermione said. 

“Since when do I ever know what he does?” Malfoy asked. 

Percy held up both hands in surrender.

“What has you wound up more than usual?”

Hermione held up the book, and Percy’s eyes widened. 

“Merlin’s beard, Hermione. A stone book is lunacy even for you.”

“A what?” She asked. 

He gestured to the book.

“A stone book, that’s what they call it. Most people assume it’s some sort of ancient religious text. Not that anyone can read it anymore. But if a goblin finds out you have that, you’re in a load of trouble.” He narrowed his eyes. “Where’d you get one anyway?”

“Don’t worry about it," she grumbled. 

Percy glanced around the room again nervously, eyeing the spiked elf heads.

“Can we go to literally any other room? This place gives me the creeps.”

“Mudblood filth and blood traitors…” one of the portraits began to mumble. 

Percy took a muggle lighter out of his suit coat pocket and began playing with the fire absentmindedly. When Hermione looked over his shoulder, everyone in the portraits had vanished. 

Percy smiled and tucked the lighter away. 

“Sometimes, they have to be reminded.” He winked. 

Both Hermione and Malfoy followed Percy out of the room and into the study instead. 

“How’s Astoria?” Hermione asked. 

“Tired. Her charms haven't been containing the curse as effectively lately…” He trailed off. 

“Charms?” 

“She figured out a way to slow the curse by embedding her own stem cells into a charmed implant. And manipulated the cells to self-replicate. The curse attacks those cells instead, but lately it’s either been consuming the cells more rapidly or it has figured out how to circumvent the charm.”

Clever. 

Malfoy’s jaw tightened, and he swiftly turned away toward the bar cart for his glass and drink. 

Percy rubbed the back of his neck.

“If she can get a few nights of decent sleep, she might be able to adjust the calculations or charm another implant to take additional strain. But she hasn’t been able to be up long enough to make any real progress the last few days.” 

“Is dreamless sleep still an issue?” Malfoy asked.

Percy nodded. 

“I’ll be right back.” Malfoy disappeared, presumably to the crypts. 

“How long has he been making potions for her?”

“Since they were together,” Percy replied, staring blankly at the wall. His typically chipper personality had been sapped from him, and he looked tired. 

“And she’s fine with all the experimental treatments?”

“She has limited options. Standard treatments for a blood curse are lower risk but lower reward. She’s been experimenting with fringe treatments since she was at Hogwarts.”

“And it’s all been fine?” Hermione asked skeptically. 

Percy looked her way quizzically. 

“Of course not. Her right leg from the knee down is false after a failed treatment that cost her the limb.” 

Hermione’s face felt warm with embarrassment for asking the question. 

Malfoy rounded the corner of the study door again, and handed two vials to Percy, who looked like Malfoy had just handed him a sacred object. 

“Thanks.” 

Malfoy nodded and gestured to the fireplace. 

Hermione almost asked what it was, but bit her tongue as Percy shuffled quickly for the fire, and vanished with a puff of smoke. 

Chapter Text

“Draco! Draco!” Daphne burst through the door of the kitchen so aggressively that Hermione dropped her tea. 

“Where is he?” She cried. 

Hermione opened her mouth to suggest the crypts, but Malfoy had already emerged. He looked paler than usual. 

“She started seizing.” Daphne’s voice broke. 

“From the potion? I just gave it to Percy a few hours ago.” 

Daphne shook her head. 

“She hasn’t tried anything new. She’s at St Mungo’s now, but they won’t let us see her. Pansy’s still in Germany.” 

Daphne looked like she was going to pass out. 

“Granger, get Daphne back to St Mungo’s,” Malfoy snapped. 

“What? Where are you going?” Daphne gasped as Malfoy turned to retreat back to the crypts. 

“Just go, I’ll be right behind you,” he called over his shoulder. 

Leaving the broken cup on the floor as she jumped, Hermione clasped her hand around Daphne’s wrist and pulled her to the study. When she realized that Daphne was shaking, Hermione silently cast a warming charm on her as they stepped into the floo. 

“St Mungo’s.”

There was white everywhere, and Hermione glanced around to re-acclimate herself to St Mungo’s and remember what wing she was in. Should they be headed to the emergency wing? 

“Where is she?” Hermione asked. 

Daphne began running and Hermione followed close behind. 

“Watch it!” An elderly gentleman yelled after them when Hermione nearly collided into him around a corner. 

As they neared the emergency wing, she heard Percy’s voice. A very angry Percy. 

“Bullshit! Every one of you!” 

Hermione glanced around and saw Percy in a verbal sparring match with an elderly healer with a long beard, and an exasperated face. 

“As I’ve told you, Mr Weasley. It is not recommended that she see visitors at this time since she needs to rest.” 

The elderly gentleman began to turn to leave when Daphne stormed up to him and jabbed her index finger in his face while Malfoy arrived and stepped in behind Percy.

“Listen you bloody bastard. I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but I want to see my sister.” 

Percy was fuming and Hermione noticed that his wand was drawn unobtrusively at his side. Percy snarled over his shoulder at Malfoy who had also noticed the drawn wand, warning him not to interfere. 

“As I told Mr Weasley already, I’m afraid that we are in a bind. Good day.” 

“Why?” Hermione asked. 

The gentleman turned to face Hermione and squinted.

“Who might you be, young lady?”

She straightened her back and pursed her lips.

“Hermione Granger.”

“Ah, well. Seeing as you are not family, I will have to defer you elsewhere. Good day Miz Granger.” 

“I’m the Greengrass family’s lawyer, and I would like to know why you are denying visitors.” 

The older gentleman turned and narrowed his eyes. Daphne’s eyes widened, and Percy exhaled audibly. 

“She’s—” Daphne began. 

“Yep,” Malfoy interrupted, gesturing firmly to Daphne as he did. 

“It seems that you are denying input from two people intimately involved in her day to day care. I’d like in writing why you are denying their input and visitation. For our records of course,” she said with a strained smile.

The healer’s eyebrows raised. 

“Apologies Miz Granger, but as I’ve told Mr Weasley, Miz Greengrass is in need of rest.” He turned to leave again. 

“Has Astoria refused visitors?” Hermione asked. “I’ll wait for those records. But I’ll request thorough records of every medical decision made without consulting Astoria or her family, and why. Again, for our own records.” 

“Are you threatening a healer Miz Granger? Astoria is a ward. Due to the nature of her illness, she and others in a similar situation automatically become wards when they come of age to ensure that there is not a lapse in care decisions when their condition inevitably deteriorates. These restrictions are to help her, not harm her. And it is my duty to fulfill her current healer’s care recommendations, which as of now, does not include guests.” The old man’s voice had a hint of irritation. 

“I am not quite as trusting of a stranger’s ability to advocate for a patient as you seem to be. Particularly if that advocate has advised against allowing the patient’s own sister and fiance to see her.” Her nostrils flared momentarily, and she felt warm with rage. 

The old man’s mustache twitched, and he scratched his long beard briefly before nodding. 

“Very well. Follow me.” 

Daphne’s jaw dropped, and Percy looked like he might faint from relief. 

Hermione lingered, letting Percy and Daphne lead the way. Malfoy stepped in line next to her as they followed the healer to Astoria’s room. 

The old man gestured to a room halfway down the hall, and let them know that she only recently awoke under his breath before mumbling about needing to contact someone, and that he would be back shortly.

When they stepped into the room, Astoria lifted her head eagerly. Her blonde hair was down, and a bit tangled around her shoulders. She looked quite gray, and Hermione noticed her left hand twitching involuntarily. 

“They let you in?”

“Sort of. Hermione picked a fight and got us in,” Daphne said with a smirk. “She basically threatened the healer.”

Astoria’s eyes widened, and her eyes met Hermione’s. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. It was really nothing.” 

“She’s your lawyer now apparently,” Daphne said. 

Astoria looked back to Hermione for confirmation, and she shrugged. 

“I needed to get his attention.” 

Percy was sitting next to Astoria, clutching her hand and couldn’t even speak. 

“I’m fine, love,” she said to him, attempting to be reassuring. Since her hand kept twitching, it wasn’t convincing. 

“Any word on what happened?” Percy asked. 

Astoria shook her head. 

“They’ve been reluctant to say anything to me.” 

“Oh, hell no,” Daphne growled, standing up.

“We’ll find out eventually.”

“We’ll find out right now.”

“Follow her. Look at me. I’m fine. Go!” Astoria shoo’d Percy gently. 

Percy reluctantly followed Daphne back into the hall. Malfoy took Percy’s place and gently took Astoria’s hand in his. He held up a small vial, subtly offering it to her, and she shook her head just barely. 

“Daphne said you didn’t try the new one yet”

“Didn’t get a chance. Percy had only been home for ten minutes or so when it started,” Astoria whispered. Hermione suddenly felt like she was invading a private moment and backed away slowly, averting her eyes. 

“How likely is it to make it worse?” Astoria asked. 

Malfoy shrugged. 

“Hard to say.” His jaw tightened and he squeezed her hand. “I’m going to see if I can get in touch with your parents again.” 

Astoria nodded as Malfoy stepped up and left without another word. 

“So, just you and I for a while,” she said.

“I can go if you’d like some privacy,” Hermione replied as she took another step backwards. 

“Sit down. I’m bored to tears and you’re the only person who hasn’t looked at me in terror. I’m just sorry you have to see me like this so soon, we’ve only just met.” 

Hermione obliged.

“So, you’re a magical creatures lawyer.” 

“By day I work for Golding's on more profitable cases, but whenever possible I take on magical creatures defense cases.” 

“I never thought I’d see the day that elves had wellness checks and mandatory time off.” She chuckled and laid her head back on the pillow for a moment. “Where did it start for you?”

“Hogwarts. Harry had an elf friend—one of the Malfoy elves actually. From there, I met and learned a lot about them, and it all just sort of spiraled.” 

Astoria smiled. 

“So, what have you found for your Gringotts research so far?”

“Oh, um. It’s not particularly interesting honestly.” 

“Everything not related to this damn curse is interesting to me right now. Please, tell me.” 

Hermione hesitated, but relented when Astoria took her hand and tipped her head, indicating her to speak. She exhaled. 

“Most of the Malfoy family records are accessible. The ones with a secrecy charms all take place around the dark ages. I can’t go into specifics, but suffice to say, there’s another goblin rebellion alluded to. I’m trying to find more details, but whatever happened isn’t readily available.” 

“Oh…” Astoria sighed. “I wonder if there’s overlap with the invention of wands. Those were also invented around the dark ages.” 

Hermione blinked. 

“Yes actually.”

“From what I’ve heard, goblins made beautiful wands. It’s a shame it was outlawed. Their craftsmanship is superb in everything they do, I can’t imagine their wands would be any less beautiful,” Astoria sighed. 

“How do you know they made beautiful wands?” 

“Oh, just stories from Ollivander. All wand makers tell stories about past makers. We can trace our teachers back nearly to the invention of wands. Its own little family tree I suppose. Ollivander said that the idea of dragon heartstring wands was inspired by Goblin wands before they were outlawed.”

Astoria squeezed Hermione’s hand. 

“Didn’t you say that you have a dragon heartstring core?”

“Yes, I do.”

Astoria’s hand twitched as she went on. 

“Dragon heartstrings are some of my favorite cores. Dragon heartstrings, Phoenix feathers, and Thestral hairs are my preferred cores to work with.” 

“What is your core?” Hermione asked. 

“Dragon heartstring, so I suppose I am biased,” she smirked. “They’re only drawn to someone with passion. They’re the only wand cores that you have to earn loyalty from over and over. Many people might find a dragon heartstring wand works for them for years, and then over time it becomes less and less responsive.” 

She lifted her finger for slight dramatic effect. 

“Thus, only the most passionate people can hold a dragon heartstring wand throughout their life.” She smiled. 

“You remind me of Ollivander,” Hermione said with a smile. 

“I should hope so. I learned from one of the best,” Astoria said cheerily. 

“You both make the subject somehow sound interesting.” 

“It is interesting.” 

“What about thestral hairs?” Hermione asked. 

“What about them?"

“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re the one who’s educating me on wands.” 

“I thought you were telling me about your case.” 

“Sadly, I have nothing more to offer there. I’m stuck again. Your turn.” 

Astoria sighed. 

“You have to face death in order to earn a thestral wand’s loyalty. Whether that be making peace in your own near death situation, or seeing someone else die,” she shrugged. 

“They also are drawn to very loyal, peaceful people, and don’t like to switch allegiances. The elder wand is one of the only thestral core wands I know of that was won by another wizard. Generally, they are loyal wands, and they will resist use by someone other than the first wizard they chose.” 

“I think I like you,” Hermione said with a smile. 

Astoria looked up and smiled.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I just mean, well, frankly I wasn’t sure what any of you would be like. And Malfoy was always such a prat. But I think you’re one of the few people I’ve ever met who is nearly as crazy as I am—and I read Hogwarts: A History in its entirety three times!” 

The frail blonde woman chuckled, and Percy knocked gently on the door. 

“Everything all right in here?”

“Quite,” Astoria muttered. “What did you find?”

Percy rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Well, for one, they’re still mad about your implant.” 

“Of course.” 

“They think it might be related to the seizures.” 

“How?”

“They couldn’t elaborate so, I don’t think they have a good reason. But they figure it was either something gone wrong with the implant, or it’s the natural progression of the curse trying to spread and subsequent stress induced seizures.”

Malfoy knocked, and shouting could be heard from down the hall. Hermione thought it sounded an awful lot like Pansy. 

“Your parents will be here in an hour or so,” Malfoy said flatly. 

“Thank you, Draco.” 

“How did you find them?” Percy asked. 

Malfoy and Astoria exchanged a look briefly before Malfoy shrugged. 

“Lucky guess. Shall we Granger?” 

Hermione stood up and waived politely as Percy took her place at Astoria’s side. 

“I’ll see you soon,” Hermione said brightly. 

“Of course,” Astoria replied before taking Percy’s hand. 

As they made their way back to the floo to head back to the manor, they passed by Daphne and Pansy, who had apparently rushed back from Germany. As they walked by, Pansy reached out and grasped Hermione’s wrist to get her attention. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

“I hear you bitched out the healer.” Pansy paused before continuing. “You might be alright.” 

Hermione nodded and continued her way toward the floo, following Malfoy. 

October 3, 2013

Astoria was released to go home. Hermione was in Diagon Alley compiling a list of things that Percy had sent her with, and was planning to meet everyone at their flat later. While she had never been there, she decided she would rather be busy after work and let everyone else get settled before she arrived as she still felt like an intruder amongst an established group of friends.

As she passed by Ollivanders, she peeked at the sign in the door. 

Closed for holiday. 

She scuttled past and filled her bag with an assortment of treats, flowers, and a handful of books since Astoria was apparently prescribed another well of rest before returning to normal activities. 

After glancing at Percy's book list, she selected two that were available at Flourish and Blotts before wandering toward the cards to take a look at the newest illustrations on the decks. 

Her final stop was Leaky for a bowl of chowder, which apparently Astoria had been asking about for days. Hermione wrinkled her nose as she was handed the brown bag as she could smell it through the paper. 

“Hermione!” She looked up to see Harry waving at a table nearby. 

“Hello, Harry,” she replied as she moved closer to chat briefly. 

“Come sit. Ginny and Ron will be here soon, and then we’re going to play chess.”

“Can’t. Sorry Harry. Astoria’s been in St Mungo’s, and was just cleared to go home. I’m meeting people at Percy’s place tonight.”

“Percy’s girlfriend?”

“Fiancé.”

“Right. What happened?” 

“Blood curse.”

“Merlin. Anything we can do?”

“She doesn’t like to be doted on because of it, so, I don’t think so.” She shook her head. 

Moments later, before Harry got a chance to reply, Hermione corrected herself. 

“Actually, there is something you can do.” 

“What?”

“Molly.”

“Ah,” Harry nodded, and ruffled his hair a bit. 

“Plans for this weekend?”

“None yet.”

“I have something to show you.”

Green eyes met hers curiously. 

“What is it?”

“Can’t say here. Manor this weekend?”

“Done. Heads up though, Ginny has borrowed two nifflers from Luna in preparation for this day.” He rolled his eyes slightly. 

Hermione glanced at the time and startled.

“I should go.”

Harry nodded and waved her off. 

When Hermione emerged from the floo into Percy and Astoria’s flat, she quickly evaluated the space. 

It appeared that neither Percy nor Astoria were fond of decorating. The furniture in the room was clearly for function over anything else. Every last bit of the walls were covered in framed Prophet Articles, photos of Astoria and various wand makers, wand diagrams, and Arithmancy equations. 

The level of mad you had to be to frame Arithmancy equations made Hermione smile. A small photo on the table next to the sofa featured what must have been Astoria around four or five, playing with a handful of wands on the floor as Ollivander smiled down at her. 

“Oh, thank Merlin. I’m starved,” Astoria muttered as she rounded the corner into the living space. “Hermione’s back,” she said over her shoulder. 

Hermione held out the package of soup. 

“All yours.”

Astoria still looked rather gray. She was wearing plain, comfortable robes and letting her hair fall around her shoulders. It appeared slightly brittle from the lack of recent care. 

“Should you be up?”

“Don’t become another person that’s dotes on me. I can’t bear another,” Astoria replied tartly. 

“Fine.”

As Astoria withdrew her soup and summoned a spoon with her wand, Hermione continued to take in her surroundings. 

The flat was littered with bookshelves in nearly every corner. Unsurprisingly, the majority of them were related to history and Arithmancy theory. Hermione was burning with curiosity on a few old books she saw titled Goblin Magic and Stone Wands, but she bit her tongue. 

There were books on woodworking (several of which were notably muggle materials, not wizarding ones), trees, and magical creatures. 

“Wow…” Hermione sighed. 

Astoria’s cheeks flushed a tinge of pink despite her color still being concerningly pale overall. 

“Any word on the goblin war?” She asked, trying to deflect attention away from herself. There was a burst of laughter from the other room. 

Hermione shook her head, and Astoria set down her bowl to rifle through some items on her shelves. 

“Most of our wand making history is passed down orally. So, there’s not much, but I have one book around here that includes stories on some wand legends. I’m not sure where the Ollivander family got it, and you can’t even read most of it because it’s so faded and notes are everywhere, but you never—there it is!” 

She plucked a pale blue book off the shelf and parted it down the center. As described, whatever was printed was hardly legible. Disheveled, inky scrawls were littered all throughout the margins and, when the margins ran out, directly over the contents of the page. 

‘Notes’ was generous though. The inscriptions were most definitely experimental arithmancy problems, not notes on the related stories. 

“Notes?” Hermione said with a joking smile.

“Of course. I told you! Ollivander got the inspiration for dragon heartstring cores from Goblin wands.” 

“As much as I love a good puzzle, I’m not sure that maths will help me here.”

Percy at that moment leaned around the corner, apparently interested in Astoria’s last comment. 

“I thought Ollivander innovated that core? He’s credited for it all through the wizarding world.” 

“Well, yes—but not the core concept itself. It was his math!” Astoria gestured to the book. 

Malfoy had seemingly materialized next to Hermione with his drink, and Pansy and Daphne stepped in. 

“Nope! Put it away! I might cry if you try to talk about maths today.” Pansy flicked her wand and gently sent the book floating to the table nearby. 

“I thought this was my homecoming?” Astoria said with a scowl. 

“It is," Pansy agreed before turning to Percy and abrasively asking, “When is your mother going to stop complaining about the blood bonds so you can set a date already?”

Astoria’s jaw tightened and her back straightened. 

“We’re not going to create reason for Molly to gossip.” 

“Molly will come around. She did with Fleur,” Hermione said, noticing that Percy was rigid. 

“Fleur wasn’t the embodiment of everything she hates. Astoria is,” Pansy replied with an eye roll. “At some point, she needs to fuck off.” 

“She loves her children,” Hermione argued. “That will sway her eventually.” 

“I agree. We should just set a date,” Percy said firmly. Astoria’s eyes widened and she shook her head. 

“I will not give The Prophet a reason to put you in a bad light by fabricating a rift in your family. You are one of the few people in the ministry with allies on enough opposing sides to be the voice of reason. I won’t let you compromise that for me.” 

“Astoria…” Percy’s voice cracked. 

“Nothing Rita writes will hold up against written support from Harry and I, and the rest of Percy’s family,” Hermione argued. 

“Why would Harry do that?” Daphne asked with an eye roll. 

“Because I ask him to, and he’s my friend.” 

“See? It’s done,” Percy said pleadingly. Astoria still hesitated, but Percy seemed to ease the thought with a kiss on the forehead. 

With that, Pansy switched gears into wedding planning.  

October 5, 2013

“Any ideas on how to read it yet?” Harry asked. 

Hermione shook her head. 

“What about Bill?” Ginny asked as she turned a few pages. Hermione noticed Neville glance around wide eyed at the library. He exchanged a questioning look with Theo, who shrugged in response. 

“I really think you need to owl him on this one, Hermione,” Harry said, leaning over Ginny’s shoulder to glance at the runes. 

“Percy and Flitwick have both mentioned that Goblins are extremely defensive about whatever this book is. I assumed Bill wouldn’t want to risk offending someone.” 

Ginny shrugged. 

“I think he has personal connections as well as professional ones with Goblins all over Europe. It’s worth asking.”

“I know you’re bloody brilliant, but learning a lost language is a long shot even for you,” Harry said. 

Hermione nodded in agreement before passing around glasses and a bottle of wine. She curled up on the green sofa next to Ginny. 

“Where is Malfoy anyway?” Ginny asked. 

Hermione shrugged. 

“Dunno. He was supposed to meet Percy and Astoria this morning I think to bring more potions, but I haven’t seen him.” 

“Potions?” Ginny asked. 

Hermione nodded. 

“He makes potions for her apparently. Stuff that isn’t available from healers.” 

“Bold of her. You couldn’t pay me fifty galleons to take a potion Malfoy made for me,” Ginny snapped. 

“It helps more than what the healers can do for her. They basically have just written her off as a lost cause because of her curse.”

Ginny put up both hands in surrender. 

“Fine. You win. What’s up with this wedding thing now? Percy said they set a date? Mum floo’d us fuming the other day.” 

Hermione nodded. 

“Yes and actually, whatever you can do to talk sense into her, do it.” 

“Why does he need Molly to agree anyway?” Harry asked. 

“Astoria won’t elope with him, and up until now, refused to set a wedding date until Mrs Weasley could be reasoned with. She’s saying she doesn’t want The Prophet to stir up trouble for him at the ministry.” 

“That’s ridiculous," Ginny said under her breath. 

“No arguments here,” Hermione replied. 

“Since when are you so close to Percy and Malfoy?” Ginny asked. 

“I’m not close to Malfoy or Percy. I suppose I am a little fond of Astoria though. But, in my defense, I didn’t realize that she was an arithmancy prodigy and would be so interesting.” 

“She’s what?” Harry asked. 

“Arithmancy. You know she took over Ollivander’s shop when he died?”

Both Ginny and Harry nodded in response. 

“Well, apparently she didn’t just take over the shop to sell the remainder of his wands. She’s also a maker.” 

“No way!” Ginny said. “I knew she was good, but I didn’t know she was that good.”

“Wait, how would you know that?” Ron asked. 

“She was a year below me. But she spent so much time in the hospital wing, I honestly was surprised to hear she got through seventh year.” 

“She’s very sweet, and completely brilliant,” Hermione said with a smile. 

“Ok well, when you introduce us, be sure to ditch Malfoy and Percy first!” Ginny scolded. 

“Deal,” Hermione agreed before the conversation turned into idle chatter. 

October 6, 2013

The sounds of the floo came to life, and Hermione was startled out of her book as Bill Weasley stepped out from the fire. 

“Oh! Hello.” Hermione said, standing up briskly. Something about Bill’s relaxed, confident nature always made her feel slightly disheveled. 

“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said. “Ginny reached out yesterday and told me you would be free this morning.” 

Hermione nodded as Bill briefly took in the surrounding study. 

“Have to say, I’m still stunned you’re living here. How can I help?”

Hermione retrieved the stone book from under the coffee table and handed it to Bill, then explained what she had found so far. He listened intently, paging through the book as he did so until there was a long silence to indicate that she was done. 

“I’ve never actually seen one," he finally said. 

“Seen what?”

“A stone book,” he said with an approving nod. “Percy is right, no Goblin will like that you have this.”

“I mean, it’s technically Professor Flitwick’s, like I said.”

“Honestly, they might not even approve of Flitwick having this.”

“Do you happen to know anyone who could help?”

Bill hesitated. 

“I mean… I know a few Goblins outside of just work. But, frankly it doesn’t matter what good friends we are. They don’t tell me most of the secrets of their religion and magic. They’ll be even less inclined to tell a complete stranger.”

“Most of. Meaning you know some?”

 He nodded. 

“Could you introduce me to someone?”

Bill shrugged and adjusted one of his rings as he considered. 

“I can. But you should know that you’re not likely to get the answers you’re looking for.”

“What is this book anyway?”

“I’m not completely sure whether or not it’s a religious text or a historical document.”

“Why have I never heard of one?”

“They’re not supposed to be above ground,” Bill shrugged, as though that was a normal explanation.

“Percy knew what it was though.” 

“Yeah, well, the ministry has more information floating around about Goblins than most people are familiar with since the regulations on Goblins in wizarding society is strictly segregated and monitored.” 

Hermione nodded. The floo activated again, and this time Percy and Astoria stepped out. 

“Bill?” Percy said, tipping his head. When he saw the stone book, he nodded knowingly. “Know anyone?”

“Gornuk might be at least willing to meet Hermione.”

Astoria politely reached for the book in Bill’s hands. 

“May I?”

When Bill handed her the book, she parted the book down the middle and reviewed a few pages, wide eyed. 

“Is Gornuk the one that showed up to the end of Hallows Eve last year?” Percy asked. 

“Yes.”

“Odd fellow, that one,” Percy said with a smile.

Bill shrugged. 

“He’s resentful of Goblins not being allowed to integrate completely into wizarding society, not wizards generally at least.” Bill then glanced at Astoria, who was still engrossed in the book, and then back to Percy. He furrowed his eyebrows questioningly. 

“How are your eardrums? I hear mum nearly burst George’s,” Percy asked. Astoria flinched. 

“I believe I was spared the worst of it,” Bill said. “Considering our history, wise choice on her part. I might have turned off the floo. March?”

Percy nodded. 

“Last weekend. Don’t book anything.” 

Malfoy rounded the corner to step in, and froze at the sight of everyone crowded in the study. He and Bill met eyes for a moment, and Bill’s lips tightened. 

“I should be off. I’ll send a follow up soon.” He nodded briefly, then stepped into the floo. 

“Where’s Cissy?” Percy asked once Bill had gone. 

“Gardens,” Malfoy replied flatly. 

Percy sighed.

“Has she been out much since?”

Malfoy shook his head. 

Since what?

“Why don’t you just restrict her visitations? It always makes it worse,” Percy said under his breath. 

Hermione felt her stomach turn when she realized they were talking about Lucius. Meanwhile Malfoy’s face was unreadable. 

“She insists,” he replied stiffly. 

Percy gestured vaguely to Malfoy, and the two then wandered out of the study, leaving Astoria and Hermione behind. 

“Just us again,” Astoria said as she sat down with the book. 

Hermione hesitantly asked: 

“How often does she visit him?”

Astoria looked up from the runes.

“Oh, erm. I believe she is granted a monthly visit.” 

Hermione didn’t feel the least bit sorry for Lucius or Narcissa. But she could tell that Astoria had something to say. 

“It seems like Percy and Narcissa talk more than just casually.” Hermione said to fill the silence. 

“Yes, they do.” Astoria replied flatly. 

“Is it that noticeable?”

“Is what noticeable?”

“That I don’t care for the Malfoys.” 

“Oh.” Astoria’s cheeks flushed light pink. “Er, I mean, it’s really not any of my business. It’s just a little strange.” 

“Strange to not like blood supremacists?” Hermione felt a tinge of annoyance for the first time toward her new friend. 

“Strange that you would marry into a family you so blatantly dislike.” 

“Well, Malfoy isn’t fond of me either. Never has been.” 

Astoria tipped her head slightly. 

“I had some stipulations about living here before I agreed," Hermione said defensively. 

“Like?”

“Not making further attempts to release Lucius from Azkaban for one,” she shrugged. 

“Further attempts?” 

“Well, everyone knows he and Narcissa have submitted requests to reduce his sentence.” 

“Yes, but it’s been years since his last request,” Astoria replied. 

“What?” 

Astoria’s brows were furrowed in confusion. “Didn’t Percy tell you about the last one Narcissa submitted?”

“When?”

“Probably ten years ago now. I’m not sure exactly.” 

“Percy isn’t exactly close to the rest of his family. Our paths don’t actually cross often.”

“Oh.”

“What happened?”

“They were going to release Lucius on probation. They brought in Draco and Narcissa to testify, and Draco spoke against it and requested that Lucius serve his full sentence.” 

Hermione’s mouth dropped open.

“Why?” She finally said. 

Astoria continued to look puzzled. 

“How much have the two of you talked?” 

“He’s not exactly chatty.” 

“What were your other demands?” 

“I told him he had to free the elves. Or more specifically, said that I wouldn’t live with elves but he knew what I meant. I haven’t seen any here.” 

Astoria smiled, and it came off patronizingly enough that Hermione squinted in annoyance. 

“There haven’t been elves here for years. The Zabini estate too. Pansy’s parents and mine still do, but I think you’d be surprised how many people have been following your work over the years.” 

“Wait, he freed them before I got here?”

“Yes,” she replied. 

Hermione chewed on her thumb nail nervously. 

“Why wouldn’t he say that they were already gone?”

“I’m not sure,” Astoria replied, then switched the subject. “Look at this.” She gestured to a rune on a page adjacent to a page with a smoldering fire illustration. 

Hermione leaned over to see a rune that looked like three waves moving in a vertical direction, connected at the base. 

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. But I recognize it from an old book on wand legends. It might have been engraved on goblin wands during the rebellions in the fifteenth century.” 

The two of them debated what that could mean for a full ninety seconds before faltering back into silence. 

“How long will they be?” Hermione asked. 

“They should be done soon. If she’s especially down, Percy will bring her to Andromeda’s. They’re probably there already. Percy said Lucius was angry with her, and I don’t think she took it well.” 

“Angry for what?”

Astoria’s blue eyes met hers. 

“You,” she said quietly. 

Hermione snorted in derision. 

“Yes, I’m sure she and Draco got an earful.” 

“Draco may have gotten a letter but he hasn’t mentioned it. Since he won’t even see Lucius, he didn’t receive nearly the heat Narcissa did, I’m sure.” 

“He doesn’t see Lucius?”

Astoria’s eyes widened, and her brows furrowed again. 

“The two of you really should talk.” 

“I think I’d rather eat a vomit flavored bean than talk to Malfoy about Lucius,” Hermione said with an eye roll. 

Astoria gave a tiny nod in response. 

The two sat in silence for another minute or so before Percy and Malfoy wandered back into the study. When Malfoy realized Hermione was still there, his jaw tightened. 

“Andromeda?” Astoria asked knowingly. 

“Yep, thought it best she got out of the house all things considered,” Percy replied. 

“How long?” Astoria asked, looking to Malfoy this time. 

“A few weeks,” Malfoy said flatly. 

“Shall we then?” Percy asked, gesturing to the fire. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could use a stiff drink after the last few days.” 

Chapter Text

October 11, 2013

Hermione had begun over-scheduling her evenings after work to avoid running into Malfoy at the manor. Twice, he was in the library unexpectedly when she went to retrieve fresh parchment. He nodded stiffly and left the room as soon as she arrived. At least the feeling was mutual. Bill sent word that he may not be able to follow up until after Hallows Eve, but he would let her know if something changed. 

Astoria meanwhile, seemed to be mostly improved after her last episode. She and Hermione had even met for lunch in Diagon Ally a few times since Astoria had been back to work. 

“Ginny sounds delightful,” Astoria said one day after Hermione told the story of a hex earning her a spot in Slughorn’s club. 

“Interesting choice of words, but yes. She is.”

“I haven’t gotten to know her outside of a few strained holiday visits,” Astoria said wistfully. 

Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably at the hint. She was a wedge between two worlds, and it was getting progressively harder to segregate them. 

“How often do Percy’s siblings visit?”

“Oh, almost never.” Astoria shook her head. “I don’t generally prefer guests though. I’m easily tired and I don’t like most people knowing when I’m unwell, and it’s too hard to hide from company in our small flat.” She shrugged. 

“Next time I go to Grimmauld place, I’ll bring you with. Neville and Theo, too. If we can manage it before Hallows Eve, maybe Luna will join. She’s supposed to be relocating to Romania for her rare magical creatures assignment after that.”

“Isn’t Romania where Charlie is?” Astoria asked. 

“Yes. He’s been working with dragons there for years now.”

Astoria’s cheeks flushed pink for a brief moment and Hermione gasped. 

“No!”

Astoria snapped her eyes up to meet Hermione’s. 

“I had only finished school a few years prior! I was there for an arithmancy seminar. The speaker was a Ukrainian mathematician, and I ran into Charlie there.” 

“Did you two—”

“No! I don’t think he even remembers we ran into one another there to be honest. He’s… odd. But I was smitten for a few weeks.”

Hermione was trying to stifle a giggle, and failing. She hid her face behind her glass of wine. 

“If you tell Percy I will lock you and Draco in the potions room together for two weeks,” she snapped, her face still flushed. 

“Not a word!” Hermione agreed before adding, “I just was wondering how we might complete the set for you. Bill is also a charmer, and likes blondes.” 

“You dated Ron! So you at least partially agree. You have to admit, that family has been excessively lucky with their genetics. Even Ginny is a professional quidditch player for Merlin’s sake.” 

Hermione was rolling with laughter at this point, and Astoria laid her head down on the table in defeat. 

“Hey, Hermione,” Theo said as he walked by. “Didn’t realize you’d be out for lunch. What’s so funny?”

“Astoria has confessed to having been smitten with all of the Weasleys at various points.” 

“What now?” Theo said, scooting himself next to Hermione with a massive grin. 

“I hate you both.” Astoria’s voice was muffled as she remained face down. 

“So, the tables have turned. Tell me, if Draco had agreed to orange hair dye, would the two of you stayed together?”

Astoria didn’t lift her head, but drew her wand and pointed it in the direction of Theo’s voice. 

“Don’t.” 

“Is Neville coming?” Hermione asked, switching the subject. 

“Nope. I was just going to grab some food and take it back to my desk. This however, was far more entertaining.”

Astoria sat back up and was noticeably still flushed, although it appeared she had regained some of her composure. 

“Since he’s done with those damn rambleweeds though, he hasn’t been spending so much time on the Hogwarts grounds in the evenings. You should both come to the flat tonight if you’re looking for something to do.”

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude…” Astoria said, looking flustered all of a sudden. It struck Hermione suddenly how painfully awkward Astoria was. She had gotten to know her through Percy, who maneuvered conversation so easily that it was easy to not notice how shy the poor thing was.

“It’s not intruding when I explicitly invite you over,” Theo said with an eye roll, and Astoria flushed again. “We keep hearing stories about you, may as well actually have you around once in a while.” 

“You do?” She said wide eyed. 

“Honestly from the way Hermione tells the stories, you’d think she married you, not Draco.” 

Hermione shrugged. 

“He has a fair point. If I could trade, I would. As long as you could find it in you to look past my brown hair.” 

Astoria hid her laugh behind her drink.  

“I’m going to let Harry and Ginny know as well,” Hermione declared. 

“Fine by me. But make Harry bring some of those chocolates he had last time.” 

“Hermione said you make wands,” Neville said cheerily. “I’m an utter arse for not realizing you didn’t just take over the shop to sell the Ollivander wands.” 

“Oh, no you’re not!” Astoria said with a wide smile as she poured a glass of wine. “None of my wands are available for sale yet. I have hundreds of them floating around in the back, but I just haven’t taken them out yet.” 

“How does one go about making a wand anyways?” Harry asked. 

Astoria had a bit more alcohol than the first time Hermione heard her talk about wands, and was not trying to hide any pain this time. The result was an astounding ramble that elicited wide eyes from all over the room. 

“Oh! It’s wonderful really. There’s the basics you know, like the magical core and a wooden wand, but the math is the beautiful part. You have to weave arithmancy into each wand. It’s like braiding. Look!” 

She took a notepad out of a pocket in her robes and opened it up, then withdrew her wand to pull all of the numbers and runes off of the page to lift them in floating symbols around everyone’s head. 

“This is the most recent wand I’ve been working on. Walnut with phoenix feather. Certain wand core and wood combinations are more compatible, and so the basic formulas are similar, but each wand has a completely unique mathematical code.” 

“Wait, I thought it was like programming a broom?” Ginny said, squinting. 

“Oh, no not at all!” Astoria murmured as she began moving symbols around everyone’s head, clearly multitasking as she talked. Her wand waved gracefully as she moved runes around. “The math for each new model of a broom is the same. Since it’s just the raw materials, you can replicate it exactly and mass produce it. You can’t do that with wands because of the magical cores—oh I got it!!” 

She moved one last number with a smile, and then with a swish, pulled all of the characters back onto the page of her notepad and tucked her wand and notepad back into her pocket.

“So, essentially you have to be an arithmancy genius to make wands?”

“No, you just—”

“Yes,” Hermione interrupted. 

“On the Hermione Granger scale of brilliant, what would you say?”

“Approachable enough that I sort of grasp the gist of her completed formulas, complex enough that I have no idea how she managed to solve them,” Hermione replied. 

“Ah,” Harry said with a sharp inhale. He pursed his lips and bowed his head a bit. “Is that all?”

“It’s really not like that,” Astoria protested. “Hermione was just helping me the other day in the shop.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Astoria. But agreeing with you as you think out loud, is not actually helping you solve arithmancy equations any more than Harry was ‘helping’ me with homework while we were at Hogwarts.” 

“She’s right. I did absolutely nothing,” Harry said with a firm head shake. “I had no excuse really, since Voldemort always tried to kill me at the end of the school year. Turns out, Riddle really valued my having a proper education.” 

Ginny snickered. 

“Gods you’re such a tosser,” she mumbled before turning back to Astoria. “Sorry mum is giving you a hard time. You seem alright. Honestly Percy’s kind of a prat, you sure you know what you’re doing?” She smirked teasingly and sipped her wine. 

“I dunno, she had some wild alternatives earlier,” Theo drawled, and then jumped when suddenly a giant spider was crawling up his arm. 

“Fucking hell!!” He screamed as he dropped his drink and tipped backwards over his chair. 

Astoria’s flush had worked down to her neck, and her wand was drawn. 

“You already won me over, love,” Ginny muttered. “Put the wand away. What’s up with Percy and Malfoy?”

“What do you mean?” Astoria asked, hesitantly putting her wand away. 

“I mean, it’s Malfoy.”

Astoria furrowed her eyebrows, visibly confused. 

“Why do you all hate him so much?” She finally asked. 

“We don’t hate him,” Harry said kindly. “But you have to admit, they’re sort of an odd pair of friends considering their history.” 

“None of you even know Draco though. So how do you know they’re an odd pair?”

The room was smothered by an awkward silence. 

“I just don’t understand why you all seem determined to dislike him,” she said quietly. 

“In our defense, he and his family have tried to kill many of us repeatedly,” Neville muttered with a shrug. 

Astoria scowled. 

“Didn’t Harry hex Draco with something deadly at Hogwarts? Besides, Lucius is in Azkaban.”

“He’s so isolated that none of us have reason to believe he’s any different,” Ginny shrugged. 

“So, wait. You think that all of that still matters to him?” Astoria asked, sounding slightly heated. 

“Doesn’t it??” Ginny asked. 

“No! Of course not! Why would he let the manor go to Teddy or marry Hermione if he cared about blood status?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Makes sense that Hermione makes him look better,” Theo shrugged. 

“Draco doesn’t bother with public opinion, hasn’t for years!”

“Look, no offense, you seem nice. But he hasn’t exactly gone out of his way publically to make up for his history. So, we’re not obligated to like him,” Ginny said with an edge to her voice. 

Astoria’s jaw tightened, and for a moment it looked like she would reply, but she dropped the thought when Theo brought up the most recent Hogwarts gossip. 

“That’s not for everyone to know!” Neville barked. 

“Then stop telling me delightful gossip, you know I can’t keep it to myself!”

The room devolved back into delightful giggles. 

Hermione floo’d to Astoria’s apartment with her to make sure Percy was home before going back to the manor. 

When they emerged from the smoke, Hermione was surprised to see Malfoy there as well. He wasn’t wearing a tie, and his hair was a bit mussed. Despite that, his expression was glassy and emotionless. 

“What happened?” Astoria asked immediately. 

“Cissy is back,” Percy replied. 

“I thought she would be at Andromeda’s for a few weeks.”

“Apparently she couldn’t bite her tongue regarding certain subjects after her visit with Lucius.” Percy’s jaw was tight and he was noticeably irritated. 

“I thought you all said this would be fine,” Hermione snapped. 

“It is. Narcissa just doesn’t always handle her visitation well,” Percy replied. 

“So, just every once in a while, I’ll be in slightly more danger than the usual amount.”

“What danger, exactly, do you believe yourself to be in on a regular basis, Granger?” Malfoy snarled. Astoria stepped in first. 

“Draco—“ 

“No. I would like to know. Do tell.”

“Don’t,” Hermione warned. 

“I think I shall.”

“Fine. Your mother revealing who I was to Bellatrix is not inspiring my sense of safety.”

“So, you hold the actions of a woman under duress to the same standards as during peace,” Malfoy hissed. 

“When those actions involve handing over a child to be tortured, yes, actually.” Her nostrils flared, and Percy rubbed the back of his neck. 

“You two need to talk,” Astoria said.

“I think we’ve talked plenty,” Hermione said with an eye roll. 

“Have we? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you avoiding me all week.” 

“Oh? Are you upset suddenly by my lack of company?” 

“Simply disagreeing with the notion that we have talked. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Gods!” Astoria said, holding up a hand between the two of them. 

“Enough!” 

“Excuse me?” Hermione said. Malfoy snorted derisively. 

“I love you both!” Astoria snapped, “And you’re intentionally misunderstanding one another. At some point I’m going to lock you two in a room until you either kill each other or deal with this. Draco why didn’t you tell her you freed your elves? Or that you have advocated against releasing death eaters from Azkaban?”

Malfoy’s jaw tightened and he refused to look at Astoria or Hermione. 

“My mother is expecting me back by now.” He stood up, briskly put down his drink, glided to the fire and vanished. 

Percy was pressing his forehead into his fingertips as though suffering a migraine. 

“Astoria’s right,” he mumbled, then glanced up at Astoria and gave her a little smirk. “How much wine have you had, love?”

“Oh. Um. A bit,” She replied, nervously touching her hair as she swayed.

Percy turned back to Hermione, face flat. 

“I know there's a nasty history with you two. But it’s been a long time since then. Your situation would be a lot easier if you stopped avoiding him. I thought things were alright when you were working together in the evenings?”

“He told you that?”

Percy chuckled. 

“Not in so many words. But yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m his friend.”

“I still don’t understand how that happened.”

Percy shrugged. 

“I didn’t have the war history others had with him. So, we just got to know each other from scratch instead of having to work through all this.” He gestured vaguely to Hermione. 

“It just… it would be easier if the two of you didn’t hate each other,” Astoria mumbled. 

“His family has repeatedly tried to kill me. And you two are acting like I need to just get over it? He was a death eater. He has called me slurs more times than I can count. I’m not going to just get over that because a few of his pureblood friends are claiming that he has maybe secretly changed.” 

“Bloody hell,” Percy sighed. “I’m not saying to get over it. I’m saying talk about it because it would be easier to live in such close proximity to someone you didn’t hate!”

“Good night,” Hermione snapped as she stepped into the fire. The last she saw of Astoria was a sad glance toward Percy shaking his head as the darkness compressed around her. 

There was agitated arguing when she emerged from the fire in the study. Malfoy and Narcissa may have been in the drawing room, or the entry, and their voices were carrying. Hermione froze. 

“—won’t even see him!” Narcissa snapped. 

“We’ve been over this.”

“It’s too much to see the man who loves you? Who raised you? He gave you everything Draco!”

“Yes.”

“You broke his heart bonding with that mudblood.”

There was the sound of glass shattering. 

“Bite your tongue,” Malfoy barked. 

“The girl can’t stand you.”

“She’s hardly the first. You demanded that I bond with a witch. So, I have.”

“A mudblood who won’t even act like your wife.” 

There was a long moment of deafening silence. 

“Use that word in my presence again, and your privileges in this house will become severely limited.” Malfoy’s voice was dark and threatening, and Hermione’s stomach flipped. 

There was a scoff. 

“My own son has already banned me from the library in my own home. Restricting me further will not cut so deep a second time.”

Another deafening silence. 

“You’ll never move on if you keep seeing him,” Malfoy said quietly. 

“I can’t. I love him, Draco.”

“The more you hold onto him, the more you will lose me. You’ll lose all of us. At some point, you’ll need to decide if he is worth that to you.”

“Draco—“

“Get out.”

“That’s not—“

“I said get out.” 

Heels clicked and faded as Hermione remained frozen. Just as she decided to turn back to the floo and leave, Malfoy appeared in the doorway of the study. 

“Enjoy the show?” He said as he moved toward the drink cart. His eyes were glassy. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I just got back.”

“Satisfied with whatever conception you’ve made of this yet?” He snapped.

“That’s not—“

“Don’t bullshit me,” he snapped. “You’ve been doing it since the day Percy cornered us with this absurd suggestion.” 

“Why won’t you see Lucius?” She asked. 

He looked up at her, expressionless. 

“You’re bold, I’ll give you that.” He offered up his glass in a mock toast. 

“And?”

“And nothing. I don’t owe you an answer.”

“Or you don’t have one.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re a coward. You take the easy way out. Same as you’ve always done. Same as your family has always done.”

“It seems to have worked out for us so far,” he muttered as he poured a glass of firewhiskey before nodding once and leaving. 

October 12, 2013

Hermione’s sleep was restless, and around half five, she gave up and sat up. She pinned up her hair and put on a thick jumper before heading to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. 

When she pushed the door open, she saw Narcissa at the counter clutching her own cup of tea. Hermione froze and studied the woman for a moment. The lines on her face were more pronounced, and while she maintained the air of always looking like the world was beneath her, she also appeared fatigued now.

Narcissa meanwhile, seemed to hardly notice that Hermione had stepped into the room. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll just be a minute,” Hermione said flatly as she maneuvered to the stove. She summoned the percolator from the cupboard, and began brewing her coffee in silence. 

“It’s cruel of you,” Narcissa said flatly, breaking the silence between them. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your parents. I’ve pieced together by now that you don’t see them.” 

“I’m afraid that really isn’t any of your business,” Hermione said with an edge to her voice. 

“You bonded with my son. Like it or not, you are absolutely my business.” 

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between Malfoy and Lucius. Frankly, I don’t particularly care. But leave my parents out of it.” 

“I can’t let him go.” The old woman’s voice was tired, and the comment wasn’t directed at Hermione, but she replied anyway. 

“A sentiment I’m afraid I will never understand.” 

Narcissa’s eyes darted to Hermione, pale and cold with anger. 

“He was more than what you know of him.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“He loves me. He loves us.”

“People are complicated, Narcissa. But regardless of whatever good was maybe in him, I won’t forgive him for what he did. So, don’t defend him to me.” 

Narcissa was quiet, eyes still cold with anger. 

“Draco wants me to move on. I don’t know how.”

Hermione wondered if Narcissa had been drinking, as such confessions seemed out of character for her. She had a momentary wave of empathy. 

“Sometimes… Sometimes you have to grieve who you thought someone was.” 

The old woman scoffed. 

“You speak as though you’ve any experience on the matter. Surrounding yourself with heroes your entire life. Your self righteousness is nauseating.” 

Hermione swallowed her anger before continuing. 

“It was years before I could face what Dumbledore did to us.”

Narcissa’s gray eyes met Hermione’s, filled with doubt and curiosity she wouldn’t confess to before glazing over again. 

“He lied to us all. He lied to Harry his entire life. He could have kept Sirius out of Azkaban since he knew that Pettigrew was the secret keeper. But I think deep down, he knew that Harry could be more easily controlled if raised by the Dursleys. He manipulated Severus’ love into a weapon and in doing so, stabbed a friend in the back. He treated everyone in his life as a chess piece. Suffice to say, yes, I’m quite familiar with grieving who you thought someone was.” 

She poured the coffee into her cup and leaned against the counter, waiting for Narcissa’s reply. 

“He’s a part of me,” Narcissa said, compulsively turning her ring. 

“What did he say to you?”

Narcissa hesitated, but blinked rapidly several times. 

There were footsteps coming up the stairs from the dungeons, and a few moments later, Malfoy stepped into the kitchen. His eyes widened when he saw Narcissa and Hermione. Narcissa closed her eyes in what appeared to be both dread and defeat. 

“I should go,” Hermione said briskly as she shuffled out of the kitchens toward the library. 

It was several hours later when there was a quiet knock in the doorway. She looked up from her notes to see Malfoy hesitantly standing. 

“May I?” He asked. 

Hermione nodded and looked back down at her work. Malfoy quietly took the place across from her and she tried to ignore him, but she could feel his eyes boring into her as she avoided eye contact. 

“What do you want?” She finally asked. 

“Thank you,” he said. It sounded like he spoke through gritted teeth, like gratefulness was a foreign flavor to him. 

Hermione didn’t reply. 

“Whatever you said to her. She returned to my aunt’s. They appear to have reconciled for the time being.” 

She remained face down into her work. 

“It was nothing.” 

“Has Bill gotten back to you?” Malfoy asked. 

Hermione shrugged. 

“He said that they probably can’t connect until after Hallows Eve.” 

There was silence again. While Malfoy seemed comfortable with the quiet, it made Hermione shift nervously in her seat. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about the elves?” She finally asked, breaking the silence. 

“You made an assumption. I just didn’t correct you.” 

“But why?” She lifted her head, gray eyes met hers. His face was blank. 

“Would you have believed me?”

She bit her lip. 

“What else don’t I know?”

“A lot, probably. It’s been a long time.” 

“If Andromeda and Narcissa are close now, why does she dislike you so much?”

“I don’t like to correct people’s assumptions of me," he replied. 

“I find that hard to believe. The Malfoy I knew loved to remind everyone exactly who he was at any given moment.” 

He didn’t reply. 

“Astoria seems better lately,” Hermione said, changing the subject. 

“Implant adjustments. And the new potion.” 

“What’s the typical prognosis?”

Malfoy sighed. 

“Forty I think is the oldest on record in her family.” 

“How much time will these treatments buy her?”

“There’s no way to know,” Malfoy replied. 

Hermione was suddenly gripped with the reality that her new friend’s death could be relatively soon. The death of loved ones being an impending probability wasn’t new, but the gravity of it without the accompanying adrenaline of war was; And she suddenly felt ill. 

They sat in silence for several minutes before Hermione spoke up again. 

“Do you have more recipes to test?”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed a bit. 

“If so, should I meet you in the dungeons tomorrow?” She continued. 

“Is this your attempt at a truce, Granger?”

“I mean, we apparently share a few friends now. And Astoria is right, it would be easier this way.” 

Malfoy’s jaw tightened. 

“Fine.” He stood up to leave, and gracefully glided back to the doorway. Before stepping out, he spoke up again over his shoulder. 

“For what it’s worth, Granger. I’m sorry you had to hear what my mother said last night. More still for the countless times you had to hear it from me.” 

Then he was gone. 

Chapter Text

October 17, 2013

Between the mandrake case and another visit to St Mungo’s when Astoria relapsed again, Hermione didn’t have the energy to research another potential angle on her elf and goblin research. 

She did however, spend much of her time contemplating the nature of goblins' place in the wizarding world as she brewed with Malfoy in the dungeons most evenings again. 

“How familiar are you with goblin segregation laws?” Hermione asked Malfoy one day as he stirred a bubbling vat or orange goo. 

“Don’t tell me you’re planning on adding to your workload.”

“Just answer the question.”

“What everyone knows. They’re not allowed in any work industry outside of banking and the occasional metal working. And they’re not allowed to live in wizard neighborhoods. Why?”

“Just curious.”

A door slammed upstairs, followed by Ginny’s voice. 

“Hermione?” 

Hermione jumped up and disapperated from the dungeons, and reappeared in the kitchen. 

“Gods! You scared me!” Ginny mumbled as she grasped the edge of the counter. Malfoy had appeared as well and Ginny glanced at him irritably before opting to ignore him. 

“I’m just here to give you the warning that mum will probably send a howler. Hell, she might show up here for all I know.”

“What? Why?”

“Because she’s Molly Weasley,” she replied with an eye roll. 

“You and Harry talked to her?”

“Yes. I think Harry made it worse.” 

“Will she go to Percy?” Malfoy asked. 

“I don’t know, probably.” 

Malfoy stormed out of the kitchen, and Hermione after him. 

“Wait, what did I miss?” Ginny called after them before following on Hermione’s heels. 

Malfoy vanished in a plume of smoke to Percy’s flat. Hermione pulled Ginny in the fire alongside her. 

They emerged to find Percy greeting Draco with a hushed tone, and Hermione took a brief glance to find Astoria, who appeared to be trapped in the kitchen with Molly. 

Hermione gestured angrily to Percy, who shrugged and whispered in a shrill hiss. 

“I’ve tried! You go separate them!” 

“What’d she say?” Ginny asked, looking slightly embarrassed as she watched her mother hover over a cup of tea Astoria was brewing. 

“As of yet, nothing. Her company face is on. Once Astoria is gone, I’ll get a proper earful.” 

Molly and Astoria stepped back into the room, and Molly gasped with a smile when she saw the lot of them. 

“Hermione! Lovely to see you. Ginny, what are you doing here?” She did not acknowledge Malfoy’s presence. 

“I was just showing miss Greengrass here the basics on how to make ginger biscuits so that they aren’t too dry next time. I suppose this lovely dear probably never had the need to know how to cook a good biscuit.” She smiled cheerily, but Hermione flushed with secondhand embarrassment. Percy looked ready to sink into the earth, meanwhile Astoria smiled politely. 

“Mum, I think Harry is still expecting us back for dinner,” Ginny said briskly, gesturing to the fire. 

“Oh I suppose so! Say, why don’t you and Percy come to the burrow with us all for dinner. Hermione, you should join as well.”

Astoria nodded tentatively, and everyone else followed suit. When Molly attempted to pull Astoria into the floo with her to head back to the burrow, Percy firmly took Astoria’s hand in his and Ginny seamlessly stepped into the fire with her mother to take her place. 

Before Hermione knew it, only she and Malfoy were standing in the flat. 

“Shall we?” She muttered. 

“I’ll check in later,” Malfoy replied. 

“Are you going to let a lack of a direct invitation from Molly Weasley of all people prevent you from coming with?” Hermione asked with a smirk. 

“I believe a former death eater attending is bound to make the situation worse for them.” 

“Or, it will just redirect most of the heat our way,” Hermione shrugged, and gestured to the fire again. 

Malfoy cautiously followed, and with a dash of powder, they were off. 

The burrow was as noisy as ever, and Hermione took note of Malfoy’s eyes widening briefly before becoming glassy again. She didn’t scold him for occluding.

His appearance at the burrow struck her as completely ridiculous the longer she looked at him. His carefully pressed dress robes and graceful demeanor was completely antithetical to the eclectic chaos of the burrow and everyone in it. Gray eyes met hers, and she realized she had been staring as his eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly. 

Mrs Weasley bustled about as she flung her wand toward the cabinet to withdraw a stack of plates flying over everyone’s head, and then a cleaning charm to a pot in the sink. Albus could be heard stomping upstairs. 

“Will George be coming as well?” Percy asked cheerily, gracefully shielding Molly from pulling Astoria aside again. 

“No. He and Angelina are in New York to check in on the shop there.” 

When Mrs Weasley’s eyes landed on Malfoy’s, she froze and pursed her lips before straightening her back. 

“My apologies Draco, I only set the table for nine.”

“Oh it’s no trouble,” Percy said, summoning another plate to the table and transfiguring a barrel in the corner into a chair. 

“I suppose the two of you are more familiar with eating in fine dining halls, aren’t you?” Mrs Weasley said cheerily, gesturing to both Astoria and Malfoy. 

As soon as Arthur came home, everyone sat down to eat, where Mrs Weasley continued to make the occasional passive aggressive remark to Astoria. 

“She’s never treated you this way!” Hermione hissed to Harry under her breath. Malfoy meanwhile, pretended he couldn’t hear her.  

“Yes, well. She’s always thought of me as an adopted son,” Harry whispered back. 

“You too, Hermione,” Ginny leaned in to add. 

“So, I hear you found a way to make Hermione blood bond with you?” 

Malfoy looked up from his plate and coldly replied. 

“Yes.”

“Such an archaic practice. Don’t you think, Arthur?” 

Arthur didn’t have a chance to respond before Molly continued. 

“But I suppose that’s how it is with families like that. I mean, we’re a pureblood family and we’d never consider such a thing. And Hermione here is muggle born! Tell me, how does your mother feel about the endeavor?”

Malfoy’s eyes were still blank. 

“She performed the ritual.”

“Never thought I’d hear of it. What about Lucius? Arthur here tells me that the guards in Azkaban have heard quite an earful.”

“So I’ve heard,” Malfoy muttered as he took another bite of soup. 

“I wonder how you could possibly keep Hermione safe with the type of company you people keep,” Molly grumbled, her falsely cheery mood souring all of a sudden. 

“I’m most definitely a danger to her psyche if nothing else,” Percy said kindly, but firmly as though to remind his mother that he was the company Malfoy kept. 

Mrs Weasley ignored him. 

“Tell me Draco, have you been in contact with Gregory Goyle of late?” 

Malfoy put his spoon down and calmly met eyes with Mrs Weasley. 

“I wonder if I’ve ever met a more passive aggressive woman,” he said flatly, the corner of his mouth curving up slightly when Mrs Weasley became noticeably offended. 

“That boy was rumored to have funded the attack on a muggleborn owned shop in London!” She said as she lifted her nose. 

“So he has. And I don’t doubt it’s true.”

“Hermione, no need to worry about having a place to stay anytime there is foul company at the manor. We are more than willing to accommodate you on short notice.” 

“Mother.” Percy’s tone had lost all friendliness as he gave her a warning head shake. 

“Thank you, Mrs Weasley. That won’t be necessary,” Hermione said quietly. 

“These rolls are absolutely divine, dear. Is it a new recipe?” Arthur said, attempting to switch subjects. 

Molly relented, and dinner proceeded stiffly for another hour before Percy and Astoria excused themselves. Hermione indicated that the two of them should leave first, and Percy didn’t push back on the suggestion. 

As soon as they vanished in the fire, Hermione turned to Molly. 

“Thank you for dinner, Mrs Weasley.”

“Thank you for coming love. It’s reassuring to see all the pieces of you intact.” 

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from snapping at her surrogate mother. 

“Thank you,” Malfoy muttered with a subtle nod of the head. 

“You sound like you’ve never heard the phrase dear. I’m afraid you’ll need more practice,” Mrs Weasley replied briskly. “You let me know if you need anything, dear,” she said firmly to Hermione. 

Ginny shrugged in the background as she set Albus down on the floor, and Harry could be seen ruffling the hair at the back of his head as Hermione and Malfoy vanished together in a plume of smoke. 

As soon as they landed, Malfoy walked to the drink cart and poured himself a drink. He drained half of it swiftly before topping off the glass and setting the bottle back down on the cart with a stiff clatter. 

“What was that about Goyle?” Hermione asked. 

“Worried about me keeping company with other death eaters, are you?”

Hermione didn’t answer, and chewed her thumb nail as the silence grew. 

Malfoy collapsed into a chair by the fire and loosened his tie in frustration as his thoughts wandered. He was still occluding. 

“He’s been funding attacks on muggle borns for years,” Malfoy muttered. 

“How come I’ve not heard of it?” Hermione asked. 

“He’s careful. They’re infrequent, and he doesn’t usually target anyone notable. The ministry doesn’t want to elicit public panic.” 

“We have a right to know if there’s targeted attacks being planned, and not just random incidents of violence,” Hermione said indignantly. 

“I agree,” Malfoy said flatly. 

Hermione scoffed. 

“Sure. That’s why you’ve kept quiet for years apparently.” 

Malfoy’s eyes met hers. There was a flicker of anger in them as his occlusion lapsed. 

“What do you suppose happens when I expose that information, Granger? Do you think the ministry will take kindly to being exposed for downplaying planned terrorist attacks on muggle borns?”

“So find another way to get the word out. Percy could do it.”

“Percy has been playing a dangerous game of making sure he is well liked by everyone. He’s one of the only people there who can’t be bought.”

“Then Harry,” Hermione said, with a sinking feeling. Did he already know?

“As soon as the auror department shares too much, the ministry will stop providing intel that allows them to stay ahead on the attacks.”

“So… Harry knows?” She asked. 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. 

“Potter doesn’t tell you everything I suppose.” He turned toward the fire before clarifying. “He doesn’t know the details. I'm sure he would become more chatty as soon as he got specifics on you.” 

Hermione’s stomach turned. 

“How do you know about the attacks?”

“My father’s rapport is well known. And mine. People talk.” 

The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and a shiver ran down her spine as she reconsidered how safe she theoretically was in the manor if Malfoy was still in death eater circles. Did Percy know?

“It’s half the reason this absurdity was suggested,” Malfoy said, gesturing vaguely between them, as though reading her thoughts. Hermione felt dizzy. 

“For Merlin’s sake, I don’t need to use legilimency to know what you’re thinking. Your disdain for me is an open book,” he snapped. 

“So, Percy knows?” She asked. Malfoy nodded. 

“And he knew that you being grafted into the sacred twenty-eight would make you a less appealing target to most rogue death eaters while you continue your work.” 

“Why didn’t either of you say something?” She asked, voice raising. 

“Do I strike you as chivalrous, Granger? That I would go to such lengths to ensure your ability to continue your work?” He scoffed and refilled his drink. “Easier to let you think it was about improving the Malfoy image.”

“You accuse me of always assuming the worst, meanwhile you keep hiding things,” she snapped. 

He sipped his drink and let silence settle for a few moments before replying. 

“And now that you have learned more?”

“I don’t know what to think.” 

His jaw tightened. 

“Good,” he said flatly. “Wouldn’t want you getting the wrong idea. Even if you were ever convinced of my motives, I’m certain you wouldn’t approve of my methods.” 

She gave him a quizzical look. 

He lifted his glass in a mock toast in her direction. 

“They sent someone here just after the engagement announcement. The lad didn’t make it far.”

Hermione’s stomach turned again. 

“What… What did you do?”

His head turned to her, and grey eyes locked on hers. 

“People who show up here with intent to harm my family don’t leave. It wasn’t the first, and won’t be the last.” 

She felt sick again. Not out of empathy or sadness for a mercenary, but she was suddenly uneasy around Malfoy. 

“I thought the ministry kept an eye on you,” was the only thing she could think to say. 

He smirked maliciously. 

“Who they don’t notice coming into my home needn’t concern them when they never leave.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Hermione asked. 

“Because I know you like to have as much information as possible before making an educated decision.”

“What am I deciding?”

Malfoy tipped his head a bit, but didn’t reply. 

Silence filled the room again. 

“I should go,” she mumbled as she stood up and shuffled toward the door. 

Malfoy never replied. 

October 18, 2013

“Hello?” Hermione muttered as she stepped into the doorway of the potions room. Malfoy was visibly startled by her presence, and dropped the stir stick he had been holding to roll down the sleeve on his left arm quickly as she stepped in. 

“Not avoiding me this time?” He asked, his nostrils flared and she noticed his expression was glassy. She briefly wondered whether or not he was actually irritable, or if the flash she caught was part of his occlusion technique. To help hide whatever he was actually feeling. 

“No.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t reply. 

“Should I leave?” She asked after a few moments of tense silence between them. 

“No,” he replied. He stiffly reached for a recipe on the table, and handed it to her. 

The two of them worked in silence for nearly half an hour before Hermione spoke up again. 

“Is it still there?”

He looked up and tipped his head. She noticed that his shirt wasn’t pressed today, and he wasn’t wearing a tie. It was clear he hadn’t been expecting her to return to the potions room today. 

“Is what still there?” 

She gestured to her own left forearm. 

“You’re always careful to wear long sleeves, and you roll them down if you’re not expecting me.” 

His eyes flickered momentarily to her forearm, also covered with a sleeve, but she ignored it. 

“Yes,” he answered flatly. 

“Why do you hide it? It’s not like I don’t know it’s there,” she shrugged. 

“I…” He hesitated. “I don’t want you to have to see it.” 

There was a moment where she thought he looked sad. But it was so brief between his glassy expression that she couldn’t be certain that’s what she saw. 

“I wish you’d stop occluding around me,” she said more irritably than she intended to come across. 

To her surprise, the mask dropped. His gray eyes were softer than normal and while it still felt like he could see into her mind too easily, it no longer felt hostile. 

“What have you done to try and remove it?” She asked. 

His eyes closed as his hand clenched. 

“Don’t, Granger.” 

“If you let me see it, I could try—”

“No!” His eyes snapped open and locked on hers, aggressive again. 

“Draco,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. He blinked twice at the use of his first name. 

“Good night, Granger,” he said briskly before gliding to the door in a hurry to leave her. 

October 19, 2013

“What do you know of Malfoy’s dark mark?” Hermione asked as she flipped through an old wand legends book Astoria brought to the shop that afternoon. Astoria meanwhile had an assortment of glowing arithmancy runes above her and was rearranging them every few minutes while scrunching her nose. 

“What about it?” She asked. 

“He hides it. Even when no one else is around. I can tell he hates it.” 

“Sure,” Astoria agreed. 

“He wouldn’t tell me what he’s tried in order to remove it.” 

Astoria shrugged and flung a few golden numbers onto the floor, letting them shatter as she removed them from her equation. 

“I mean, I don’t know what else he’s tried. But for a while I tried to separate his magical signature from whatever charms were used to attach to him. But it’s like a virus, it just grows back onto the host. He has a few scars on his arm from the attempts.” 

“Does it still do something without Voldemort around?”

“Parts of it, yes. It’s still connected to other death eaters, so that’s why he’s been able to find them. They still use it to notify one another.” 

“He can track them?”

“Only when they declare their location. And he only uses it sparingly. Most people at the ministry wouldn’t blink over putting him at risk to hunt death eaters on the run if they knew.” 

Hermione chewed on her thumb nail as she considered. 

“What about grafting new skin over the mark?”

Astoria tipped her head. 

“Maybe. I never tried that though.” 

“What changed his mind?” Hermione asked. 

“What do you mean?”

“About muggles.”

“Oh.” Astoria pulled the symbols back onto her parchment, and set it aside as she pulled out a piece of wood and began careful whittling with a knife.

“He and Narcissa have always been more passive with their prejudice.”

“They supported Voldemort. And defended Bellatrix and Lucius. I wouldn’t call that passive.” 

“Fair enough,” Astoria shrugged. “But Draco always had a harder time stomaching the violence. It really only took some exposure to muggles and muggle life to make him reconsider a lot of his bias against them.” 

“Draco? Exposed to muggle life?” Hermione said with a disbelieving smile. 

“Oh I took him to muggle London a number of times. Told him that I’d have no tolerance for that sort of thing if we were going to indulge our parents’ grand plan.”

“So you’re the reason,” she smiled. 

“No. Draco did it on his own. He wasn’t exactly motivated by feelings toward me to appease me at the time. We weren’t even good friends at that point. He just needed perspective. Lucius and Narcissa were careful to not expose him to anything muggle when he was growing up, so he didn’t know anything about them.” 

“Maybe.” 

“Narcissa has been much slower to come around,” Astoria shrugged. “Part of it is Lucius’ influence, part of it is that she’s reluctant about change.” 

“Speaking of Narcissa, what’s the deal with her and Andromeda?”

Astoria shrugged again. 

“I’ll never understand that. I think they both lost so much that they’re both willing to just not talk about certain things in order to have one another again.”

“And Teddy?”

Astoria smirked. 

“Narcissa loves him, but won’t admit it.”

“Then why is she so against him inheriting the manor?”

Astoria reached for a different whittling knife and began carving a pattern into the handle of the wand she was working on. 

“It’s not that she’s against him inheriting from his Black heritage. She just wants Malfoy Manor to pass through Draco. She regularly lectures Andromeda on how Teddy should inherit Grimmauld place since the Black manor is gone now.”

“Really??” Hermione replied, aghast. 

“Oh yes. She insists that since Harry’s children aren’t Blacks, that it should go to Teddy. And that if he were decent that he would oblige since Teddy is also his godson and older than any of his children anyway.” 

“And what do you think?” Hermione asked, suddenly curious. 

“I… I shouldn’t say. It’s not my family or my estate anyway.” She flushed. 

“Just tell me. I’m curious.” 

She avoided looking at Hermione, focusing intently on the wand handle and her knife. 

“I think Teddy inheriting Grimmauld place would be nice.” 

“Would be nice?” 

Astoria hesitantly looked up.

“It’s what's left of the Black’s ancestral home. Harry… Harry isn’t a Black. And he inherited the place from Sirius, who didn’t even want it.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose and dropped the subject with a sour taste in her mouth. 

Chapter Text

October 31, 2013

Mrs Weasley found Hermione at her desk around lunchtime, to her grand annoyance. After the disastrous dinner, Hermione had been avoiding her for weeks. 

“Afternoon dear. Just thought I’d check in,” she said cheerily. 

“Hello Mrs Weasley.”

“So, Percy tells me that you’ve been happy at Malfoy Manor?” The way she said ‘happy’ sounded like a sneer. 

“I have been doing sufficiently well, thank you.” Hermione scanned the room and noted that Montague and Evie were both listening to the conversation. 

She stood up and gestured to the door, suggesting that she and Molly take their conversation to the terrace. As soon as they stepped into the cool, autumn air, Mrs Weasley pulled back the ‘company friendly’ mask a bit.  

“My dear, are you alright?”

“Mrs Weasley, I’m fine. You should know from Percy that the situation at Malfoy Manor isn’t what it was years ago.”

Molly flinched at that question. She clearly knew how close her son and Malfoy were, and she chose to ignore that whenever possible. Hermione felt her blood pressure increase slightly, less indignant about her own predicament, but more about Molly’s treatment of Percy. She couldn’t help but think of Astoria. 

“So suddenly these people are kind, welcoming sorts?”

“I’m not in any immediate danger.”

“The Malfoy boy has had a wretched influence on my Percy, dear. Truthfully. First passing off his spoiled girlfriend to him, and now convincing him to proceed with the archaic blood binding and soul bonding rituals. It’s madness.” 

Hermione closed her eyes momentarily to swallow the anger bubbling up in her chest. 

“I believe it’s Percy’s choice. Malfoy doesn’t argue strongly for almost anything in my experience.” 

“I’m concerned that you are defending a boy that was cruel to you, meanwhile all Ron has ever done is care about you.” 

It took all of Hermione’s self control not to roll her eyes. 

“He told me he was extremely worried about you, and that Draco was wretched all evening the night of your birthday. We are all concerned about you living there.”

“We all?” Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “What’s this really about, Mrs Weasley?”

“I’m finding it hard to understand how you let down Ron, but you found it in you to marry the Malfoy boy.” 

“That was years ago.” 

“I was just  sure that the two of you would work it out someday.”

“It wasn’t meant to be. We both agreed on that a long time ago.”

Molly wrinkled her nose.

“But you have to know how this looks, dear.” 

“I’m sorry?”

“Well. Enough people speculate that you compromised with Malfoy. It’s natural for people to wonder why you would compromise for him but not for Ron.”

Hermione pursed her lips in irritation. 

“That’s an unfair comparison.”

“Is it?”

“Is there anything else you need?” Hermione asked coldly. 

“This conversation warrants further discussion.”

“Actually, it doesn’t. I love you dearly, as much as my own mother. You are like family to me. But if you can’t respect my decision and you are going to lecture me on my history with Ron, then I have no reason to discuss this with you further.” 

Mrs Weasley’s lips tightened indignantly. 

“Well, at the very least you can help ensure that Percy doesn’t throw his life away by blood bonding with a spoiled witch he won’t have the option to leave when he realizes that she’s no good for him.”

“I most certainly will not,” Hermione replied. 

“You should know more than anyone how serious those bonds are!” She cried. 

“I do. And that’s why I will not pressure him into or out of the decision. It’s his and Astoria’s decision to make. That’s all. You should consider how much you value your son in your life, Mrs Weasley.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He loves her. Eventually, he will stop trying to reason with you on the subject, and he will marry her without your blessing.” 

Molly lifted her nose and huffed. 

“Well dear. Have a good rest of your week then, I best be off,” she said coldly before storming off. 

Hermione stood frozen on the terrace for nearly ten minutes before returning to her desk. 

“You’re back early,” Malfoy said from his desk when she arrived via floo. She was trying to discreetly avoid work, as she was unable to regain focus after Molly left. 

“I’m already cranky. Don’t ask.” 

“It’s Hallow’s Eve.”

“So?”

“So, Percy’s bound to show up.”

“Absolutely not,” she said, and waved Malfoy to the fire. 

“What are you doing?” He asked. 

“We’re spending Halloween with muggles. I am not dealing with Percy or any other Weasley tonight.”

“We?”

“I’m sorry. Would you prefer to be dragged out to god knows where with the weasel?” 

Malfoy furrowed his brows questioningly, but agreed and stood up, following her into the fire to Diagon Alley. 

“I can’t believe you’re making me sneak out with you twice now," he grumbled as they landed. 

Hermione didn’t respond, but instead waved him to the brick wall. 

“No magic!” She hissed as they stepped through to muggle London. 

“At least pick somewhere with a drink.”

Dusk was beginning to settle in, and Hermione could smell spiced cider, hot cocoa, and apple pies from various shop windows. 

Hermione withdrew her purse and a few muggle notes, and ordered both herself and Malfoy a hot cocoa from a stand on the corner. 

He reluctantly sipped.

“Doesn’t count.” 

“Hush.”

“What do muggles do on Halloween?” He asked. 

“Depends on where you’re from. In London, it’s relatively simple. Mum and I would carve a pumpkin and eat sweets while watching the telly.”

“And what do you do now?” He asked. 

“Usually Harry and Ginny invite me for dinner. Halloween is the night his parents died, so they don’t make a huge fuss about it. They do carve pumpkins with the kids though. Harry makes them do it the muggle way. Last year, James carved one with a frog.”

Malfoy nodded. 

“But not this year?”

Hermione shook her head.

“They’re in Romania this year for Halloween visiting Charlie.” 

They walked toward a park full of Jack-O-Lantern displays in silence for a few minutes. 

“They don’t even float," he said. 

“Of course not,” she said as she guided them to a muggle pub. 

After being seated, a waitress wandered over to greet them politely and take their order. 

“Whiskey and a rum and Coke please,” Hermione said. “Also a basket of chips.”

“Love the costumes. Vampire and a witch?”

“Sure,” Hermione smiled, looking down at her robes and Malfoy’s suit. 

The waitress nodded and wandered off. 

“Am I that pale to a muggle?” Malfoy asked. 

“More so the combination of pale with your choice of suit coat today.”  

The waitress returned with drinks and chips, and the two fell back into silence. Hermione silently drained two drinks and then ordered a third. She refused to be the one to break the silence this time. 

Malfoy raised his eyebrows as she ordered her last. 

“What ever happened with the mandrakes?” He asked. 

“A nightmare," she said sourly. “I’m ready to be done with it. So, should we continue our muggle tour tomorrow?” 

“What?” 

“A muggle London tour. Astoria said that you’ve seen some of it, but I’m not sure how much you covered. Have you ever been to the theater? Or muggle art museums?”

His eyebrows lowered, silently questioning her. 

“I’ve been a few places.” 

“Malfoy, ever specific,” she scolded, taking another long sip of her drink. Somewhere part way through her second drink, her muscles relaxed, and the third drink was smothering her thoughts in a comforting blanket of lethargy. 

“We should go to a market in the morning if you haven’t been to one. We could get a room in the meantime.”

Malfoy’s eyes dilated for a moment before becoming unreadable. 

“Not like that, I mean, not with you.” She flushed and began playing with the straw in her drink. Meanwhile, his expression was still glassy. 

“Stop occluding!” She scolded. 

He relented occlusion and took a sip of his whiskey, glancing at something on the wall behind her. 

“You don’t have to work tomorrow?” He asked. 

“Day after Hallow’s Eve, we don’t have any meetings scheduled. Most people are nursing a hangover instead. There’s no point in it.” 

Malfoy’s jaw tightened. His drink was gone. She couldn’t remember if it was his second. 

Hermione drained the remainder of her last drink, dropped a few notes on the table and stood up, tugging Malfoy’s wrist as she did. 

“Let’s go!” 

As they wandered, she tripped on a crack in the concrete and grasped Malfoy’s arm to stabilize herself. She briefly smelled cologne, whiskey, and mint. His whole body stiffened when she touched him. 

He gestured toward the direction of Diagon Alley, and as she tripped over the walkway again, he politely offered his arm. 

“Thank you,” she said gratefully as she looped her arm through his. She could smell his cologne again, and he was pleasantly warm.  

“You’ve made an idiot of yourself trying to walk alone.”

“‘You’re welcome’ is an acceptable response," she snapped as they walked. 

Her footing was still unstable, and she found herself leaning on him more frequently than she intended to. His usually graceful movements were rigid and she was certain he didn’t like having her so close. She put all of her focus on keeping her feet steady.  

“Where to next?”

“Home.”  

“What? But the evening has just started!” She declared indignantly. 

“You’re sufficiently drunk, Granger.”

“But Percy! And damn his mother!” She snapped. 

Malfoy’s eyebrows raised. “Is that what this is about?” 

“He loves her!” 

“Who?” 

“Percy! He loves her! He should just marry her. Mrs Weasley be damned. She hated Fleur, too at first.”

Malfoy didn’t reply. 

“Haaaated her. And she isn’t a rich pureblood princess…” she trailed off and forgot her train of thought for a moment. “She loves being where her business isn’t.”

“A family trait,” Malfoy replied stiffly.

“Not Bill or Charlie!” She protested. 

“I find that hard to believe.” 

“It’s true!” She said as she wobbled again and her face landed on the back of his shoulder. “If you don’t have scales, Charlie won’t even look your way.” 

“I’ll be sure to pick up a dragonhide jacket next time I’m looking for a date.” 

“He will marry her. Molly be damned," she said again, indignantly. 

“We should go through the tunnels. If mother sees you like this, I won’t hear the end of it,” Malfoy said. 

“Oohhhh… Ok,” she drawled. “Shall we?” She drew her wand and Malfoy swiftly and silently disarmed her. 

“Hey!” She exclaimed. 

“You’ll splinch yourself.” 

She furrowed her eyebrows and with a flick of her wrist, prompted the weeds at his feet to grow. They sprung up rapidly and wrapped around his ankles, chaining him to the floor. 

“Bloody hell, Granger.” 

It took him nearly a minute to fight the charm and free himself as they continued to grow and wind around his ankles. She smirked with satisfaction. 

He offered his arm again. It was neither a warm gesture or a cold one. Clinical again. 

“Hold on,” he mumbled, and before she had a chance to ask why, they disapperated. 

They apperated just outside the gates of the manor, and as they landed, she lost her footing and Malfoy grasped her by the arm to keep her from falling. He released her immediately, and gestured toward the tunnels where they quickly maneuvered through to the potions room. 

Once they stepped inside, she quickly found an empty glass and poured herself some firewhiskey before flinging herself onto the chaise. She adjusted the skirt of her robes as she pulled her legs into a cross legged pose. 

She then tapped the open spot on the end indicating for him to sit. He reluctantly sat down next to her, still rather stiff. 

“I want to play a game," she said. 

“No.” 

“Too bad.” 

Malfoy sighed. 

“Two truths and a lie. We’ll go back and forth. I had a pet parakeet as a child, I won a national science fair competition when I was nine, and my favorite color is violet.” 

Malfoy considered a moment and took a sip before answering. “The pet bird is the lie.”

“Nope! I didn’t win a science convention ever. Your turn.”

“What was the bird’s name?”

“Bernard. He died just before I received my Hogwarts letter. Your turn.”

They went back and forth exchanging facts for half an hour. Malfoy revealed his favorite sweet was chocolate and that he wanted a kneezle as a kid. Hermione shared that she once left a stink bomb in the potions room after Snape was rude to Harry, and that when she was little, she cut off all her hair. 

She felt herself getting dizzy from the amount of alcohol she had so far. At one point she tipped over a bit and her forehead landed on Malfoy’s shoulder. He smelled like cologne, fresh air, and whiskey. He was warm, and the effect made her drowsy for a moment. 

“Arithmancy was my favorite subject. I had a time turner in third year to take all of my classes. I’m an animagus.” Her voice was muffled into his sleeve. 

“Time turner is a lie.”

“Nooo…” she drawled and giggled. “Gods I was tired that year.” 

When she pulled her forehead off Malfoy’s shoulder to look up, his mouth was open.

“What?”

“I suppose you’re technically not supposed to know that,” she mumbled. 

Malfoy exhaled loudly, and guffawed.

“Who the fuck gave you a time turner at thirteen?!"

“McGonagall. She—“ hiccup “—persuaded the ministry to let me have one so I could take on the extra classes.”

Malfoy was suddenly completely overtaken by laughter. He almost sounded genuine. 

“That is the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.” 

Hermione was indignant.

“I wanted to take all the classes available to a third year student!” She said. 

“I’m sure you did; But you know what you’re supposed to do when a thirteen year old asks for the power of god?”

“What?”

“You say NO !” His laughter was contagious as he poured another glass of whiskey for himself. 

“A bloody time turner. Seven hells.” 

Hermione held out her glass. 

“No, you’re done,” he said and took her glass away, setting down on a nearby shelf. 

“Bet you can’t guess who my first kiss was,” she mumbled through a stifled giggle. 

“It’s between Krum or Ronald I assume.” 

“Wrong!! It was Harry,” she snorted with laughter. “Fred dared him to in third year.” 

“You’re delirious.” 

“We both threw up.” 

“I’ll be sure to remind him.” 

“Who was yours?” 

“My what?”

“First kiss?”

“Pansy.” 

“Ohhhh… yes I should have known that,” Hermione nodded before her forehead crumpled onto Malfoy’s shoulder again. The world began to spin and she wondered if she would vomit. 

 . . .

“Ron!!” knives were pressed into her body at various points, then fire raged across her skin. The broken chandelier had sliced her arm, and she was laying in a pool of her own blood. 

“What did you steal you filthy little mudblood!?” Bellatrix asked. 

“I didn’t take anything! Please no!” Fire raged through her body again, her body convulsing from the pain as she shrieked. 

“Help me!!” She screamed through sobs as Bellatrix asked her again. 

Bellatrix grasped Hermione’s wrist and pushed the sleeve up. She then bent down and was carving the flesh from her arm. She dragged the poisoned blade slowly as Hermione shrieked in pain, pleading to die. When she was finished, she returned to casting the curse again. 

And again. 

And again. 

As Hermione’s head thrashed, that broken tile would flash in and out of her vision. 

At one point she realized Greyback was looming over her, then more pain. 

More fire. Her skin peeling away. Her bones breaking. Knives slicing through her. She wasn’t sure what was real anymore. Then she heard Harry’s voice. 

Thank god. She let me die. 

“Hermione, wake up!” Her eyes snapped open and she realized she had been screaming in her sleep. Malfoy knelt over her, shaking her awake. 

She was choking, and it felt like acid was filling her lungs, and her chest burned. 

Where is the air in this fucking room?? 

She was gasping, desperate for oxygen, but her chest was caving in. 

Malfoy took both of her hands in his and gripped tightly. Her skin felt like it was vibrating. Then, without notice, her nerves were shot. She went from feeling the fear of ten lifetimes, to feeling nothing at all. 

Hermione’s tongue still felt thick and her limbs felt like lead. Her head felt foggy and throbbed. 

Malfoy didn’t let go, and she was too tired to pull away. She wasn’t sure when she fell asleep again. 

November 1, 2013

Her head was throbbing when she woke up. She shifted and felt someone startle next to her, and a hand withdrew from her hair as someone jumped away from her.

“Fuck. I didn’t know you were awake.”

She turned and Malfoy was standing next to the chaise, rubbing the back of his neck. His hair was a mess, his tie was missing, and his eyes were bloodshot. 

She was too tired to fully absorb what had happened, and was trying to remember last night. 

“When did I fall asleep?” 

“Around your arithmancy game.” 

“Arithmancy game?”

“I’d explain the rules but you kept changing them.” 

She nodded. 

“How often?” He asked after a long pause. 

She shrugged.

“I don’t really keep track. It’s not always that bad. I cast silencing charms in my room before going to sleep, in case.”

Malfoy rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Did you get any sleep?” She asked. 

He shook his head. 

Hermione nodded, standing up to leave. When she turned to go, his hand clasped around her wrist. 

“Granger,” he muttered. 

Hermione turned to look at him. He was paler than usual. 

“It’s fine. Thank you for your help, but please forget about this.”

“Granger,” he said again and tightened his grip. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She tugged out of his grasp and bolted for the stairs before he had time to protest again. 

Hermione sipped her coffee and absentmindedly turned the pages of her book, pretending to read over breakfast. The noise of the cafe and the bustle of the crowd helped dull the anxiety prickling in her chest. 

When Ron found out about the nightmares, he took it personally when he couldn’t get them to go away. Ginny dragged her to numerous healers. Harry and Neville were kind enough to mostly not talk about it, but it was still a looming concern. 

A familiar face and white-blonde hair stepped into the cafe, and Hermione felt her stomach drop. She stood up to bolt. He locked eyes with her immediately. 

“Sit down,” he said firmly. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and begrudgingly sat back down. 

“Why are you here?”

“Don’t tell people your hiding places,” he muttered as he pulled up the seat across from her. 

“Point taken, I’ll find another venue.” 

They sat in silence for a moment. 

“What are you doing here?” She said. 

“I believe you intended to show me more of muggle London.” 

“The moment has passed.” 

He nodded. There was a long pause before he spoke.

“It was bound to come up eventually, Granger.” 

She blinked rapidly. 

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” She said. 

Malfoy’s eyes met hers. 

“Unfortunately for both of us, no.”

“I don’t want you here.” 

“I’m accustomed to irritating you. It will be harder to get rid of me than Neville or Harry.” 

Hermione felt her heart rate increasing. 

“You didn’t…” 

“Harry told me to give you space. Neville said they’re the worst when it’s rainy, and that you prefer to be alone.”

“And?”

“I think they’re full of shit, obviously,” he gestured to himself sitting in front of her. 

“Why do you think you know better than my best friends of nearly twenty years?” 

“I don’t. I’m just pretty sure you wouldn’t give them space.” 

“So?”

His eyes narrowed. 

“You’re going to make me spell it out?”

She bit her lip. A few tears spilled over and she looked down to avoid eye contact. 

“Granger?”

“What?” She snapped, looking up at him and suddenly too angry to hide that she was crying. 

He seemed to be at a loss for words, and his face was blank. 

“Just go away,” she said, as she averted her gaze again, finding his gray eyes disconcertingly perceptive. 

“I can take you to Grimmauld—”

“No,” she snapped. 

His eyebrows lifted a tiny bit. The silence grew for several minutes before Hermione opened her book again and opted to ignore him. To her surprise, he withdrew a book from his coat pocket and followed suit. They sat in silence for over an hour. 

“What are you still doing here?” She snapped. His eyes flickered up to hers from his book, and he slowly closed it. 

“Because, unfortunately for both of us, I am somewhat responsible for your well being.” 

“Have you tried grafting new skin over it?” She asked as she gestured to his arm, trying to switch the subject and potentially get a rise out of him so that he would storm out. 

“Yes,” he replied. 

“What about a concealment charm?”

“Less practical than sleeves.”

“How often does it reveal someone’s location?” He lifted an eyebrow. 

“Not often.” 

They stared one another down for a few seconds, Hermione resisted the urge to avert her gaze again. She was sure it had to do with his legilimency skills, but it was disconcerting to look him in the eye. 

“If I agree to wander muggle London will you agree to not discuss last night?”

“Yes,” he replied. 

The remainder of the afternoon was, thankfully, spent shuffling in silence. Hermione never decided on an actual place to step inside, preferring to just move through the streets.

November 4, 2013

The potions room was damp and cold today, but Hermione refused to bring a blanket down. She was sure to wear a thick wool jumper and socks to try to make the environment as bearable as possible. 

She had appeared uninvited a few hours ago as Malfoy silently mixed a concoction of mystery sludge. Meanwhile, Hermione was staring at the notes in her lap on the mandrake case and chewing on her thumb nail. 

“You’ve been staring at that page for half an hour now.” 

“Yes, I was hoping if I stared long enough it would become the wand dispute instead.”

She strongly wished that she was on the side advocating for the removal of the mandrake garden at this point. Writing a defense to keep the deadly plants in a neighborhood with kids was hard enough, but her client was also not receptive to building a greenhouse to shield a curious child. 

The room was silent again for a few moments.  

“Have you considered a muggle scholarship foundation for Hogwarts?” She asked to break the silence. 

Malfoy snorted in derision.

“Ah yes, let’s have the former death eater put children through school.” 

Hermione let out a puff of air in irritation. 

“Dumbledore had a similar foundation to pay tuition for displaced kids. Lupin, Hagrid, and Tom Riddle all wouldn’t have been able to otherwise attend Hogwarts.”

His eyes darted up to hers.

“Hogwarts doesn’t need extra charity cases by bringing in a bunch more kids that are behind on the baseline knowledge. A muggle born making it through school doesn’t happen often. Most of them have at least one magical parent so they aren’t starting from scratch in this world.” He vaguely gestured to the room full of potions. She grimaced, personally remembering the two Hufflepuff muggle-borns who dropped out return during her time. 

“So, the mudbloods don’t belong there? That’s your stance?” Malfoy flinched at her use of the slur. 

“I didn’t say that. Just… It’s unfair to expect so much out of them all things considered. Most of them are too far behind, and can’t catch up. You’re the exception, not the rule.” 

“Bullshit.” Malfoy’s jaw tightened, and Hermione continued. “You have no idea what those kids go through—what I went through—hell, what my parents went through—to put me through Hogwarts. They spent every summer studying with me to help me catch up. A scholarship like that would have changed my family’s life. My parents sold their house and drained their savings.” 

Her eyes burned and she looked down so that Malfoy couldn’t see. 

“The exchange rate is rubbish,” she said to fill the silence. 

“You’ve never mentioned that,” he said flatly. He was stirring intently and he refused to look up. 

“You didn’t deserve the explanation,” she spat back angrily. Her ears rang with all the times he had called her a mudblood and it made her heart twist. That wound felt fresh lately for some reason. 

Malfoy smothered the coals underneath the cauldron and carefully placed a cover on top. 

“Fine,” he said flatly. 

“That’s all you have to say? Fine??” She flushed with anger. “After implying condescendingly telling a mudblood like me about my own experience at school?” 

His eyes met hers. 

“I wish you’d stop using that word.”

“I have every right to say that word.”

“It’s derogatory. Why would you even want to?”

“Says the man who has never had it thrown in his face. I’ll say it whenever I damn well please.” Her nostrils flared. 

Malfoy’s jaw tightened.

“What else?”

“What?”

“For Hogwarts. You needed tuition, tutoring, what else?”

She considered a moment.

“I don’t know if I needed anything else. Just little things that everyone else got that gave them an upper hand.”

“Like?” 

“The trace wasn’t enforced so strictly with other kids. And they’re allowed to live as a witch or wizard at home. Whereas I had to live as a muggle. Only books were allowed out.”

Hermione’s nostrils flared. 

“Next year, the estate will pay for the tuition and tutoring for any muggle born invited to Hogwarts. I’ll talk to Percy about the trace.”

Hermione felt a flood of warmth subdue the rage. 

“Laws around muggles was Arthur’s specialty. Now Ron’s.” It wasn’t worded like a question, but his tone implied curiosity. 

“We never talked about my issues with school because Ron always struggled with academics. And he wasn’t ever particularly interested in changing, um, improving muggle legislation.”

Malfoy nodded briefly. 

“I used to offer suggestions on muggle technology and medicine that we should integrate here, but shortly gave up. It’s probably best that the ministry doesn’t know too much about muggles anyway.” 

“Muggle technology?” 

“Oh, they have some excellent technologies. The internet is a big one. It’s like hundreds of libraries combined. But you can enter words onto a device, then everything in the library related to that phrase is available to you.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows raised with interest. 

“They’re very ahead of us on communication technology. Owls are a nightmare comparatively. They have glass writing devices that work like letters, but it sends messages instantaneously. I’ve tried to get Neville and Harry to use one for years, but they refuse. I sort of understand Harry's reasons. His aunt and uncle were terrible, and he doesn't like connecting to the muggle world.”

A flicker of confusion flashed on Malfoy’s face at the mention of Vernon and Petunia. Hermione realized that he wouldn’t know of Harry’s history with them, but didn’t elaborate  

“And you said medicine? Don’t they sew you up like fabric?” He asked and grimaced. 

“Yes. But their medicine is a lot more diverse than that. Their vaccine development is incredible.”

“Vaccine?”

“What’s a—seriously?”

He shrugged. 

“Um. A doctor will poke you with a needle and—“

“—I thought you were giving me less barbaric examples?”

“It’s not barbaric!!” She snapped. “Anyway. They poke you, and essentially give you a broken version of a deadly disease. Then, if you ever come in contact with the real thing, you won’t become seriously ill.”

“Would anything work like that for Astoria?” The question seemed painful to him. 

“I… Not that I know of,” Hermione replied quietly. “Blood curses aren’t a thing in the muggle world. Her implant is modeled after an interesting idea to treat autoimmune diseases, which are muggle. But, it’s not the same.” 

Malfoy’s jaw tightened, and Hermione decided to change the subject. 

“Bill asked if he could come by with Gornuk on Thursday. Are you free that night?”

He looked up at her and tipped his head. 

“I mean, I figure you’d be at least interested in what he has to say.” 

“Fine,” he replied before they slipped back into silence. 

Chapter Text

November 7, 2013

Hermione and Draco were seated across from one another in the study, and she chewed her pinky fingernail while staring at the fire with anticipation. 

“Merlin, it’s a wonder you haven’t given yourself an aneurysm,” Malfoy mumbled from his spot on the sofa without looking up from his book. 

A plume of smoke flowed from the fireplace, and Hermione jumped to her feet.

Bill landed alongside a goblin, who wasted no time storming up to Malfoy, who had just enough time to look over his novel.  

“Where?” Gornuk asked in a highly disgruntled tone. 

Malfoy gestured to the table where the stone book was. 

Gornuk reached for it and nodded a goodbye. 

“Wait!!” Hermione cried, looking to Bill, who shrugged apologetically. 

Gornuk looked her way, slow and menacing.

“What’s a witch like you doing with one of these anyway?” 

“It belongs to a friend who is part goblin.” 

“Who??” Gornuk croaked. 

“Professor Flitwick.” 

“Ha!” He scoffed. “That’s no goblin. Wizard through and through. He shouldn’t have had this. I’ll be taking it now.”

“His grandmother was goblin,” Hermione protested. She noticed Bill take one of the chairs across from the sofa, and he helped himself to the bottle of firewhiskey on the table and an extra glass Malfoy had left there the evening before. 

“And my grandmother loved lizards," he grumbled. “You’re goblin if you come from the stones. Flitwick is not goblin.”

“I need your help.”

“You won’t be getting it.”

“Just hear me out, please. The ministry will push back on Gringotts again, and I’m trying to prepare.”

“Then do your job as the bank asks you to, and otherwise keep your nose where it belongs.”

“The more prepared I am, the better. But I need your history to do that. And I can’t get my hands on any records from the first goblin rebellion which appears to be where the majority of this conflict started.”

That made Gornuk snort.

“No, that information has been long wiped from wizard history I’m sure.” His long fingers curled tightly around the dragonhide book, and he glanced at Bill. 

“I would bet my life that whatever I’m missing is in that book.” She pointed as Gornuk clutched it in his hands. “But the language is lost, dead by now probably. I need your help to decipher it.” 

Gornuk blinked, eyes still narrowed in angry suspicion.

“The stone people still speak Kabal.” Hermione felt a surge of euphoria.

“Can you teach me?” 

“No.” He turned again to leave. 

“Wait! Please,” she pleaded. 

“I recognize your sincerity Miz Malfoy,” he conceded, “But the answer is still no.” He sounded bitter as he continued. 

“We are proud of our stories, our histories. But your sincerity does not buy you access to our sacred rituals and tradition. To our magic. Our language being lost to the rest of the world is the best way to protect that.”

He paused, seeming to consider something as he furrowed his brows. He glanced momentarily at Bill, who nodded once as he silently sipped his drink. 

“I will give you the information you need, and you can trust that it’s enough. Or you can find another goblin to help you. I swear on my mother’s stone that you’ll be long in the ground before that happens.” 

She conceded immediately. 

Gornuk glanced above Hermione’s head and into the library. 

“Burn the bodies. Then we’ll talk. About goblins and elves.” 

“Don’t you mean bury?” She asked. 

Gornuk stepped up to the fireplace, grumbling over his shoulder. “The Elven Folk didn’t bury their dead. They burned them.” Then, in another plume of smoke, he was gone. 

Hermione turned to Bill, gaping. 

“I honestly thought he would take the book and leave.” He tipped his glass toward her. 

“You know something,” Malfoy said flatly, eyes narrowed. 

“I do,” Bill replied, taking one last sip of his drink before standing up. “But they are not my secrets to tell. Let me know when you’re ready to talk again.” 

Bill also glanced at the dead elves briefly before turning to vanish in the fire. 

“Oh! Interesting!” Astoria said, wide eyed as Hermione relayed the information to her friend. 

“All I can say is, it better be damn good,” Percy said, shaking his head. “Some twats at the ministry have started to write up counter suits to regress the elf welfare situation.”

“Regress?” Hermione muttered, dropping her fork as she said it. 

Percy grumbled and shook his head. 

“It’s just a damn mess. Most of them wonder how we keep ending up with blood supremacists in positions of power, but then we cater to this ideology constantly that wizards are superior to other magical people. One of these days I’m going to obliviate myself just to relieve the headache.” 

“What is the point in building this case if the ministry can just try to file counter suits and bury me in technicalities?” Hermione asked, suddenly soured by the prospect. 

“What kind of question is that? I thought Gryffindors were all about bravery in the face of unbeatable odds,” Pansy mumbled as she reached for another piece of bread. 

“I mean, should I be working outside the legal system?” 

Percy turned to her wide eyed in stunned shock. A menacing smile spread on Pansy’s face, and Malfoy’s mouth turned upward just slightly. 

“I’ll never understand how you got sorted with the lions,” Pansy said through a chuckle. 

“Let’s start here, and course correct if needed,” Percy said firmly. 

Hermione’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t press the issue further. Meanwhile, she ruminated on the idea. 

November 8, 2013

Hermione was glad to be rid of the elf corpses. Malfoy seemed relieved as well. The two of them carefully removed elf heads from their spikes with a levitation spell, and laid them on a blanket side by side before bringing them outside. 

Somehow, removing them from the context of the spikes she had gotten used to made her feel lightheaded and uneasy. It was sickening to see their faces. The skin and ears had dried and leathered. Some of them had chunks cut out of their ears, probably endured during their life. 

Malfoy looked similarly pale and unwell, and neither of them spoke during the process. 

They carefully moved what was left of the bodies out to the gardens. As soon as they did, Hermione turned to Malfoy and nodded. 

“Incendio!” They said together, and flames burst from both of their wands, igniting dozens of elves. 

Hermione gagged from either the emotional weight, or the smell of burning dust and bodies. Maybe both. It stood to reason that if what Gornuk said was true about elves burning their dead, the spiking tradition was always intended to desecrate their bodies and rob them of dignity even in death. The implication made her ill. Her tongue had a bitter taste as his words festered in her mind. 

She chewed on her thumbnail and pushed a curl out of her face that had come loose from her braid. Her face burned as the fire blazed. The two of them stood in silence until the fire burnt out, and nothing but ash remained. 

“Time to go inside, Granger,” Malfoy said quietly, gesturing toward the door. She followed him inside where he immediately turned back toward the library. Hermione however, couldn’t bring herself to return there yet. 

She made a cup of tea, and sat at the counter, staring blankly at the wall for nearly half an hour before realizing that her tea was now cold, and she hadn’t drank any. A shiver ran down her spine and she tasted bile in the back of her throat. 

I need to go to sleep, she thought to herself. A glance at the clock told her it was only eight-thirty, but her spirit was fatigued and she decided to slip upstairs to her room and try to sleep off the feeling. Without a sound, she wandered back out the hall and up the stairs to her room. 

When she opened her dresser drawer for fresh sleeping clothes, Bellatrix’s laughter filled the room, and Hermione started to scream when she saw the familiar black curls. 

“It’s not real. It’s not real!” She screamed. Her knees buckled and she collapsed to the floor, covering her ears. 

When the Boggart began casting crucio, Hermione was seized with fear and shrieked, curled up on the floor trying to hide from the taunts and laughter. Her lungs burned and every muscle in her body clenched with anticipation. The cackle consumed her mind like poison and she screamed in terror and phantom pain, but her screams excited the witch and the laughter grew more manic. 

Then, Bellatrix’s cackle turned into the sound of her own screams. Hermione shuddered and opened her eyes to see herself, pinned to the ground, shrieking and crying. She watched in horror as a memory of herself screamed for help. The boggart screams eventually morphed into something unfamiliar, and then there was a boom followed by silence. 

She scrambled up against the wall and hugged her knees, shaking and hyperventilating.

“What did you take??” Bellatrix’s voice and laughter still swelled in her ears, her mind spiraling out of control.

She felt a hand on her face and she reflexively slapped it away, letting out a blood curdling scream as she did.

Her scalp burned, and she realized she was pulling her hair.

Someone might have been talking to her, but she couldn’t hear them over the laughter ringing in her ears. 

“Granger!” A familiar voice. Her eyes came into focus and she saw Malfoy kneeling in front of her, framing her face with both hands. 

“Granger, it’s gone.” 

She was choking on sobs and looked back at Malfoy. He was paler than usual.  

“I’m sorry!” She cried through choked sobs. Her lungs felt like they weren’t expanding properly when she breathed. 

“I can’t—“ she wretched “—I can’t defeat a boggart.” Her stomach tightened and her throat opened up, and she quickly leaned to her left and hurled on the floor, coughing and choking after the vomit cleared her esophagus. 

When she was done, she leaned against the wall feeling as though all will to live had been drained from her. The fear hardened into numb nothingness, and her eyes glazed over again in a fog. She couldn’t feel her body anymore, and the serotonin washed over her brain with a wave of relief as she disconnected. 

“One of the ghosts. Morticia was angry about the elves and probably planted the boggart.” He pushed the loose curl from her braid that had fallen back into her face, waiting for her to respond. 

She wanted to, but her eyes were locked onto the dresser as she listened to Bellatrix laugh ringing in her ears faintly. Fear no longer strangled her, but her voice box wasn’t working. Her face refused to move. Her mind had separated from her body to prevent the burning panic attack in her lungs, but at the expense of being able to speak or control her limbs. 

“Hermione?” He said, trying to meet her eyes. She tried to look at him, but her eyes remained locked on the dresser. 

She felt an arm under her knees and another around her shoulders, and then she couldn’t feel the floor anymore. Her eyes didn’t know what to focus on anymore, concentration on the dresser broken.  

Malfoy placed her in bed, and carefully pulled the blankets over her. Her eyes struggled to focus, but she was pretty sure she saw him in the chair nearby, loosening his tie and then rubbing the back of his neck. 

She stared at one of the bedposts until she drifted off. 

November 9, 2013

Hermione woke up feeling stiff and hungover, despite having no alcohol the prior night. 

When she opened her eyes, she saw familiar silver-blonde hair. Malfoy was sitting in the chair nearby with his head leaned up against the wall. 

“Malfoy?” She said, her voice was broken from screaming. 

“Hmm,” he answered and lifted his head to look her way. His eyes were bloodshot and she wondered if he slept at all. 

She didn’t say anything. Just sat up and winced. Her arm was bruised, likely from when she collapsed onto the floor. 

“Go downstairs, Granger.” His voice also broke, but due to fatigue. “They’ve probably hidden a few more boggarts in here somewhere.” 

Her face still felt numb, but she eagerly slipped out of bed and toward the study to flee. She didn’t want to be rescued. But she decided that a boggart was a worthy exception. 

Once in the study, she sat down at Malfoy’s desk and laid down her head onto folded arms. 

A few minutes later, she heard herself shriek and a shiver ran down her spine. Then nothing. 

She closed her eyes and waited. It took another half hour and then another blood curdling scream for help, followed by silence. 

It was tragically funny that the same experience would give them the same nightmares considering their current predicament. She chuckled to herself. A single snort really was all her body could muster. 

Rita Skeeter would have a blast with that one. 

She resisted the urge to read into it. He was a child at the time too, and watched a classmate tortured near the point of insanity. Plus god knows what else . A shiver ran down her spine again. Watching something like that would traumatize anyone. 

A few minutes later, she heard Malfoy’s footsteps and looked up. He wasn’t occluding, and she could see how tired he was. 

“Your room is clear,” he said with a sigh, then rubbed his temples. “But in case there’s another hidden elsewhere, I’m gonna need you to not open anything for a few hours.” 

He turned toward the sofa, and collapsed onto it before pouring a drink. Even though it must have been barely seven, Hermione didn’t comment. She was still numb and her mind felt like it was underwater, or in a dense fog. 

There was silence, but it wasn’t tense or filled with expectation. It was a comfortable, grief stricken silence. More like Neville. He never asked for details either. The topic of Bellatrix was just a looming, unspoken tragedy between them. Not in an avoidant way. Just a way that didn’t require words. 

Sleep was pressing behind her eyes. It had been a long time since she had a panic attack like that. Probably when she found a boggart in the basement of Grimmauld place a few years ago. Ginny had to rescue her that time. 

After a few minutes, she got up and walked carefully toward the sofa. Malfoy didn’t look up as she approached, nor did he seem to even notice when she sat down next to him. She resisted the urge to lean her head on his shoulder. 

“Why is your boggart me?” 

He waited a long time to respond.

“I need some air.” He stood up and left the study. 

Hermione didn’t want to leave the study. The thought of going back up to the bedroom was currently unacceptable. Her chest felt like it was being caved in every time she lingered in the doorway. The study was safer. She spent a few hours trying to read, and wishing Malfoy Manor had a telly. After a while, her eyes were heavy and she was desperate for sleep. 

She hesitantly opened a trunk in the study, and found an old, musty blanket. The green sofa was too short but it would have to do since she didn’t have the focus currently to transfigure it into something more suitable. Eventually, she found herself dozing intermittently, and lost track of the time. 

“Granger?” Her stomach dropped and she gasped, sitting bolt upright.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” Malfoy was standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. Hermione glanced at the window and saw that it was black outside. 

“I’m sorry, I can leave,” she muttered, remembering that he frequently worked well into the night. 

“Granger, why aren’t you in bed?”

She didn’t answer, and avoided his gaze. 

He walked over and offered a hand. He was wearing a long sleeve tee shirt and casual trousers, and his hair wasn’t as neat as usual. 

“I’ll walk you up.” 

She shook her head and withdrew further into the sofa. 

“I promise, it’s clear.” 

“I just don’t want to be there right now,” she snapped.

Malfoy nodded. 

“I’ll be right back.” He slipped quietly out of the study. 

Hermione wasn’t sure how long he was gone when he came back and approached her on the sofa to offer his hand again. She shook her head. 

“The chaise in the potions room is more comfortable.” 

She shook her head again and just mumbled “ghosts.” 

“I warded them in the crypts earlier and silenced it like a tomb. They won’t bother you.” 

“I don’t want to be alone down there.” 

“I’ll work quietly while you rest.” 

Hermione considered for a moment, then hesitantly reached out her hand to accept help standing up. Once she was standing, Malfoy released her and was careful to give her space as they walked down to the dungeons. 

When she rounded the corner to the potions room, she audibly exhaled with a shudder. The room smelled like ash, parchment, damp stone, and whiskey. None of which made her hair stand up. There was a pile of blankets at the end of the chaise.  

Hermione crawled onto the chaise and pulled a blanket all the way over her head, turned away from Malfoy’s desk, and closed her eyes. Sleep immediately enveloped her. 

November 10, 2013

Her neck was stiff.

Bellatrix.  

She sat up abruptly, hoping to get out of the manor and find some fresh air. She threw her legs over the velvet, and stood up to quickly hurry upstairs. When she opened the door to the kitchen, Malfoy was sitting at the counter and looked up. 

“You’re up.” 

He was still wearing a casual long sleeve tee shirt and trousers. 

“Tea?” He gestured to the kettle on the stove. When she nodded, he summoned another cup and the pot to the seat across from him, and poured a second cup. 

Her legs and back were stiff, and she carefully sat down in front of Malfoy as quietly as she could. Two chunks of hair fell into her face, and she wondered how much of her braid had fallen out, but couldn’t bring herself to care enough to check. 

Hermione glanced at the sugar, milk, and honey all set out, and opted to just pick up the plain tea and take a sip. Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her as she did, and when she set the cup back down, he reached for it and added her usual milk and honey himself before handing it back to her. 

“How do you know how I take my tea?” She asked. 

“You’ve lived here for over two months, Granger.” 

She nodded. It took Harry nearly a year to remember how she took her tea. Neville equally so. Ron still couldn’t remember. 

“No nightmares," he said. It wasn’t a question. He must have spent all night in the dungeons also. He looked equally fatigued. 

“No," she replied and began to chew her thumb nail. 

“I’ve moved my things,” he said flatly. 

“What?” She looked up at him. 

“Just to the bedroom next to yours.”

“Why?” She asked, feeling heat flooding her face. This was worse than anything Harry or Neville or Ron had done. “Please don’t make this a bigger deal than—“

He held up his hand.

“I don’t sleep wondering if you’re ok and I just can’t hear you.” 

She stared blankly. 

“Just include the other room in the silencing charm. No one else has to know.” 

Hermione shook her head.

“It’s too much.” 

“Granger, you literally blood bonded to me. If anything, it’s too little.” He flushed for a moment before his face became glassy and he hid beneath the occlumency. 

She covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. 

“Gods that came out wrong,” he mumbled. 

“I wish you and everyone else would leave me alone.” 

“Why?” He asked. 

“Because it can’t be fixed. They might fade, eventually. But probably not. It’s been a long time," she sighed. 

“This isn’t to fix you.” 

“No, you’ll just barge into my room in the middle of the night,” she said with a scowl. 

Malfoy slammed the palm of his hand onto the table and she jumped. 

“You’re impossible.” 

“I didn’t ask you for help," she snapped. 

“So?”

Hermione sensed there would be no end to this conversation if she didn’t agree.

“Fine. But if you mock my cat pajamas one time you’re never allowed in my room again.”

“Done. Provided they don’t sing.” 

“And we never, ever talk about it.”

There was a long silence and Hermione fidgeted with her sleeve, then stood up abruptly to leave. Malfoy remained seated. 

When Hermione reached the top of the stairs, Narcissa was lurking in the halls. She was about to turn around to dodge having to speak with her when Narcissa spoke up: 

“Draco said you’re ill,” she said frankly. It wasn’t unkind, but it was stiff. 

“Yes but I’ve had about as much conversation about it as I can tolerate for a lifetime," Hermione replied. 

Narcissa nodded. 

“Draco moved his things.”

Hermione nodded.

“To your room?” She asked. Hermione flushed with embarrassment. 

“No, of course not.” 

“Why not?” Narcissa asked.  

Hermione didn’t answer. Narcissa opened her mouth to say something, then decided against it and walked away, freeing Hermione to continue with her morning. 

Chapter Text

November 15, 2013

Hermione was grateful that, in the following days, she had no nightmares. She never even heard Malfoy in the room next door, nor did she ever peek behind the floral portrait that had materialized a few days ago. She also refrained from telling Astoria any of this, despite the fact that she spent almost every day in Ollivander’s for her lunch break, and she hoped that Malfoy hadn’t said anything to Percy either. 

The two of them had fallen back into their usual routine of quietly spending the evening in the potions room, and occasionally meeting Percy and Astoria for dinner. Hermione received word from Bill a few days ago that Gornuk would drop by on Friday to talk, but he would be unable to attend this time. And so, instead of the potions room this time, they remained in the study. 

Gornuk stepped out of the fire while Malfoy was writing patent drafts, and Hermione pretended to read. 

They both scrambled to their feet to follow the Goblin as he stormed into the library to evaluate the empty spikes, floo smoke still dissipating behind him. He looked back to Hermione and Malfoy in the doorway, and nodded gruffly with approval. 

The three of them sat at the table and Malfoy poured a glass of firewhiskey for each. 

Gornuk wasted no time. 

“I’m going to tell you a tale, save a few details for speed. When I’m done, you can ask questions, but I won’t guarantee you an answer.”

Both Hermione and Malfoy nodded. Gornuk crossed his arms, his long fingers tucked under each elbow, and began his story. 

“Long ago, the stones trembled, the stone people emerged. We made our homes in caves. Then a great city. Stones and subsequently, the metals of the earth were our first love. The ground was ours to care for. A gift from the stone god to us to make beautiful, and so we did.” 

Hermione wasn’t sure why he started at the legends, but she was captivated nevertheless. Gornuk continued. 

“We are a small people, but proud. We birthed legends, beloved by many people. The dragons themselves were born from the stone, and the fires of our forges. 

“We were a rich empire when we first emerged from the ground. When we did, we found others. Strange, but equally beloved by their land. They were bright, noisy, and loved the world above the earth. 

“The fae folk also loved man. They enjoyed riddles and luring people into their magical world. People would return telling stories of mischief, chaotic magic, and small magical creatures with pointed ears and chaotic laughter. Children were a favorite of the fae’s. Many crossed into their wild lands, and refused to go home. So, the fairy folk cared for them.

“Then, some started to give the gift of their magic to human children. The stone people became nervous as man did not love the land. They loved themselves. But the fae were delighted with their gifts. 

“Man was not able to use their magic as powerfully as the fairy folk or stone people. But they loved it. Some found that their gifts passed to their children. It sometimes skipped generations but it would almost always return eventually. Magic was utilized around the world by humans for healing, religion, science, and entertainment.

“But over the centuries, men forgot where their magic really came from. They became jealous, and claimed that their magic was a shadow of the fae, and that it wasn’t enough. 

“And so, men learned to make wands as conduits to better channel their magic.” 

Hermione felt the air sucked from her lungs and was suddenly burning with questions, but she bit her tongue. 

“For a few hundred more years, there was peace. Men learned to funnel more power through the combined efforts of their own abilities, and their wand’s magical core. 

“But when men began burning the forests, the fae became angry. Their love melted into hatred as their sacred trees burned, and they asked for the aid of the stone people to fight for their home, promising to defend ours as well if the need should ever arise.” 

“The goblin war…” Hermione whispered.

Gornuk nodded. 

“The War of Three, we call it. The fighting was long and bloody, but not even our combined efforts could compete with their numbers and leverage they had given themselves with wands.

“To save themselves and their young, the fae folk agreed to bind themselves to the conquering wizard families as part of their surrender for seven generations. 

“The stone people made a truce with wizards, so long as we stayed in our stones. But we have defended ourselves many times since. When wizards get hungry for goblin steel, silver, and gold, they accuse us of sacrificing their children (or worse) to elicit fear and rage. They made it illegal for us to possess wands. Our traditional magic is well protected. Most of it foreign to you, but you know the metal. 'Goblin steel' wizards call it. 

“The steel is the stone god’s, embedded with old magic from the earth. Giving it magical properties that make it only more powerful over time. When the owner of a stone gift dies, the stone god is owed the gift back to be reforged for another. 

“Wizards dismiss our traditions, calling it superstition and greed, and have more often than not gone through great lengths to keep their artifacts after death. The world reeks of stolen steel, and so we have become less inclined to trade our proudest creations.” 

He stopped. Hermione waited for him to continue but Gornuk appeared to have reached the end of his story. 

“What about the bank?" Hermione asked tentatively. 

"Greed is a powerful motivator. Wizards have long valued their secrecy and security, and our metal. The bank was built to protect ourselves, built on the entrance to the stones. Anyone who wants to break into the stones, must breech the bank first."

Brilliant.

She was tingling with more questions, but Gornuk looked highly irritated by her last question about goblins, so she asked another one equally burning on her tongue.

"What sort of magic bound the elves—er, fae folk.” 

Gornuk shrugged.

“We have theories. Could have been a time bound blood pact sworn by all parties. Could have been a blood sacrifice for all I know. But it doesn’t matter because the terms are up.”

Hermione’s heart jumped, and she could feel her blood pressure increasing.

Gornuk’s head lowered and shook a long finger in both Hermione and Malfoy’s face individually. 

“The elves have more leeway than they let on. Your little elf friend back in the day wasn’t the only strange one. Most who bend the rules just have the sense to not discuss the matter with wizard children. Us stone folk have known for decades now that whatever magic forced their servitude before isn’t binding anymore.”

She chewed on her thumb nail while she thought. 

After a few minutes of contemplation, Gornuk stood up.

“I believe my contribution to this subject is finished,” and vanished in the fireplace again. 

Hermione turned to Malfoy. 

“I need to talk to Kreacher.” 

Malfoy's jaw tightened. 

"Potter never freed the black elf." 

It wasn't a question. 

"No."

"Why not?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but couldn't find the words. The subject was among some of the worst fights she and Harry had ever had. Kreacher wept bitterly and became angry whenever the subject was brought up, or clothes were suggested. Harry dropped the subject years ago, much to Hermione's dismay.

Malfoy sat on the sofa when she didn't respond, and silently reached for a book. 

Taking the queue that he would not be coming with, she stepped into the fire. 

“Grimmauld place.” 

With a whoosh and a spout of smoke, she appeared in the living room of Grimmauld place. She realized she maybe should have sent an owl first and come another time when she saw a room full of plates, toys, and kids socks. It was strangely quiet though which meant Albus must be asleep. 

“Hermione??” Ginny had walked into the room. “Are you alright?” She asked. 

At the sound of her voice and the feeling of Ginny’s hug, she collapsed.

“No…” And broke into sobs. The weight of the last few months suddenly imploding within her. 

As Ginny held Hermione in a fierce hug that reminded Hermione of Molly, Ginny hissed at her husband. 

“Harry! Harry, get out here!”

Harry stumbled around the corner in an anxious hurry. 

“Hermione? Are you alright?” 

“I need to talk to Kreacher.” 

He raised his eyebrows. 

“I mean, actually I also need to talk to you. I’ve… discovered something. Something that could change everything. I just need to talk to him.” 

Harry scratched the back of his head and moved around his disastrous hair. 

“If this is about what I think it is, I don’t think Kreacher will listen to you. He’s cranky about that.”

“Then I need you to order him to have the conversation with me until I’m finished, and… And just let us be alone for a bit.” 

“Hermione, is everything ok? What is this about?”

“Harry. I just—I need you to trust me.”

He paused, caught Ginny’s eyes, and then called for Kreacher. 

With a CRACK, the geriatric elf appeared in front of Harry. 

“Master calls for Kreacher,” he croaked. 

“Yes. Hermione is here.” 

Kreacher slowly turned and glanced at Hermione.

“She would like to have a conversation with you, and you are to sit and have that conversation with you until she is finished. Understood?”

Kreacher snarled, but gave a small nod. 

Harry gestured to the drawing room across the hall.

“Head that way, I’ll close the doors.” 

After making their way into another sitting room, the doors were closed, and Hermione was left to share her findings with Kreacher. 

“I know you've never been fond of me," she started. “But… I learned something. And I need to know. If you disobey an order, what happens to you?”

“Kreacher would never disobey his master. Kreacher is a loyal elf. He serves Grimmauld place, his mistress, and Master Regulus, and now Master Harry.” 

“I know, but if you did, and if Harry didn’t hurt you and forbade you to hurt yourself, what would happen?”

Kreacher paused. His lip curled as he growled.

“Nothing.”

Hermione’s heart jumped. 

“Nothing?”

Kreacher shook his head slowly.

“Kreacher’s mother told him about how when an elf is bad, burns appear all over his body or his bones break. But those is just stories.”

“Kreacher…” Hermione trailed off for a moment before continuing. “No, they’re not. That’s what used to happen I think. But not anymore, not for a long time. You’re… a free elf, even without the clothes.” 

Kreacher stared at her, refusing to respond. Waiting. 

Hermione then told him the story Gornuk had told her. About the stone people, about the fae, about human magic, and wands, and the war of three. And about how the elves surrendered in an attempt to save themselves and their children from genocide. 

When she was finished, Kreacher didn’t say anything. He was staring at Hermione with such intensity that it made her uncomfortable. His wrinkled eyes were filled with suspicion and disdain, and his nose was wrinkled the entire time.

“Please say something.” She finally said. 

“Kreacher has been a loyal elf. Master Regules wasn’t cruel. Master Regules would have let Kreacher die and put his head next to his mother’s.” 

Hermione’s heart sank. 

“Kreacher… Elves used to burn their dead. Not spike them. The purpose of that tradition in old families was probably always to degrade you, even in death.”

Kreacher’s stare was unrelenting. 

“I burned the elves that were spiked at Malfoy Manor. I… I’ll burn you with your mother if that’s what you want. Or I'll make sure Harry does at least. But, I just thought you deserved to know that, with or without the clothes, you’re free. All of you are.” 

Kreacher said nothing. Hermione finally stood up and opened the door, nodding to him to let him know that the conversation was over, but sad that he was still insistent on waiting for that confirmation. 

“What was that about?” Harry asked when she stepped out. 

She sank into a sofa chair in the living room, and told Harry and Ginny everything. 

“Bloody hell, Hermione,” Harry said when she finished. 

“Are you planning on telling them all? How?” Ginny asked, referring to the elves. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can. But I had to tell Kreacher at least.” She glanced at the clock and jumped, realizing she had been gone for hours. “Oh my, I should get back.” 

“Hermione,” Ginny stopped her. 

After a few hugs, and a goodbye, Hermione stepped out of the fire and back into the study. 

Draco was on the sofa reading The Prophet. 

“Why are you still up? It’s nearly two in the morning," she asked as she stepped into the room. 

“Couldn’t sleep," he mumbled from the other side of the paper. 

“I talked to Kreacher," she said. 

Draco flipped a corner of the paper down.

“And?”

“He knows.”

“Good.” 

He stood up and walked with Hermione up the stairs before splitting off to his own room. 

Chapter Text

November 16, 2013

“What the fuck?!”

Hermione bolted out of bed.

When she rounded the corner and looked down the staircase, she saw Kreacher, holding a large sack cloth and offering the contents to Draco to have a look. 

Draco wretched over his shoulder, and Kreacher curled his lip. 

“What are you doing here?” She yelled.

Kreacher looked up, saw her, and croaked. 

“Hermione Granger told Kreacher she would burn his body with his mother. He brought his mother and his grandmother and auntie and great-grandmother and—”

“Yep, we get it. Family reunion in a bag,” Draco cut him off. 

“Kreacher, I meant after you die. You don’t need to be here. You can go home.” 

Merlin’s beard, his stare was relentless. 

“Kreacher has no home.” 

“What about Grimmauld place?”

Kreacher shook his head, and she saw his eyes become glassy for just a moment. 

“Master Regules died, and Kreacher was alone. Grimmauld place is Harry Potter’s home now.” 

Hermione felt the sudden urge to send a howler to Harry. 

“Ok, you know what?” Draco reached for the bag and Kreacher hissed, pulling it back against his chest. 

“Save it, bat ears. I’ll put the bag in the crypts. There’s a dozen curses down there to keep out anyone outside the family that gets too curious. Then I’m giving you a glass of firewhiskey to calm the fuck down.” 

Kreacher reluctantly followed Malfoy to the kitchen, and down the stairs. 

Hermione hesitantly made her way to the study, and waited until she could hear the two of them return up the stairs. She could hear Malfoy’s footsteps headed toward the study. 

“Master Draco has the essence of house Black in him, he does. Kreacher can see it.” 

“Hopefully not all of them.” Malfoy muttered as he reached for the bottle of firewhiskey, and two glasses. He handed one to Kreacher and just said, “Drink it.” 

Kreacher looked into the glass of amber liquid, and wrinkled his nose. 

“Kreacher does not drink the finery.” 

“Noted. This is swill. Drink it.” 

Kreacher lifted the glass to his mouth, and poured the entire glass down his throat, followed by making a horrid retching sound that made Hermione question whether or not her dinner would revisit her. 

“Kreacher must make breakfast. Yes. Kreacher wonders what Master Draco likes to eat. Perhaps he likes flat cakes like his cousin, Master Regulus,” he muttered as he set the glass down and began grumbling toward the kitchen. 

“Kreacher wait!” Hermione called after him, but the elderly elf was surprisingly quick, and by the time Hermione pushed the door open to the kitchen, Kreacher had torn out what appeared to be every pan in the house, and half the contents of the pantry. 

“Kreacher! You don’t work here,” Hermione said as she stamped her foot as Malfoy stepped into the room behind her, wide eyed. 

“Master Draco must be hungry. No elves at Malfoy manor for five years? Kreacher wonders when Master Draco has had anything decent to eat.”

“Kreacher,” Draco said. 

“Shh! Kreacher is cooking.” The elf barked back at him, and with a snap of his fingers, every burner on the stove lit up in a glorious fashion and several bowls were lifted in the air. 

The banging had apparently woken Narcissa as well. 

“What in the name of Merlin’s left foot is—” She stopped dead in her tracks when she stepped into the room and set eyes on the old elf. 

Kreacher however, let no less than six bowls fall from the air onto the floor in a chaotic crash of broken glass as he rushed to her side. 

“Mistress! Kreacher will never leave house Black again. Kreacher swears it.” He clung to Narcissa’s skirts, and the old woman’s face was sickeningly white. She nervously glanced to Malfoy, unable to respond to Kreacher due to shock. 

“Kreacher. You—”

“Are of House Black,” Malfoy interrupted Hermione. 

The old elf’s eyes were glassy with tears as he looked at Malfoy, stunned into silence. 

“I’ll not have you leaving this place, or I’ll track you down myself. The last of the Blacks are here.” His tone was irritable, and Hermione had turned to scold him, but was interrupted by the sound of Kreacher bursting into a fit of ugly tears. Fat droplets rolled down his nose splashed dramatically onto the floor. 

“Master Draco, Kreacher will never leave.” 

He glanced up behind Kreacher and into the mess.

“When you’re done, you’ll have another drink with me and tell me about my cousin. You’re right, I should like flat cakes.”

The, what could only be described as hostile affection, had an odd effect on Kreacher, who acted like someone was seeing him for the first time in decades. Narcissa calmly sat at the table, seemingly comforted by the presence of Kreacher, a familiar face in the midst of so much change in her life. 

As Malfoy stormed out of the room, and Kreacher delightedly poured a cup of tea for Narcissa, it occurred to Hermione that Malfoy was able to do something not even Harry had been able to do. In less than an hour, he loved Kreacher in exactly the way the old elf understood. And in doing so, had earned Kreacher's love in a way that Hermione suspected that only Regulus had done. 

She swallowed a lump in her throat and quietly retreated out of the kitchen, leaving Kreacher and Narcissa in the kitchen together. Two old souls finding comfort in something familiar. 

Hermione quietly shuffled into the study to find Malfoy sitting on the sofa, perusing a copy of The Prophet. 

“I’m worried he thinks he has to stay now," she confessed. 

Malfoy flipped down the pages to look at her. 

“He’s at death’s door. For Merlin’s sake, leave him be.” 

Hermione opened her mouth to protest just as Kreacher apperated into the room with a CRACK, holding a plate full of flat cakes and a coffee. He shoved the plate into Malfoy’s lap, and then stomped over to Hermione with the coffee. 

“Mistress likes her coffee with cream and sugar, she does. Kreacher remembers.” 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Kreacher, who had yet to make her coffee correctly in the more than ten years she had known him. She swallowed that remark, accepted the cup, and just said: 

“Thank you.” 

November 17, 2013

Hermione had sent Flitwick a letter filled with apologies and begging forgiveness after explaining how much the Stone Book helped, but that Gornuk took it with him by force. 

When she received an owl back, she tore the letter open. 

Dear Hermione Granger,

I’m delighted to hear that the book was helpful to you. There is no need to drink dragon poison with your tea. In truth, I know enough about the way of the Goblins to know that I wasn’t the proper owner of that book anyways. It was time to let it go. 

Wishing you a wonderful November and a Happy Christmas if I don’t hear from you again before then. 

Sincerely, 

Professor Flitwick 

“Is that from Flitwick?” Astoria asked, leaning over Hermione’s shoulder. 

“Yes.”

Astoria was clearly reading over her shoulder anyways, and so, Hermione handed her the parchment. 

“I told you he wouldn’t be furious.” Astoria suddenly put down her knife and willow stick to lean back in her chair and take a deep breath. Hermione was flooded with concern. 

“Are you okay?” Astoria closed her eyes and didn’t respond. 

“Astoria, do I need to get Percy?” She asked. 

“Please don’t,” Astoria mumbled. Hermione watched the color drain from her friend’s face as her hand clenched, and gently reached for a pale hand for reassurance. More for herself than for Astoria. 

“Can I ask a question?” 

The blonde woman nodded, opening her eyelids enough that Hermione could see her pupils dilating and contracting repeatedly. 

“What is it doing to you? I mean, how is it? How does your curse function?” 

Astoria tipped her head, still clenching her hand. After a few more moments, she released Hermione’s hand and bent down to shuffle her robes and reach her boot. 

Hermione watched in horror as Astoria carefully unbuttoned her boot, and pulled off her sock to reveal her foot and halfway up her calf was covered in a weblike pattern of black veining just under the skin. 

When Astoria felt Hermione had gotten the gist of the necrosis, she pulled her sock and boot back on. 

“I may have to start wearing gloves soon. I’ve lost some sensation in my left hand.” 

Hermione’s glance toward the willow wand project nearby was not unnoticed. 

“I’m not sure when I won’t be able to work anymore.”

“Have you started selling your wands yet?” 

Astoria smiled. 

“My wands will be available after I’m gone when someone else takes over Ollivander’s.”

“Who?”

Astoria shrugged. 

“Don’t you want to see people use them?” 

Astoria blinked. 

“I don’t need to see it,” she said.

“You’re talking like your life is already over,” Hermione said as tears filled her eyes. 

Astoria shook her head. 

“No. I’m talking as someone who has accepted the inevitability of my death.” 

Hermione chewed on her thumb nail. 

“What about Percy?” 

“What about him?”

Hermione let her eyes meet Astoria’s blue ones and hoped that she wouldn’t make her ask anything more specific. Astoria sighed and averted her eyes. 

“I wanted to marry Draco so that I didn’t have to do this," she confessed. 

“Didn’t have to do what?”

“Break someone when I leave them.” 

“Astoria—“

“He was supposed to be an indifferent fixture in my life. I was ready to leave without having to hurt anyone else.”

Hermione realized she wasn’t sure she wanted to know how close Astoria and Malfoy were, but asked anyway. 

“What happened?”

“He was Draco. I don’t know. He made it impossible.” Astoria snapped irritably. “He became my friend. He argued with my healers and started making potions for me.”

Hermione nodded. 

“What about Percy?”

“He became friends with Draco after he testified against Lucius' release,” she shrugged. “I got to know them both over the years and it just…”

Hermione smiled. 

Astoria seemed to be in deep thought, and there was a long silence between them before she spoke up again. 

“He’s holding on too tight," she said mostly to herself.

“How so?” 

“It’s nothing,” she muttered before picking up the willow and knife again to whittle the wand handle in silence. 

November 20, 2013

Kreacher became a strange addition to the house. Hermione learned that Narcissa was pleased to have him around, which surprised her because Narcissa rarely left her room except to walk the gardens or see Andromeda. 

Hermione sent an owl to Harry letting him know that Kreacher had shown up at the manor so that he didn’t worry. She hoped that the news was not insulting. Partly. She still wanted to send him a howler for making Kreacher feel like Grimmauld Place wasn’t his home. 

Kreacher wasn’t restful in this strange version of retirement by any means. He spent a great deal too much time cooking in Hermione’s opinion, insisting that she and Malfoy eat more. There was less dust around as well. 

“Kreacher, stop. You don’t work here.”

“Kreacher cooks, yes. They like his food. They eat his food. Master Draco doesn’t like the fat lady’s cooking," he croaked. Insulting the hired maid and cook was a newfound favorite habit of his. 

Hermione gasped. 

“No, no. He’s right,” Malfoy conceded, eyeing the stove. Kreacher nodded vigorously over the pot he was stirring. His gray hat almost fell off his head and into the bubbling vat as he twirled a finger with one hand, and nursed a flask of brandy with the other. 

Another alcoholic, excellent. 

“Where does he keep getting brandy?” Hermione asked as she and Malfoy descended into the dungeons. 

Malfoy shrugged. 

“Have you never wondered? Most of what you have hoarded here is whiskey and wine.”

Malfoy seemed to consider for a moment before shrugging it off. 

“Not sure.” 

Hermione grumbled as she settled into the desk chair and Malfoy pulled a cauldron off the shelf. She was staring at a blank piece of parchment for the third day in a row. 

“If you just stare at that again all night I’m going to call Percy and make him drag you to London.”

“Why would you make Percy do it?”

“I don’t want to go downtown.” 

She scowled. 

“I can’t decide where to go from here,” she muttered. 

A few moments later, they both leaned toward the door slightly as they heard rustling in the crypts. 

“No clothes. Kreacher left. Now he wears clothes and lives with Master Draco and the mudblood.”

“Moppy can’t,” a high pitched squeak. 

“Yes, she can. Moppy must leave.” 

“Mistress will hurt Moppy if she finds out. Last time Moppy was bad, Mistress broke all of her toes.” 

“Moppy is a free elf. Just like Kreacher.”

Hermione’s heart swelled and she held her breath.

“Moppy must leave London.”

“She can’t!” A shrill voice replied. 

“Master Draco knows. The mudblood knows. We isn’t belonging here. Mistress told Kreacher stories about the trees. Moppy must bring Lady and Ditto to the trees.” 

“What about Kreacher?”

Hermione bit her tongue and didn’t move a muscle, fearing that if Kreacher heard them, that they would vanish. 

“Kreacher is old. And Kreacher is home. When Moppy finds the trees, she will come back and tell Kreacher all about them.” 

Hermione closed her eyes and willed herself not to cry—not to run to Kreacher to hug him. She stole a quick glance toward Malfoy, who had also frozen in place. His face was glassy. 

She recalled Kreacher's influence on the elves to fight against Voldemort at the battle of Hogwarts. He seemed to have stepped in and was influencing them in a way Hermione would never be able to. 

With a resounding CRACK, Hermione listened for both elves and let out her breath that she had been holding once she was sure they were both gone. 

“He’s—“ 

“I heard,” Malfoy said, sprinkling toad feet into a cauldron. 

“How many do you think?” She asked. Malfoy looked up and the corner of his mouth turned up slightly. 

“A lot.”

“Wait, did you know already?”

Malfoy shrugged. 

“Just suspected. There have been rumors of missing elves all over Britain.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” She hissed. 

“Because I wasn’t sure what it was yet, and you already chew your nails to the nail bed from stress.” 

“I’ve been thinking…” she said. 

“Yes, you do have the annoying habit of doing that.” His mouth turned upward slightly as he mocked her. 

“The only reason goblins lost their rebellions is because they never mastered how to make wands. And now they’re not allowed to have wands.” 

Malfoy’s eyebrows raised, and she smirked as she said:

“I know someone who can make wands.”

“Where did you get it??”

Her bones were breaking, her skin was burning, and her voice was hoarse from shrieking. 

“Crucio!”

“Hermione, wake up!”

She was shaking and her face was wet as Malfoy knelt over her. Her breathing was shallow and she tasted bile. She impulsively sat up and dug her fingernails into her wrists on the arm with her scar. 

Malfoy reached for her hand and pressed a vial into it. 

Her heart was pounding and she frantically sat up and poured the liquid into her mouth, and felt the calm warmth smother her. She knew she shouldn’t accept regularly, as the effect of calming drought wears off with repetitive use, but she couldn’t turn down the offer. She would tell him tomorrow. 

Once her breathing regulated, she glanced his direction. He was wearing a black long sleeved tee shirt and comfortable slacks. His hair was tousled from sleep and he looked like a completely different person from the buttoned up man she had gotten used to cohabiting with. 

She was suddenly embarrassed to be wearing matching flannel with owls printed on them. She wrapped her arms around herself and wrinkled her nose. Her room now smelled like Malfoy’s firewhiskey, cologne, and faintly of burning coal from the potions. The impact was grounding, comfortable even. But it was also making her stomach flip because the context was wrong. 

“I’m ok now. Thank you for waking me up," she said flatly. 

Malfoy nodded, and mumbled “Goodnight, Granger” before quietly slipping back through the hidden doorway. 

When Hermione woke up, there was a cup of tea on her nightstand.

Chapter Text

November 21, 2013

“What do you mean you’re done?” Percy snapped indignantly. The four of them were in the study, as Hermione asked Percy and Astoria to come over so that she could explain her new plan. 

“Not done per say, but the plan has changed,” she clarified. 

“Like hell it has!” 

Astoria was notably quiet, waiting intently for Hermione to continue. 

“What next?” She asked. 

“Don’t cater to her bollocks. No one else has the ministry scared shitless. We need her focused!” Percy snapped. 

Just then, Kreacher landed on the coffee table in front of them, and tossed a cigar straight into Percy’s nose before vanishing again. 

Malfoy smirked and lifted his drink to his mouth, mumbling under his breath. 

“Fuck, I like that arsehole.” 

Hermione bit back a laugh. 

When Percy began to yell at her again, Kreacher landed with a CRACK in front of Percy and threw another cigar at him. 

“Mudblood Mistress is be talking. The freckled boy will be quiet—yes!” 

Percy’s mouth dropped in stunned silence. He knew Kreacher in passing from Grimmauld place, but the elderly elf had never behaved in such a way in front of him before, and he had only seen Kreacher a few times since he arrived at the Manor. 

“I’m going to offer to help the goblins instead of just building defense cases while the ministry exploits technicalities” Hermione said, jumping straight to the point. 

Percy’s mouth was open and his eyes widened. 

“You’re bloody mad. Fucking hell, Hermione, we are trying to not start a war with the Ministry.” 

Hermione shrugged. 

“Maybe you are. I'm doing whatever it takes.”

Malfoy smirked again and sipped his drink. 

“You’re on board with this? You bloodthirsty lunatic?” Percy cried to Malfoy. 

Hermione ignored Percy at this point, and found Astoria’s eyes, who already seemed to know where the conversation was going and looked like she was already grappling with what Hermione was about to ask. 

“I need your help,” Hermione said. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Percy said, inserting a hand between Hermione and Astoria. The blonde woman calmly pushed his hand out of the way, listening intently to Hermione as she continued. 

“They would have won their liberation a long time if they had wands.  The ministry bans nonhuman magical creatures from using them.”

Astoria nodded. 

“The trace.”

“How does it work?” Hermione asked. 

Astoria hesitated before replying. 

“Laws built into the wand’s Arithmancy code. The wands will only work properly for people with human blood. Wands haven't been made without it for centuries…” Hermione could see Astoria’s mind turning, Arithmancy equations already on her mind probably. 

“Will you help me?” 

Blue eyes met Hermione’s again, disconnecting from her internal math for just a moment to reply:

“Yes.”

“Fuck all three of you. Bloody hell.” Percy looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack, and Malfoy leaned over and handed his friend a full glass of firewhiskey, which was drained in a few seconds. 

“I’ll need to talk to Bill again,” Hermione said. “I think he knew what I would find eventually.” 

Percy dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his temples as though suffering a headache. 

“Who else?”

“Until I talk to the goblins, no one.” She turned to Astoria again. “I need you with me next time I talk to Gornuk.” 

Astoria nodded slowly, and as she did, Kreacher apperated in front of her and threw a paper bag of biscuits in her lap before vanishing again. 

“I thought you liked rules,” Astoria said calmly, still looking at Hermione slightly confused and stunned. 

Malfoy snorted. 

“Only as long as the rules suit her.”

Hermione snapped her head in his direction to glare, and he lowered his eyebrows at her, challenging her to disagree. 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you leaving out any illegal activities from recent years in conversation.” He lifted his drink in her direction, as though congratulating her on her secrecy. 

She refused to confess but also couldn’t deny. 

Percy stroked his beard while sipping a refilled glass of firewhiskey. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought and his other hand tapped the arm rest nervously. 

“It won’t just be the ministry of magic after us. The greater magical community of Europe will fight this.”

“Diplomacy hasn’t worked for centuries. It’s up to them whether or not they want wands and risk the ministry striking first. But I’m offering my help.”

“You’ll lose your license to practice law.”

Hermione smiled. 

“Fortunately, I’ve recently become very rich. I’ll survive.”

The corner of Malfoy’s mouth turned slightly upward.

“For the love of Merlin, fine,” Percy said, exasperated. 

Astoria’s hand tensed briefly, and her eyes closed. Hermione swallowed the urge to ask if she was ok, knowing by now that her friend did not like to be smothered. 

Her change was noticed by Percy immediately, who nervously checked his pocket for something, and by Draco whose smirk faded. 

“How much worse is it?” Hermione asked. 

“The pain relief potions are just not working as well as they used to,” Astoria shrugged. She was struggling to keep her voice steady as she tried to sound relaxed. 

Hermione glanced at Malfoy. His face had faded a bit, and he was no longer drinking his whiskey. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Astoria scolded him. “It was like this before you started making them for me.” 

Percy’s face faltered for a moment as he tried to maintain his composure. 

“I’ll try something else,” Malfoy said calmly. 

Astoria’s eyes softened a bit as her eyes met Malfoy’s. 

“You’ve given me eight new potions since the summer.”

“And each of them has been better for a while.” 

Astoria’s lips tightened as she fought the urge to continue arguing, conversation turned to quidditch as Percy and Draco attempted to distract themselves. Hermione’s eyes never left Astoria. 

November 25, 2013

Bill emerged from the fire and waved politely to Hermione. 

“So,” he said, prompting her to speak. 

“Rebellion,” she replied. 

Bill smirked, and Hermione considered for the first time that Bill was actually a little unnerving. His scars with his smirk and relaxed attitude made her slightly uneasy. 

“Was that your plan?” She asked. 

Bill replied by widening his smirk into a devious grin. 

“Let’s just say, I haven’t been curse breaking to help the Goblins find fortunes for years.”

“What have you been finding?” 

“Goblin steel.” 

“You’re helping them recover it?” 

He nodded. 

“The concept that it needs to be returned is still strange to me. But Gornuk is my friend, and I’ve accepted that it’s their way.” 

“Astoria makes wands,” she told him. 

Bill nodded again. 

“So, you’re in?” 

“If the goblins are, yes.”

“What about your family?” She asked. 

Bill’s smile darkened a little. 

“Curse breakers also make good curse makers. Once they’re hidden, anyone who might happen to find them will be in for some gruesome surprises.” 

Hermione nodded. 

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes. Provided they stay put.” 

Bill gestured around them, withdrawing his hands from his pockets to do so. 

“It has to be Gringotts next time. The ministry is too suspicious of this place and monitors your floo. Gornuk can’t risk coming again.”

“Let me know when. I’ll bring Astoria.” 

She was being chased. Branches breaking, leaves rustling as she ran until her lungs burned. 

Greyback’s howl. 

Panting behind her. 

“Granger, wake up.”

Pain. 

She sat upright and was breathing heavily, and her voice was strained. 

“Fuck," she mumbled, realizing she was up for the third time that night. 

“I can cast a silence—“

“No,” Malfoy said flatly. 

“You’re not going to get any bloody sleep if all I do is wake up every hour and a half.” 

He didn’t answer for a long time. She couldn’t quite see more than the outline of his face. And she couldn’t tell if he was occluding without seeing his eyes. 

“I didn’t do anything.” 

“What?” 

“You asked me why my boggart is you.”

She could smell the firewhiskey more strongly tonight than other times he had woken her, and she suddenly wondered how drunk he was to confess that. 

“Oh.”

“I… I couldn’t move.” 

She flinched at the reminder that he was too intimately aware of what was done to her, and tried to bury the memory of pleading him for help. 

Suddenly, he seemed to realize that his tongue got away from him due to the liquor and the hour. He briskly stood up and muttered, “Goodnight” over his shoulder as he went back to his own room. 

December 1, 2013

Hermione took a deep breath, and stepped up to Gringott’s arm in arm with Malfoy. She could feel dozens of eyes in Diagon Ally boring into her, and resisted the urge to pull away from him. 

When the giant doors swung open, Hermione caught a glance of Astoria following a goblin beyond the desks to the vaults. Hermione’s heart was pounding so hard, she wondered if the witch on her left could hear it. 

The two of them stepped up to the next available teller, who slowly peered over the edge of the counter at them. 

“Draco Malfoy. My wife is with me today to see the Malfoy vaults.”

Hermione’s face twitched at being referred to as his wife, and she tried to hide the impulse by scratching her nose. The goblin behind the counter slowly turned to Hermione, and then back at Draco. 

“Certificate?” 

“Not until the spring. But she has blood bonded with my house. I would also like her wand registered for access to our vaults.” 

Hermione noticed a few heads turn at the mention of blood bonds, and silently prayed that Rita was on holiday as there would be an inevitable story in the paper tomorrow. 

The goblin turned back to Hermione and squinted. She tried to appear as calm as Malfoy, and lifted her nose in the air slightly the way she remembered Narcissa doing. She needed to be allowed inside the Malfoy vault for their plan to work. 

“Wand,” he growled, outstretching his long fingers. Hermione hesitantly handed over her wand, and waited while he made numerous notes and examined the wand before handing it back to her. 

“This way,” he growled, stepping down from the counter. Hermione’s hand was still looped into Draco’s, and she gripped his arm reflexively as they walked toward the carts. 

The last time she descended this deep into Gringotts, she left on dragonback. 

The cart raced down the tracks, past countless other vaults, fire, an acid lake, a number of booby traps, and finally pulling up a giant set of brass doors. Hermione glanced across the way and saw Astoria outside a similar vault with another Goblin. Gornuk. 

The goblins grumbled something unfamiliar to Hermione in their own language, and Gornuk guided Astoria over to where Hermione and Malfoy were standing. 

“We’ll speak inside,” Gornuk declared, glancing at the other goblin, who nodded. 

One of the brass doors slowly glided to the left, revealing a disgustingly large fortune inside. Hermione stepped in, and a quick look around revealed not only substantial galleons, but also bricks of pure gold, trunks of rare jewels, art, scrolls, goblin steel weapons and crowns, potions, and more than a dozen illegally imported artifacts. 

Astoria leaned in behind her. 

“Don’t touch anything."

“I remember the curses in the LeStrange vault,” Hermione whispered back. 

“You what??” Astoria hissed. She hadn’t heard that story yet apparently. 

“I’ll tell you later.” 

She turned to see Malfoy, eyes glassy and calm, and Gornuk next to him. Beyond that, the brass door began sliding back into place, about to seal them inside like a tomb. 

“Wait!” Hermione said, reaching out a hand as her heart pounded. 

“Fugh will be outside. We have thirty minutes.” 

Gornuk glared at Hermione briefly before his eyes darted to Astoria. Hermione was sure Bill already told him that a wand maker would be with for this visit. 

“What has Bill told you?”

“Weasley,” Gornuk growled. 

“Yes.”

“That you brought a wand maker,” he growled, looking again toward Astoria, who was wide eyed. 

“The goblins have had numerous rebellions,” Hermione said. 

“A history lesson, Miz Malfoy?” Gornuk croaked. 

“You never mastered wands though.” 

“No,” he growled. 

“Astoria has—“

“I will show you,” she interrupted. 

“Goblins have tried before. The wizards know when attempts are made,” he replied as he tapped his foot. 

“Because of the trace. The arithmancy is sensitive to human or half bloods only, not nonhuman magical creatures. I’m working on a new equation though.” 

Gornuk stared at Astoria, eye brows furrowed. She took his silence as reason to continue. 

“I have to show someone how to make them when I find a way to.”

“You will not make them?” He barked. 

“I…” she faltered briefly, glancing nervously and Malfoy and Hermione before continuing. “I’m dying. I’m trying to rewrite the math to remove the trace. By the time I solve that—if I can, I don’t know how many I can make. Someone else has to know how to make them in case my illness takes a turn for the worst.” 

Hermione felt a warm wave of dread wash over her, and glanced to Malfoy to see if he felt the same. But his occlumency wall was fronting a blank mask as he listened. 

“We have gone a long time without wands,” Gornuk said. 

“The ministry is actively trying to undo years of progress made on elf rights in the last ten years. It's only a matter of time before they press goblins further.” Hermione said. 

Gornuk’s eyes moved from Astoria to Hermione. 

“We don’t want war," he said in his gravelly voice. 

“Neither do we,” Hermione shrugged. “But you should be prepared, just in case.”

Silence. 

“Your stories implied that when war started between goblin and wizards, it was us that struck first. From everything I know about the subject, I believe that’s true. I’m telling you now that there is a real possibility of that happening.”

“Who?” Gornuk asked, looking to Astoria again. 

“What?”

“Who do you need?” 

Astoria looked flustered all of a sudden, and flushed. 

“Oh, um. They have to be good with arithmancy theory.”

“Really, really good,” Hermione clarified. 

Gornuk let out a low grumble, and he crossed his arms. 

“Weasley will tell you when and where.” 

He glanced toward the door. The brass began rolling again, and Fugh gestured to the group. Astoria nodded and scuttled away with Gornuk toward their own cart, back up to the main lobby of the bank. 

Malfoy didn’t say a word during their 45 minute ascent, nor during their walk back into Diagon Alley, or after they apperated to the gate and slowly made their way through the doors of the manor. 

Hermione swallowed her dread and finally asked:

“How long does she have?” 

“I don’t know.” His occlumency walls were still in place. 

“Stop doing that.” 

“No,” he replied, hardening his jaw. 

“She’s dying, Malfoy.”  

He looked her way and glared. 

“Don’t, Granger.” 

“Don’t what?? She is!”

“Goodnight, Granger.” He nodded and slipped out of sight. 

Chapter Text

Hermione was woken abruptly to the sound of a man letting out a gut wrenching howl somewhere. 

She stepped into the hall at the same time as Malfoy, but before she had a chance to register what was happening, Malfoy dissapperated to somewhere else in the house. 

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she remembered what Malfoy had told her about a mercenary sent just after the engagement, and fear gripped her. However, as she approached the stairs, she heard the voice of Percy. An extremely distressed Percy. 

He and Malfoy must have been in the drawing room, and their voices carried. Hermione was unable to make out what Percy was telling Malfoy though. She was only able to catch sparse words between the sounds of broken glass and choked sobs. 

“…unconcious… …Daphne… …like hell they would… … screaming… … leg… … nervous system… … coma…”

The last word hit Hermione like a wall of bricks, and she had to reach for the wall to steady herself. When her head started to spin, she carefully lowered herself to the floor and had to cover her mouth to stifle her own sob bubbling up in her throat. 

Hermione couldn’t place what Draco was telling him. Percy continued to let out wretched tirades of grief and distress, until finally Hermione heard a third voice. Daphne maybe? There was a brief exchange followed by a flurry of footsteps, the sound of the floo, and then silence again. 

As soon as everyone has gone, Hermione let out a few strangled sobs as she clutched her knees to her chest and let tears stream down her face. Astoria didn’t seem out of the ordinary earlier. Was it normal for a blood curse to lash out so erratically? 

“Mistress?” A croaked voice to her left made her jump. 

“Kreacher. I didn’t see you.”

“Mistress needs to drink brandy,” Kreacher said in a voice that was maybe intended to be reassuring, but it sounded rather more like an aggressive demand. His green tie was dragging on the floor, and the end was brown from soot and dirt after weeks of wear. 

“Erm. Maybe a cup of tea.” She muttered. 

Kreacher's giant, wrinkly lined eyes stared at her with both fascination and concern. 

“Master Draco showed Kreacher how to drink brandy and tea.” He stuck his tongue out and scratched his ear. 

Excellent. 

“I think I’ll just wait for everyone to get back.”

Kreacher furrowed his eyebrows, confused. 

“Master Draco is in the crypts," he croaked. 

“What?”

Kreacher nodded. 

“Master Draco likes to break the potion bottles," he grumbled. 

Hermione sprang to her feet without thinking, and bolted for the stairs. She ran down the hall, through the kitchen, and down the steps until she rounded the doorway of the potions room. 

A dozen potions were shattered into the floor, oozing onto the stone and the rug, and the pages of numerous books were laid out on a desk. 

Malfoy was seemingly guzzling liquor as he stirred something over the burning coals in what appeared to be a fit of rage induced mania. 

“Malfoy?” She said, hoping to get his attention. His shirtsleeve was pushed up his forearm a bit, but he didn’t compulsively pull it down for once. 

“Not now!” He barked. “I can’t do this right now.”

Hermione walked up to where he was to look over his shoulder at his notes, and peer into the cauldron. 

“What happened to her?” Hermione asked. Her face was still wet with tears, and when she looked up at Malfoy, it was clear that he was occluding. 

“Seizures. They can’t wake her up," he muttered. 

Hermione impulsively wrapped her arms around Malfoy’s neck to hug him. More for herself than anything. And to hide her face. She buried her nose in his throat as she did and almost shuddered with relief. He was warm, and the smell of cinnamon and whiskey was familiar. She could almost forget why she hugged him. 

Malfoy froze when her arms flew around his neck, and his body was rigid at first. When she pressed her face into his throat, he relented and calmly wrapped both arms around her shoulders, and hesitantly dropped his forehead to the top of her head. She was certain that she felt him shudder, and was surprised when his grip tightened around her. 

It was several minutes before she let go and tried to catch his face. The occlusion was in place again instantly. 

“Stop! You selfish bastard. I can’t hide, why should you be allowed to?” She angrily gestured to her face, swollen and wet with tears. 

He hesitantly relented and his gray eyes morphed into a sea of anger and grief as they filled with tears, and he closed them quickly before they escaped. 

“Bloody hell!” He snapped and picked up his glass again to drain another. Hermione noticed that he was more drunk than usual. His typically graceful footing was slightly unstable. 

“Are they at St Mungos?” 

He nodded.

“I'm going in the morning. Only family is allowed overnight.” 

If she makes it to morning , was left out, but hung in the air like a noose ready to strangle them.  

“What about P—“

“They let him in.”

Hermione reached for a glass and filled it with firewhiskey, and his eyebrows raised as he saw her drain the amber liquid. She coughed wretchedly afterward. 

“Only one way to make it to morning,” she mumbled as she collapsed onto the chaise with the bottle in one hand, and her glass in the other, gesturing to the spot next to her. 

Malfoy hesitated. 

“Malfoy I swear to Merlin if you don’t sit down.” 

He obliged and poured another drink just as Hermione was starting to lose focus on the world. 

They sat next to each other mostly in silence. Hermione asked what time St Mungo’s opened to visitors (eight o’clock). Malfoy asked if she thought Astoria looked unwell earlier, as though wracking his brain for what he missed. 

A few hours later, she startled and realized that she had been asleep. Her head was still lethargic from the liquor. She shifted and realized that someone’s arm was draped over her. And she was next to someone warm. 

Her eyes popped open and she froze as she realized she was asleep with Malfoy on the chaise in the study. She glanced at his face and was surprised how different he looked asleep. It made his constant habit of occlusion even more obvious. Without thinking, she brushed a piece of hair off of his forehead, and then shivered, hoping he was dead asleep and didn’t notice. 

I should go to bed. 

But the potions room was comfortable. Malfoy was warm. And she was tired. She rolled to face him, and tucked her face under his chin, up against his chest, and fell asleep again to the rhythm of his breathing as her head spun again from the whiskey. 

December 2, 2013

Hermione was startled awake by the sound of a dish clinking, and sat upright in a panic. Kreacher was looking over her with a cup of coffee and a pastry. 

Malfoy was gone. 

“Mistress gets up now.” His lip curled and he handed her both the pastry and the coffee before dissapperating again. 

She glanced at the time, and when she saw that it was quarter to eight, she jumped and twisted her hair on top of her head and withdrew her wand to dissaperate to her room and retrieve clean robes as quickly as possible. 

Hermione flung open the closet doors and reached for the first set of robes she could find, and swiftly shrugged out of her sleep ware and into the black, tying them in place as her fingers fumbled. 

After brushing her teeth and splashing her face with water, she nodded once and startled when she apperated within arm’s length of Malfoy. 

She saw a fraction of a second of surprise on his face before his expression turned glassy. He was also dressed a bit haphazardly in wrinkled shirt and robes. 

His eyes flicked down to her feet, and then his eyebrows furrowed. 

“What?” She asked. 

He gestured to her robes, and she glanced at them briefly before opening her mouth to snap at him about being in a hurry when she realized that they weren’t her robes. In her rush, she hadn’t noticed. 

“It was a spare bedroom before. Must have missed a few of my mother’s things," he said with a shrug, then gestured to the fire. 

He stepped into the flames and vanished before she had a chance to step in alongside him. She followed close on his heels and caught him rounding the corner of the hospital as she landed, and shuffled her feet quickly to catch up. 

Percy had obviously told Malfoy already where Astoria was being held, as he was confidently striding through the halls in search of the right room. Without warning, he halted in front of a door and stared as though unable to move further. 

Hermione pushed past and swung the door in to find Astoria asleep in a bed, covered in woolen blankets. Percy was asleep in a nearby fluffy chair, mouth open, and glasses placed on the little table to the left. 

She quietly took a seat in the hard chair next to the bed, and took a long look at Astoria, who appeared to be peacefully asleep. Both hands were resting at her side, and Hermione flinched when she noticed that Astoria’s left hand was covered in faint, purplish black webbing under the skin, and her pinky was missing. 

“Daphne got them to remove her finger and her other foot. That stopped it from spreading. If she wakes up…” Percy’s voice cracked. “If she wakes up, she might be alright for a while. It worked when they removed her other leg.”

Hermione nodded, reminded of Astoria’s false leg. She wondered if this was the plan, to remove pieces of Astoria bit by bit as the necrosis curse took over, and had the sickening feeling that Astoria wasn’t fond of the solution. 

He’s holding on too tight. 

“Where’s Draco?” He asked. 

“Outside the door," she replied. 

Percy immediately stood up and rushed to the door, but neither he nor Malfoy returned. 

Hermione meanwhile, clutched her friend’s blackened hand in her own, and couldn’t even cry any longer. 

She hardly registered the arrival of Pansy, Daphne, or Astoria’s parents. Even Narcissa came briefly. When Malfoy finally stepped in, he stood on the far wall, unable to approach Astoria’s bedside. 

“Hermione?” 

She glanced up toward the voice at the door to see Harry, Ginny, Neville, and Theo all crowded there. Not wanting to disturb anyone else in Astoria’s room, Hermione stood up to go to the door and talk to her friends outside. 

As soon as she did, Ginny flung her arms around her. Hermione felt numb, and was unable to move and hug her friend in return. 

“Will she be alright?” Harry asked, his voice thick with concern. 

“Percy thinks so if she wakes up. But they don’t know if she will," she mumbled, looking down at the floor. 

“How is he?” Ginny asked. 

“Imagine the worst, subtract ten.”

Ginny’s jaw tightened and she shook her head. 

“Fuck.”

Theo put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder and gestured down the hall. 

“Food," was all he said. 

“I can’t leave," Hermione replied. 

“Hermione, it’s nearly four, and Pansy said you’ve been here since eight o’clock. Either you can come willingly or the four of us will stun you and bring you by force.”

She begrudgingly followed them to the floo. All she could muster was a few bites of whatever Theo put in front of her to appease them all before Ginny and Neville had to give her a hug goodbye and return to practice and Hogwarts. Harry and Theo escorted her back to St Mungo’s all the way up to Astoria’s door. 

Before sending her inside, Harry held out a paper bag for Hermione. 

“I don’t think Percy or Malfoy have left either.” 

Hermione was certain neither of them would eat, but accepted the gesture nonetheless before hugging both of her friends and stepping inside again. 

It was eight when Malfoy and Hermione returned to the manor. Both of them stood frozen in the study after landing, neither able to move. 

Malfoy was occluding still. 

After fifteen minutes, Malfoy dissapperated with a faint crack. Hermione sighed and also vanished to her room, and crawled under the covers still fully dressed. 

Black webbing wove up Astoria’s hand and arm as Hermione waved her wand over her friend’s wrist, desperately reciting healing charms as Astoria screamed in pain. 

When she looked up at Astoria, the webbing began creeping up her neck and—

“Granger.”

She opened her eyes and startled. 

Malfoy was sitting at the edge of the bed, and quickly withdrew his hand from her shoulder and flexed it compulsively before folding his hands together. 

Hermione could feel her heart beating in her ears. When he stood up to leave, she compulsively gripped his wrist. 

“Wait.” 

He froze, refusing to look at her. 

“I… I might wake up again.” She wasn’t entirely sure what she was trying to convey. 

“Move over," he said flatly. 

She flushed and immediately regretted saying anything and released his wrist. 

“I’ll read. I won’t sleep anyway.” 

Hermione hesitated. She had gotten used to his brief appearances in her room to wake her up. But she felt like bats were in her lungs when she considered him next to her in her bed. 

She refused to look at him as she rolled over and pulled the blanket over her head. 

A few moments later, she felt the mattress shift and she could see a soft, flickering glow of a light charm through the weave of the blanket. 

He sat outside the blanket at least. 

She drifted to sleep without realizing, and when the sun peeked through the sheer curtains, Malfoy was gone already. 

December 6, 2013

Hermione didn’t return to work all week, and an owl arrived. 

She’s awake. 

-Percy 

December 7, 2013

Hermione and Malfoy landed in Astoria and Percy’s flat to find Astoria curled up on the sofa with a book on wands, completely unphased. 

“Oh! You’re here! Hermione, look. I found something.”

Hermione swallowed the urge to smother her friend with a hug, taking the queue that Astoria had no interest in discussing her emergency. Instead, she took the seat next to Astoria and listened to her ideas on how to remove the trace, and tried not to look at the black that was not on her hand last week. 

Malfoy, meanwhile, seemed to have found Percy in his office. After a few minutes alone with Astoria, Hermione dared to approach the subject of her illness tentatively. 

“Will you still be ok to work when Bill updates us?” 

Astoria’s lifted her eyes to Hermione’s as she snapped her book closed. 

“I’m doing this. And I won’t discuss it again.” She took a deep breath and softened a bit. “St Mungo’s is always guessing because they aren’t a research facility and they don’t work with blood curses often. It looks worse than it is.”

“But, Astoria.”

“No. No buts. I’ve told Percy the same. It has taken six years for my hand to turn. I started seizing because my implant is basically making my nervous system malfunction with how much those cells are being attacked. I’m making another one.”

Hermione bit her lip. 

“Astoria, how long?” 

Her friend smiled a little and for some reason seemed to find the question funny. 

“No one else has had the gumption to ask.”

“Well?”

Astoria shrugged. 

“As long as I can keep suppressing its ability to spread, and it doesn’t figure out how to circumvent what I’ve done, maybe five years?”

Hermione exhaled audibly. 

“I’d feel better about having more than one method of suppressing the spread so that if one thing falters, the others can help restrain it. At this point, my biggest risk is that I accidentally die of a seizure or blood loss,” she shrugged. 

“And Percy?”

“He knows all of this.” 

Astoria opened her book again and pointed to a page of faint Arithmancy equations in the margins, and returned to explaining her newest theory. When she was done, she looked back up at Hermione and pushed a piece of blonde hair behind her ear. 

“Where are we meeting next?”  

“I’m not sure yet. Too much interaction with goblins will raise suspicion. The floos and apparition are monitored, and too many trips to the bank will raise a red flag as well. I’m waiting to hear back from Bill.” 

Percy’s voice carried into the room as he and Malfoy strode into the living room. He looked slightly haggard and tired, but significantly more alive than Hermione had seen him in days. 

“She tell you what she found?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied. 

“Excellent. You’re right, things might get bad. They’ve decided elf wellness checks don’t need to be random anymore, and will only send someone if something is reported. Plus, they’re talking about Gringotts audits now.”

Hermione cringed. 

“That won’t go over well.”

“It already hasn’t,” Percy sighed, pouring a drink and handing it to Malfoy. “They all but sent a box of dung to Minister Parry’s office.”

“Who else have you told?” Malfoy asked. 

“No one yet. I’d rather explain to everyone at once and reduce the risk of news traveling down the line. But I’m afraid calling that many members of the order together will raise suspicion.” 

Percy smiled and lifted his own glass in the air. 

“Ferret, I think that your new wife is insistent that the Manor host a Christmas party.” 

Malfoy smirked and looked to Hermione. 

“I’ll need the guest list, love,” he said in a mock drawl.

December 8, 2013

Hermione received a cryptic owl from Bill amounting to Gornuk finding someone to work with Astoria, but that they couldn’t work out a meeting place yet. 

Malfoy meanwhile, had sent holiday invitations to everyone on Hermione’s list, and Hermione had made it known in no uncertain terms to Harry and Theo that they were to attend and make sure everyone knew. 

She found herself in one of the extra bedrooms one morning after Narcissa declared in a shrill voice that they would not be using her china for a party with Arthur Weasley in attendance. Instead, Hermione was sent look in the spare bedrooms for Lucius’ mother’s set stored away somewhere. 

Hermione shifted a box under a desk and looked inside to find a box of old Hogwarts memorabilia, and blinked twice at finding something so normal here. 

She cautiously opened up a picture album and saw what looked like Malfoy as she remembered him in school, but everyone around him looked unfamiliar and the photo was yellowed from age. A young Lucius smiled up at her before turning back to his friends and holding up his quidditch broom. Seeing Lucius smile was immediately off putting, and she slammed the book shut. 

As she turned to stand back up, she saw a pile of crumpled paper and a brandy bottle poking out from under the little bed, and lifted up the white dust linen to see what was underneath. What could only be described as a nest assaulted her. 

There was a pile of ties, hats, dirty towels, crumpled paper, an old snitch, a dozen empty bottles of brandy, and another ten or so bottles of vintage unopened. Tucked carefully to the side, was Regules’ locket. 

Hermione smiled and carefully lowered the linen again, returning to the hall to find Malfoy coming down from the attic. 

“Find them?” He asked. 

“No but I found about a thousand galleons worth of Brandy under the bed.”

“What the hell?” 

“Kreacher?” She called, and with a loud CRACK, the elderly elf landed in between them. His gray hat fell off his head as he landed, and Hermione noted that he was wearing a black tie today. 

“Mistress asked for Kreacher," he croaked, then glanced at Malfoy. 

“Kreacher where do you keep getting brandy?” 

“Kreacher likes brandy,” he snarled. 

“Oh, I know. I’m just curious because I’ve never seen any in the cellar, and I don’t think the maid buys it. But I’ve seen you with really nice vintage that we could maybe get for the party.” 

Kreacher's eyes widened. 

“Mistress can buy her own brandy. Kreacher bought his!” He jabbed a finger up her way dramatically. 

“You bought it?” Malfoy clarified with a smirk. 

“How?” Hermione asked. 

“Master Draco says Mistress is bright. But she doesn’t knows how to buy things," he grumbled, looking back to Malfoy. 

“Where did you get the money? Because—and I cannot stress this enough—you don’t work here," Malfoy said, gesturing to the hat on the floor. 

“Master Draco said Kreacher is of the noble House of Black,” the old elf snapped indignantly. “Kreacher used money from master Draco’s vault.”

Hermione blinked, and Malfoy smirked, then his face fell. 

“You what?” 

“Master Draco’s vault.”

“Kreacher how—“

“Show me,” Malfoy interrupted. 

The geriatric elf reached for Malfoy’s hand and the two of them vanished in an instant, leaving Hermione standing in place, mouth ajar. 

Draco felt the world compress around him as Kreacher tandem disapperated with him. 

When the pressure released, and his feet stabilized onto the ground again, he opened his eyes to find himself standing in the center of his family’s vault. 

He had heard the story of Kreatcher’s escape from the cursed lake, and his childhood elf apparating in and out of Hogwarts, but this had never occurred to him. 

His father bemoaned everything about Hogwarts, and the dark lord had foolishly underestimated a number of things, but the security of the bank had not once come into question when he was growing up. 

Draco tipped his head curiously at Kreatcher, who was shoving handfuls of Galleons into his hat, then clutching it like a disgraceful purse of sorts. The old elf could piss in this place for all he cared. He tried making large anonymous donations years ago to various charities until the Ministry notified him that three said charities had been audited and penalized for ‘suspicious activities,’ and one of them was forcibly shut down. 

“Kreacher,” He said. 

“Yes Master Draco sir.”

“Can you take me to Potter’s vault?” 

Kreacher's lip curled, exposing yellow teeth and Malfoy felt a surge of delight. 

Crack!

He was standing in the center of a strange fault. Smaller, but still piled high with Galleons. And with a quick glance, he recognized a few artifacts from stories his mother told about her childhood visits to Grimmauld Place. He quietly reached for a charmed game about stars that Potter had stowed away here, no doubt thinking it was some cursed artifact made of diamonds instead of a classic children's game. Draco slipped the little box into his coat pocket. 

“Weasley’s next.” He nodded once, and Kreacher obliged. 

As soon as they landed, he turned to Kreacher again. 

“Give me two of those galleons.” 

The old elf promptly opened his hat back up, and dropped two gold coins in Draco’s open palm. He withdrew his wand, and transfigured one coin into a pencil, and the other into a piece of parchment. 

After making a quick note, he laid the parchment just inside the door, face up, and pulled his signet ring off of his right hand to rest it on top of the page, greatly looking forward to Percy's reaction whenever he found it. 

Checkmate

-Malfoy

“Alright, I’m done," he said briskly, and Kreacher reached for Draco’s hand again to return them both to the manor. 

When he landed, Granger’s eyes were bulging with what appeared to be a combination of irritation and curiosity. 

“Well, I know where Astoria can work on wands.” 

Kreatcher vanished again with a CRACK and Granger’s eyes somehow widened further. Draco wondered how her skull didn’t hurt from what had to have been pressure releasing from her eye sockets. 

“Of course! I should have known that. Elves have never been bound to apparition restrictions! Why would Gringotts be any different?” She twisted her hair up behind her head after a curl fell into her face, and Draco swallowed his irritation as ringlets were swept up off of her shoulders. 

Thankfully, he was still occluding because she was close enough that when she moved her hair, he got a faint whiff of whatever she put in her curls between days she washed them, and she was irritatingly perceptive. 

“Where else would the china be?” 

This was potentially the most boring conversation he could be having. 

“Not sure.”

She glanced at the time and jumped.

“Oh my! I told Neville I’d meet him at the pub nearly fifteen minutes ago! Goodbye!” She said and vanished in an instance. 

He stood silently in the hall, and listened for the sound of the floo as she left. Then let the silence of the house wash over him again for a moment before retreating to his office. 

The blood curdling scream sank into his bones and Draco was already over halfway across the room to her doorway before realizing that he was awake. When he reached her bed, he gripped her shoulder, and firmly shook her. 

At least now when Granger woke up, he wasn’t as worried about retrieving the wand on her nightstand and hexing him. Usually. 

Granger looked relieved when her eyes opened, and she used her sleeve to wipe her eyes near instantly. She didn’t say anything, and he couldn’t think of anything either. 

Astoria being in the hospital had set Granger off somehow. She went from having relatively infrequent nightmares to every night during Astoria’s stay at St Mungo’s. 

After not leaving the first night, he hesitantly summoned a book the second night to indicate to her that he would stay again if she didn’t protest. She seemed irritable with him, but rolled over and pulled the blankets over her head again. 

He did not expect Granger to snore sometimes, and while he attempted to read both nights, he gave up much faster the second night. The gravelly breathing was impossible to tune out. 

She slept on her side, and he had to repeatedly remind himself to stay awake to make sure he didn’t accidentally fall asleep in her hair. He compulsively touched it while she slept, and also discovered that while Granger was alert and attuned to the world during the day, she slept like a box of bricks. Which was perfectly fine with him because he didn’t have to worry about accidentally waking her up if he touched her hair a few more times. 

He also learned that he didn’t have to worry about an awkward conversation in the morning if he was sure to leave before she woke up. And, in typical Granger fashion, something in her neurotic subconscious was punctual even about waking up. She would start tossing at six nearly on the dot, and he would silently leave before she noticed. 

This was the first nightmare since Astoria returned home. And he didn’t dare suggest that he wanted to stay. 

Granger didn’t say anything, but she did roll over, the same as she had done before; Pulled the blankets over her head, and moved over just enough for him to sit. 

Relief flooded him until he felt warm everywhere. Warmer than the already unholy temperature Granger kept this damn room. She apparently enjoyed slow cooking overnight like a holiday roast. 

He waited until he knew she was asleep, then charmed a glass on her desk to clink at quarter to six in case he didn’t wake up by then, and shifted down until his nose touched her hair. 

That turned out to be wildly interesting. He clenched his hands at his side and closed his eyes as all the blood moved south. Closing his eyes, as it turned out, prompted several suggestive images to flash through his imagination. 

Eyes open I guess. 

He wasn’t sure how long it took to fall asleep. But it was preceded by several hours of playing with her hair, and, when he couldn’t take wondering any more, resting a hand on her hip. It required a good deal of resolve to not shift his body closer to her arse, but he was certain he wouldn’t be able to hold back an audible groan into her ear. And if she woke up to that, he would aveda himself. 

Fuck.

For months, he had been waiting for the witch to reveal some quirk or habit so absurd that it broke the illusion. Horrifyingly, even her irritating habits had become more endearing than annoying. He was also, fairly certain, that she had taken notice of his interest on numerous occasions. 

Fucking hell. 

Chapter Text

December 14, 2013

Hermione put on a red jumper when she returned home from the morning in Diagon Alley in an attempt to look marginally festive for the fake party. She needed more parchment and another jar of floo powder, and a number of other things before everyone arrived later that evening. While she was out, she also picked up a tin full of ginger cookies. 

When she apperated to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, Malfoy was sitting at the table with a copy of the paper and a glass of firewhiskey. He tipped his head at the sight of her, eyes bouncing to her feet and then back up, then furrowed his brows. 

She flushed but didn’t reply. He was wearing a full five piece suit—well, currently a four piece. His jacket was draped over the back of the chair he was sitting in. 

It’s a fake party, she said to herself irritably. 

Narcissa, excellent timing as always, apperated into the kitchen in a fury. Hermione wrinkled her nose at the sight of the nervous witch who had been following the maids all morning to dictate their every move as they prepared the dining room and the living room for guests. Several times, she removed a set of candles or a vase that was set out with a brisk swish of her wand and nose in the air. 

She too, seemed preoccupied with Hermione’s choice of attire. She was wearing a set of burgundy red velvet dress robes and a string of diamonds that wrapped around her throat no less than six times. 

“You’re not ready yet?” 

Hermione scowled. 

“I’m perfectly fine.”

Malfoy lifted his paper back up to read, apparently preferring to not step in between this particular quarrel. 

“While certain guests in attendance will likely be a disgraceful embarrassment to themselves, you ought to have something more suitable to wear.” 

“It’s a red holiday jumper. Be grateful I’m not wearing one of my Weasley holiday jumpers.” 

“Your what??” Narcissa gasped, which almost made Hermione laugh since she had never seen such a blatant display of horror before. 

Malfoy flipped the corner of his paper down with slight interest. 

“Molly makes everyone a jumper for Christmas every year.”

Narcissa already pale complexion drained even further as her mouth opened in stunned horror. 

“They won’t—they wouldn’t—would they?” she stammered. 

Hermione shrugged. 

“Did you specify black tie?” She asked, leaning around Narcissa to direct the question to Malfoy. 

“Of course he didn’t. Anyone with an ounce of common sense would know that a holiday party hosted by a Malfoy would be a distinguished event, no matter how small.” 

“A fake holiday party. And want to bet?” Hermione replied, lifting her eyebrows. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“I believe you may need to grieve preemptively, mother. We are likely to be bombarded with a collection of disheveled guests.”

“No one associated with my family will attend our own party looking like a muggle on a Thursday afternoon.” Narcissa declared indignantly, glaring at Hermione’s jumper as though she could possibly burn it with her eyes. 

“Oh for Merlin’s sake!” Hermione snapped. “The party is a ruse, Narcissa.” 

“Yes, you’ve both told me, numerous times.” 

“I will see you both shortly,” Hermione said before apparating to the crypts. A bit dramatic perhaps, but she didn’t want to risk Narcissa trying to say more as she walked off. 

A few minutes later, Malfoy appeared in the doorway. 

As soon as his mother left the kitchen, Draco stood up and carefully made his way downstairs to the potions room. Granger could be found there more often than the library at this point, which meant that they should expect snow in hell any day now. 

He cautiously leaned around the doorway, peering inside, still undecided whether or not he would stay. 

That jumper really was wretched. 

Who the hell goes to a party in sleepwear?  

Even a fake party. It was fraying on the sleeves and it wasn’t a true red anymore, as the yarn had begun to fade. He wondered if the weasel wore one of the alleged homemade holiday jumpers that sounded like they might resemble a lint trap more than actual clothes. 

At least her hair was down for now. He knew she would twist it up or braid it just before people arrived. She had a habit of putting her hair up when she expected to see anyone. She didn’t seem to care when Potter was present, although to be fair his hair was even more disastrous than hers. The man was well into his thirties and still had apparently never thought to buy a brush, or learn how to use one. He frequently looked like he preferred to sleep in the yard. 

“Oh! Hello!” Granger said, looking up from whatever notes she was making at his desk. Her hand had an ink smudge on it. 

“You’ve planned this pitch a dozen times," he said when he couldn’t think of anything else. 

“I just want to be thoroughly prepared," she replied dismissively. 

Draco couldn’t think of an excuse to stay, and dissaperated to the study. As soon as he landed he stepped into the floo to Weasley’s.

“Oh! Hello!” Astoria greeted him when he landed in the living room of their flat. “You have company coming over in an hour. Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” 

She was wearing a silky, navy blue set of dress robes. Draco debated telling her that apparently the majority of the guests would be attending in rags, but she looked relatively happy and relaxed for the first time in weeks, so he bit his tongue. 

“Is Percy here?” He asked. 

“No. He is meeting me at the Manor, coming straight from the ministry.” 

“Any word on Kingsley?”

“Might not make it. He doesn’t want to rouse suspicion. Percy will fill him in tomorrow.” 

Draco summoned a glass and a bottle of muggle scotch that Percy kept on hand, pouring himself a glass as he sat across from Astoria in silence for a few minutes. 

“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you two?” She asked.

“There’s nothing to tell.” 

Astoria set down her book and narrowed her eyes at him. 

“I realize you’ve been occluding for the majority of the last fifteen years. But you can’t hide everything from me. I see the way you look at her," she scolded. 

There really wasn’t anything to tell besides the boggart and nightmares. Both of which Granger made explicitly clear that no one was to know about. 

“Drop it, Astoria.” 

“I wish you’d tell her what’s happened since the war. It’s been a long time,” Astoria grumbled as she picked her book back up. 

“Time doesn’t fix it," he replied. 

For years after, he tried to tell himself that he was still a kid, and he was afraid. But that became progressively harder to swallow over the years. It ultimately didn’t really matter that he hadn’t wanted the dark mark by the time he was forced to take it. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t killed anyone directly. It didn’t matter that he quietly obliterated first years he was forced to torture in seventh year. Didn’t matter that he was relieved when Lucius was sentenced to Azkaban for life. 

Not for the first time, he found himself disappointed that Astoria had chosen Percy. It was easy to be with her. He buried the selfish thought and let his mind wander. 

“Will Molly be there?” Astoria asked hesitantly. 

“Yes, but she won’t be focused on you tonight," he replied. 

“Maybe,” Astoria said quietly. It was stunning how much Astoria seemed to care about being on Molly Weasley’s good side. Completely unfathomable concept as far as he was concerned. 

“She’s really a bitch, isn’t she?” Astoria said irritably, and then flushed as soon as she said it. 

Draco smirked before taking another sip. Astoria swearing was the equivalent of someone receiving a howler in the dining hall. Manic, infrequent, and wildly entertaining. 

“She is,” he agreed. 

“Hermione seems to think that she’s alright,” Astoria continued, fishing for more information. 

“Everyone Potter knows practically lived at the Burrow at some point. She’s basically Granger’s mother,” Draco shrugged. “Why do you care so much now that the wedding is set?” 

“Oh,” Astoria flushed, and Draco waited. “Erm. If we ever have children, Percy will need help.”

Draco carefully put up his occlusion defenses at the reference to Astoria’s eventual death. Not being able to see her own kids grow up. The liquor started bubbling in his stomach as it mixed with acid, but he took another sip. 

“Molly is many things, but negligent with children isn’t one of them,” he begrudgingly replied. 

“I don’t want them hearing stories about me from a grandmother who hated me. If I have them.” 

The ‘if’ was heavy. A pregnancy could kill her, and would at minimum shorten her life expectancy overall. But he wouldn’t argue with her. Astoria was set on it, and he conceded to that a long time ago. Percy on the other hand, was still against putting her life on the line for it. Draco refused to end up in the crosshairs of that fight. 

“As if you think I’ll let Molly fucking Weasley help raise your kids. I hear she let the twins sleep in trees.” 

Astoria smiled, but didn’t say anything. They let the rest of the hour pass in silence as she read. 

“Shall we?” He said, standing up and offering a hand at quarter past. People were already likely arriving. 

“Oh. Should we arrive separately?” 

Draco tipped his head and gave Astoria a quizzical look. 

“I don’t particularly give a damn what any of these people think of us. Percy knows where we stand.” 

She nodded and accepted help standing up and looped her arm in his, her steps were wildly unstable with the second false foot. 

They vanished in the fire together.

The study was rather crowded already, as Harry and Ginny had arrived with Albus a few minutes ago, along with Bill, Fleur, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Neville and Theo, Charlie, and Luna. 

There was hardly any standing room left when Draco emerged from the floo arm in arm with Astoria. Mrs Weasley’s jaw dropped and she openly scoffed. Astoria flushed and stared at the floor, and Draco’s jaw tightened as he met Mrs Weasley’s eyes coldly. To Hermione’s relief, Bill and Fleur darted a warning gaze to Molly, and even Arthur touched her shoulder and shook his head just a little bit. 

“Everyone to the living room,” Hermione declared, gesturing for everyone to follow. 

As expected, Mr and Mrs Weasley arrived in festive holiday jumpers, as anticipated. Astoria was dressed rather elegantly, and for a moment Hermione felt like the red jumper might have been the wrong choice. Harry and Albus were also wearing Molly’s homemade knits, although Ginny chose a dark green one instead. 

They stepped into the living room to find Andromeda and Narcissa seated together on the sofa. The sight of them together was always a bit jarring for Hermione, who had come to begrudgingly tolerate cohabitating with Narcissa, but by no means enjoyed her company. 

Malfoy walked Astoria all the way to a place to sit, and Hermione noticed Astoria wince as she stepped on her new false foot. She hid it well enough that no one else was likely to notice. 

A few minutes later, Percy was guiding Ron into the room, followed closely by George and Angelina, Pansy, and then Daphne. Ron made a face at the latter two as they stepped in behind him, and Pansy responded by ‘accidentally’ stepping on his foot as she found a chair. 

“Kingsley and McGonagall are not able to attend, as it would have been considered suspicious. But suffice to say, this isn’t actually a party.” 

“I knew it!” Ginny threw a finger in the air indignantly, and slapped Harry on the back of the head. Pansy’s eyes widened and she smirked as took a closer look at Ginny. 

“Most of us already managed to deduce that. Too many Order members here. What’s happened?” Neville asked. 

Hermione took a deep breath, and launched into an abbreviated retelling of the elves, and why so many of them had been going missing around Europe as word spread. 

“That’s where they’ve been going? Bloody hell,” Ron muttered. 

Hermione ignored him and continued. 

“The best way we can help them right now is to ensure that word keeps spreading. Neville, I need you to fill in McGonagall tomorrow, and help her fill job positions for any elves that choose to leave.” 

“You mean some won’t?” Neville clarified. 

Hermione paused. 

“They won’t all take the news the same way. The ones that are disappearing are likely going to find the ancient trees in the legends. Others don’t want to travel, and provided they are not being treated poorly, might choose to stay. They don’t have any other options in wizarding society, which brings me to my next point.”

Percy stood up and stepped in next to Hermione. 

“Nonhuman magical creatures have always been a dicy subject at the ministry. Despite the progress made in the last century, and particularly the last ten years, there’s major push back being rolled out.” 

Hermione noticed that Narcissa’s knuckles were white and her nose was twitching with irritation. She silently hoped that she would have the sense to stay quiet, and noticed that Malfoy was also watching his mother closely. 

“The ministry is planning to get more involved with Gringotts than they’ve ever been, including mandatory audits by Ministry officials, and further restricting goblins in the wizarding world.” 

“And?” Narcissa spat. 

Percy’s face hardened, and there was some uncomfortable shifting in people’s seats. 

“And goblins have had enough of our bullshit,” he said frankly. 

Bill cut in this time. 

“They’ve been ruminating rebellion since Voldemort. But didn’t have the tactical advantage to push back on the ministry yet.” 

“Yet?” Mrs Weasley said, eyes narrowing as her head snapped back to Hermione. “What did you do?”

“I offered to help them.”

“You what?!” Molly snapped. Narcissa paled, and Hermione couldn’t tell if it was because she was distressed about the idea of helping goblins or the fact that she would agree with Molly Weasley in its absurdity. 

“How?” Charlie asked. 

“You said tactical advantage. Meaning you found something already,” Harry clarified what answer specifically that he wanted. 

“Wands,” Hermione replied with a slow smile. 

“That’s impossible,” Ron said. “Goblin’s never figured out how to make a decent wand, and it's impossible with the trace.” 

Hermione, Percy, Malfoy, and Bill all turned to Astoria. The rest of the room noted and pretty soon all eyes were on her. The blonde woman flushed nervously and looked at the floor. 

“Astoria is a wand maker, and is already working on a way to remove the trace, and has agreed to show the goblins how to make them.” 

Silence washed over the room for nearly thirty seconds before George spoke up. 

“So, are we stink bombing the ministry or something?” He asked, trying to break the tension in the room. 

“No. We aren’t actually planning on making the first hostile move.” 

“The ministry won’t see it that way if you arm goblins,” Harry said. 

“We will try to keep it under wraps as long as possible,” Hermione replied. 

The room buzzed with thoughts. Pansy’s eyes were wide, and while Hermione was still hesitant about Percy insisting that she and Daphne be included in the plan, she swallowed that concern. 

“What about the children?” Andromeda asked. 

“Without Dumbledore, they’re not nearly as safe as they ought to be before we voluntarily jump into someone else’s war,” Molly huffed. 

Hermione clenched her fist and took a deep breath. 

“The goblins will rebel again. It’s just a matter of when. We will eventually be dragged into this regardless. Dumbledore—” she stopped herself from growling “—Dumbledore did not always have the safety of children in mind, Molly. Also, McGonagall will most certainly reanimate her own corpse if need be to protect anyone at Hogwarts.”

“Be that as it may, he was the only member of the order that was able to cast the fidelius charm, which was crucial both as headquarters and as a safe place for children not old enough to attend Hogwarts yet and during the summer.” Andromeda countered. 

“Granger will handle it,” Malfoy said flatly. Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Molly Weasley. 

“I believe your opinion on the matter is less relevant than others in the room,” Molly snapped at him. 

Hermione threw her palm up toward Molly. 

“That’s enough, " she said coldly, and both Molly and Andromeda raised their eyebrows. Even Malfoy turned his head and blinked before resettling propped up against the wall with his drink. 

Harry hesitantly broke the silence.

“I know you’re good Hermione, but—”

“Potter, I’m certain you don’t have an adequate grasp of Granger’s skill with charms.” 

Hermione snapped her head to Malfoy, willing him to shut up. 

“To clarify, I do not, in fact, know how to cast a fidelius charm.” 

Gray eyes met hers, daring her. 

“Yet.” 

Percy nodded and jumped in. 

“I think we’re all familiar with Hermione’s abilities. Personally, I don’t think it’s far fetched, and she will have time to learn how to cast it properly before things get dicey.”

“When exactly do you expect that to be?” Arthur asked. 

“Sometime over the summer would be my guess, potentially next fall. It will take a while for Astoria to remove the trace, and more still to make enough wands without it.”

“What do we do now?” Luna asked in her breathy voice. 

“Harry, I need you to keep an ear out for word at the ministry about anything related to Gringotts, goblins, or really anyone non human.” Hermione said. 

“Charlie, the goblins need dragon eggs,” Bill turned to his brother. 

“Yes, just have Charlie smuggle a few dozen dragon eggs over the border. What’s the worry?” George scoffed. 

Bill lifted an eyebrow and inclined his head toward Charlie. Charlie in return, just smirked. 

“Done.”

“Everyone else as of right now, just be ready if we need something.” 

Silence washed over the room until Albus scuttled in from the drawing room where he had been playing to complain about being hungry. 

“The party is a fraud, but there is still food. If you all leave at once, the ministry will find it suspicious. They monitor the floo,” Hermione shrugged. 

“Sold,” Pansy said, bolting upright and leading Daphne toward the large dining room. The manor’s dining room table was so unnecessarily large that Hermione had never eaten there, and she got the impression that Malfoy and Narcissa didn’t frequently either. 

Each place was preset with fine tableware, and plates full of various holiday foods. Wine goblets were full, and there were bowls of holiday cookies in the center. While Hermione knew that the garland in the room and the extravagance of the dinner was certainly less than Narcissa would typically want, it was a lovely display. 

Everyone quickly picked a seat, and Hermione chose to sit next to Astoria, and Harry pulled up the chair next to her with Albus on his other side. Across the table in their immediate vicinity; Percy, Malfoy, and Ginny all sat down. 

There was chatter about wand lore which Astoria was always delighted to share, and some other small talk when Albus began to complain about being bored as he kicked the heel of his foot onto the table. Narcissa's mouth tightened as she watched. 

Ginny was pulling together an excellent Molly Weasley impression, and Albus slammed his mouth closed and plunked down properly in his seat again. Malfoy meanwhile reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a black box, and gestured to Albus to get his attention. 

As soon as Albus looked over, Malfoy released the top and hundreds of diamonds spiraled into the air, glowing and forming patterns as they did. 

“Oh, I loved that game!” Astoria exclaimed happily. 

“What game?” Ginny said as she made a quizzical face at the floating diamonds. 

“Hey, I think I have one of those somewhere,” Harry said as he too looked at the floating jewels. 

“It teaches you the stars. They’re charmed to take the shape of various constellations, and if you name one correctly, the diamonds will drop into your hand. Whoever has the most diamonds at the end, wins. They’re charmed to choose from hundreds of constellations every time you release them, so you can play for hours!” 

The game had gotten George’s attention as well, and before long, nearly a dozen people were invested in watching Albus try to name a few. Hermione took a moment to dissapperate and retrieve a book on constellations from the library before returning to the dining room. When Albus became notably stuck, Hermione reached out a hand. 

“Sirius,” Eight jewels dropped into her hand. 

Albus’ eyes widened, and Hermione shrugged. 

“Blacks are traditionally named after constellations.”

Albus began yelling out the names of every black he could think of to get the diamonds to drop. 

“Draco!!”

“Meda!!”

“Andromeda! ”

“Regulus!”

"Orion!"

Hermione held out the book to Albus, and Malfoy tapped the box, prompting the jewels to shuffle back into their home, closed it, and handed it to Albus. 

“I didn’t realize it was a game. I’ll have to find the one I stashed somewhere,” Harry said as he pushed his glasses up his nose. 

“Take that one. Won’t get any use here,” Malfoy shrugged. 

Conversation wandered into polite chit chat again for an hour or so before Mrs Weasley stood up and declared that she was tired, but wished them all a wonderful holiday. 

“I will see you for Christmas, dear!” She said to Hermione over her shoulder as she made her way back to the floo with Arthur. Hermione waved and did not argue. 

Ron followed shortly after, followed by George, who also took Albus with him. Andromeda took Narcissa home with her. 

Before long, all that remained was Harry, Ginny, Neville, Theo, Percy, Astoria, and herself. Malfoy and Percy were opening another bottle of wine for most of the room, and topping off firewhiskey for themselves. The entire room was a fit of delirious drunken madness. 

“The fidelius charm is—”

“Oh, shut it!” Percy shushed Hermione with a dramatic wave of his hand. “Nope! I’ve heard enough stories about you from Ron that I’d be disappointed if you couldn’t at this point.”

“Oh that sounds like a fun game.” Malfoy sat up and leaned toward Percy, gesturing toward him with his glass. “I’ve learned some bollocks in the last few months. I’m going to list Granger facts, and you’re going to tell me if it’s true or a lie.”

Neville threw his head back with a laugh. 

“No hints!!” Malfoy jabbed his finger toward Neville and Harry.  

Percy had leaned forward at the edge of his seat, waiting eagerly for his first fact. 

“If I get it right, you have to drink. If I get it wrong, I drink. Go!”

Malfoy issued his first challenge.

“She successfully cast a protean charm in fifth year on coins.”

“True. My family was all part of the Order. Nice try. Drink.”

Malfoy calmly took a sip, then continued.

“She packed a whole library and supplies in her purse with an undetectable extension charm in seventh year.”

“True! Try harder.” 

Malfoy took another sip.

“She’s an animagus.”

Percy hesitated.

“Damnit!” He said after a few moments of thought, glancing at Hermione nervously. “False I think.”

“Good,” Malfoy congratulated him and took another sip of whiskey. “She charmed an indestructible jar for a prison.” 

Percy laughed and Harry had to hide his cackle in the sleeve of his elbow. 

“False!” Percy answered, more confidently this time. 

“Drink.” 

Percy gasped and turned to Hermione as he gulped his whiskey. 

“What the fuck, Granger? Who?”

“Rita Skeeter,” she answered with a smug smile. 

“What?!” 

“When??” Theo screamed. Neville and Astoria were choking on their drinks while laughing. 

“The triwizard tournament," Malfoy replied. 

“How??” Percy was red in the face with laughter. 

“Apparently she’s an unregistered animagus. She turns into a bee or something.” 

“A beetle. And it was only for like a week,” Hermione chimed in. 

“Ah yes, no worries then. Only kept a whole witch in a jar-prison for a week,” Percy mocked. 

“She was relentless with her gossip and lies!”

“Noted. Don’t piss off Granger, else I may find myself imprisoned in one of Malfoy’s old firewhiskey bottles.” He looked back at Malfoy. “Another!”

“She lit Lockhart on fire.” 

“True?” Percy said, sounding confused. 

“It was Severus. Drink.” 

“She took every class available to a third year student.” 

Hermione pursed her lips, trying to contain her laugh, and Harry had to tuck his head between his knees to try to hide his laughing so as to not give away the answer.

Percy considered and appeared to be trying to do some basic arithmetic. A thoroughly complicated endeavor while drunk. 

“False. At least two of those classes overlap.” 

Malfoy lifted his drink to take a sip, then dramatically dropped his glass.

“Drink!” 

“That’s not possible!!” Percy cried as he took a sip. 

“She got a time turner to take the extra classes.”

“She WHAT!? ” Percy screamed, throwing his hands in the air. What remained of his whiskey sloshed out of his glass and onto the floor. 

“See? That’s what normal people do when you talk about giving a thirteen year old a time turner,” Malfoy leaned over and mumbled to Hermione. 

“WHO gave you a time turner??” His face was red and his voice was now hoarse from the combination of distress and delirious laughter. 

“McGonagall convinced the ministry to allow me to have one!” She said matter of factly, trying to keep a straight face. But Percy’s howling was contagious. 

“Granger, I manage the department of mysteries. And I wouldn't have even been approved to have one of those. Who the fuck approved that??”

“McGonagall conv—”

“No! You don’t understand! Those were issued for things like embassy meetings scheduled at the same time!”

“Go get the records. I’ve been wanting to know who approved it. Kreatcher!” Malfoy yelled. 

CRACK. 

The elderly elf appeared wearing his usual green tie and gray hat. 

“What does master Draco want? Kreatcher is pouring the swill brandy down the sink.” 

“A worthy endeavor,” Theo lifted his glass in approval toward Kreatcher. 

“Can you take Percy to his office to grab some paperwork and bring him back? I’ll give you the last bottle of the nineteenth century muggle whiskey that I hid after you drank the others.” 

Kreatcher’s eyes widened with delight. Then he grumbled as he reached for Percy’s hand. 

“Wait what if—” CRACK!

It only took a minute or so for the two of them to apparate back into the manor, Percy with a stack of papers. Malfoy summoned the bottle promised to Kreatcher and handed it over with a dramatic half bow. The old elf smiled with a grumble and reached for the whiskey before vanishing again. 

Percy was frantically flipping through page after page. There were half a dozen ministry officials’ approvals in the stack as Percy flipped through, and a page summary on each use. 

When he flipped to Hermione’s stack, his jaw dropped. 

“Bloody hell, Granger.” He glanced at the signature at the bottom of the approval. “Dammit Tom! I knew it! Bloody hell! That twat has made my life a living hell in the department of mysteries since I took over. I don’t think he second guessed a single thing that crossed his desk. I would bet my life that he saw McGonagall requesting the time turner and didn’t even finish reading the request!!”

He continued to flip through pages as Astoria read over his shoulder. Malfoy was chuckling to himself while sipping more whiskey, enjoying the intermittent firecrackers. 

“I do remember you being down the hall sometimes, turning, and then you being right behind me all of a sudden. It was terrifying,” Neville confessed. 

“When she took me with, it wasn't any more reassuring.” 

“Wait, you time traveled with her?” Percy said, becoming even paler.

“And you didn’t say anything??” Theo asked Neville. 

“Well, in my defense, she was always a little scary.”

“You used it to sleep??” Percy cried as he flipped through the documented uses of the turner. 

“Of course, how else was I supposed to get eight hours while also getting all my work done?” Hermione replied. 

“Merlin’s beard—you changed the timeline?? ” He screamed. 

“You what??” Neville cried.

“We saved Sirius Black. That’s not changing the timeline!”

“You reversed Buckbeak's execution! That’s the definition of changing the timeline!!”

“How do you know what happened with Buckbeak??” She asked, reaching for the sheet he was reading. 

“The time turners document every use, Granger! The copy quills annotate them when they’re returned to the department of mysteries. You’re lucky that whoever reviewed yours quit reading halfway through out of sheer boredom, and assumed you continued to be a reliable, goody-two-shoes.” He raked his hands through his hair. 

“Told you. Fucking bollocks,” Malfoy laughed. 

“How in the hell were you placed in Gryffindor to begin with? Taking extra classes sounds like a textbook Ravenclaw move,” Theo asked. 

“The hat wanted to put me in Ravenclaw. We argued for a while. It briefly suggested Slytherin, too, but I wanted to be in Gryffindor.”

“What?” Neville’s head snapped her direction. 

“I wanted to be in Gryffindor. Before we got to Hogwarts I had read up on the history of each house, and their founders, and I was conflicted about Gryffindor and Ravenclaw but I do love a hero. I convinced the sorting hat that it was a good fit.” 

“I convinced the hat!” Neville declared indignantly, jabbing both of his thumbs into his chest. “I said I would leave if it put me in Hufflepuff. Convincing the hat that I wanted to be a hero was my one impressive feat for years!” 

“Now that you say that,” Percy reflected, “I do remember the hat telling me how well I would do in Slytherin.”

“It wasn’t wrong. You’re an arrogant ass with something to prove and a ladder to climb.” Malfoy agreed. Their whiskey glasses clinked as they gave one another a mock toast. 

Neville threw his head back with a laugh as Harry chimed in. 

“I almost got placed there too, but always assumed it was because of the whole being stuck to part of Riddle's soul thing. I’ll be damned. What, what about you?” He asked turning to Ginny. 

“I told the hat that I had a lighter in my pocket from a pile of dad’s muggle things, and to keep that in mind before putting me anywhere other than Gryffindor," she shrugged. 

Astoria’s jaw dropped. 

“That’s how you get placed in Gryffindor I guess,” Theo shrugged. 

Hermione nodded.

“Yes, I suppose so. You prove your bravery that way.” 

“So, how the hell did we end up in Slytherin then?” Theo gestured to himself, Astoria, and Malfoy. 

Malfoy shrugged.

“Don’t know. I’m not even sure the hat touched my head before announcing slytherin.” 

“Oh, I forgot about that!” Harry said. 

“Clearly the arrogance was exuding from your waxed hair,” Percy said as he refilled his glass. 

“Clearly,” Harry agreed. 

Astoria was clearly trying to think back to her sorting ceremony, but the three of them couldn’t pinpoint a clear indicator for sorting other than the general desire to accomplish something, which felt too vague comparatively. 

“Merlin, Malfoy, this place is creepy, even decorated for Christmas,” Harry mumbled, gesturing to a display case full of an assortment of illegal imports, rare potions, and creepy collectibles. 

“Agreed,” Percy declared. “The place is bloody awful.”

“You of all people remember what it was like years ago. It’s quite improved over time,” Malfoy replied to Percy. 

“This is Malfoy Manor reformed?? That puts the whole thing into a new light. You’re right. Better burn it down,” Percy retorted.

“I did grow up here, you know.”

“You festered here, and turned into a twat. Doesn’t count.” 

An hour or so later, Ginny started falling asleep on the sofa, and Harry had to elbow her awake before suggesting that they head home. Neville and Theo followed them out the door as well, hand in hand. 

“Well,” Percy said. 

“Well,” Hermione replied. Her head was spinning from all the wine, and she took a moment to scourgify the spill on the rug from the glass Ginny tipped over on her way out.  

All eyes turned to Astoria, naturally. When she noticed they were all three looking at her, she straightened her back and scowled. 

“I’m not done yet!”

Chapter Text

December 15, 2013

Hermione apperated to the kitchen for a cup of coffee for the hangover to find Malfoy already standing at the counter, and quickly shuffling paper out of sight. She caught an envelope with an Azkaban return address in a flash before they were tucked underneath today’s copy of the Prophet. 

Odd.

His occlumency walls were high today for some reason. Which seemed strange because last night seemed to go well enough, and she didn’t have any nightmares. He also never seemed particularly concerned with Lucius or Azkaban in general. 

“What happened?” She asked. 

Malfoy disapperated without replying. 

Then the sound of the floo in the study and Harry swearing. 

“It’s fucked! It’s absolutely fucked! Bloody hell!” She bolted around the corner to see Harry scratching the back of his head, tousling his shaggy hair as he did so, and stomping his foot periodically. 

“What’s going on?” 

“The ministry is reinstating dementors to guard Azkaban.” 

“What?? Why??”

“Because they’re fucked? I don’t know!” He rubbed the back of his neck and growled with frustration. “Maybe they’re prepared to lock up more people in the coming years, or they’re planning a more strategic hit of Gringotts than Percy thinks, or they’re just tired of showing basic humanity to criminals. I’m not sure.” 

Hermione’s stomach flipped. Harry spent three years after the war fighting the ministry to remove dementors from Azkaban, and the mission was supported almost unanimously on all sides of the public at that point. Reinstating them was sure to cause backlash, and they apparently didn’t care, which was a bad sign. 

“Narcissa was still at Andromeda’s when she got notice apparently. She’s in St Mungo’s now.” 

That would do it.

“I have to get Percy," she said, bolting for the floo. 

“Percy?” Harry said.

“I saw the letterhead from Azkaban and asked Malfoy what happened. He disapperated to avoid me.” 

Harry understood and nodded. 

“Can you find Percy and make sure he knows? They’re at 352 West London by floo. Otherwise possibly the ministry or Ollivander’s with Astoria. I’ll… I’ll go to St Mungo’s.”

Thank god for Harry, because he didn’t question her. 

“Fine.” He was already in the floo. 

Hermione followed close afterward, and landed in St Mungo’s in a whirl. She was quite tired of this place lately. 

A healer was able to bring Hermione to Narcissa’s room relatively quickly, and when she stepped in, she found Andromeda sitting in the corner while Narcissa slept. 

“Is she ok?” Hermione asked. 

“They gave her dreamless sleep,” Andromeda said quietly. She looked gray, and didn’t look at Hermione as she spoke, unable to take her eyes off of Narcissa. 

“Draco was here,” she said. The statement sounded like an impending bomb, and Hermione knew that whatever happened wasn’t good. 

“What—”

“Did you know? Cissa never told me.” 

Ah. 

“Astoria mentioned something. I don’t know the whole story.” 

Andromeda was still speechless, and continued watching her sister sleep. 

“Andromeda, what happened?”

Eyes closed just before leaning her forehead against the palm of her hand. 

“She received the owl around seven, and promptly had a panic attack. Lucius is apparently already ill, not that I give a damn. But this is very well a death sentence for him, the way those things make the place unbearable. When I couldn’t calm her, I brought her here to see if they could give her a calming draught.”

“And?”

“She stopped hyperventilating, but when Draco came she completely lost it. I’ve…” She trailed off. “Bella screamed. And I've even been known to lose my temper. But I’ve never seen her scream like that.” 

“What… What did she tell him?” Hermione asked. 

Andromeda’s eyes darted to Hermione for a brief moment before returning to her sister. 

“Most of it was hysteria. But she was irate that he apparently stopped Lucius’ release, and something about refusing to see him and now Lucius would die because of him.” She made a quizzical face and shook her head a little in confusion.  

“He always seemed fond of Lucius?” Andromeda whispered. 

Hermione shrugged. 

“Astoria didn’t say much about it. But yes, that’s apparently how he and Percy became friends.”

Andromeda was deep in thought, and Hermione tentatively approached her to hand her a gold coin. They were the same charmed coins she used for the Order. More recently, they had been used by everyone close to Astoria in case they needed to be notified quickly of a trip to St Mungo’s. 

“Tell me when she wakes up.” 

“She won’t want to see Draco,” Andromeda said. “I’ll bring her home with me afterward.” 

“Not for him. Tell me when she wakes up.”

Andromeda gave Hermione a quizzical look, but nodded once in agreement before accepting the coin. 

Hermione bolted to find Astoria. 

She walked up to the door to Ollivander’s at the same time as Harry. 

When they rushed in, Astoria jumped behind the counter. 

“What?” She asked, concerned and holding a hand near her throat as though to catch her breath after being spooked. 

“Where’s Percy?” Harry asked. 

“What’s happening?” Astoria asked, a nervous waver already settled in her voice. 

“Azkaban is bringing back dementors.” 

“They what?!” Astoria screeched, standing upright and wand withdrawn. 

“Where’s Draco?” She asked with bared teeth. 

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied. “He was in the manor an hour ago.” 

Astoria stormed over to Hermione, despite the obvious pain in her feet, and grasped Hermione’s forearm to disapperate as a pair. Harry was left standing in the shop. 

When they landed outside Malfoy Manor, Astoria turned her head to Hermione exuding rage that was not typical for her. 

“Get me to the door.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t get Percy?”

“Hermione, I love you dearly but I am fighting the urge to strangle you. Find Percy if you want but get me to Draco first.” 

Hermione winced. 

The two of them walked through the door and Astoria lifted her wand, seemingly ready to apparate into every room of the manor if need be, and vanished in an instant. 

She stood in place for a few moments, listening for voices and reaching for the coin in her pocket to check for Narcissa. Nothing. Tentatively, she wandered through the house and down the stairs to the dungeons to check the potions room. Silence. 

After investigating everywhere she could think of, she returned to the study to wait for the coin to indicate that Narcissa had woken up. She had been sitting in the green sofa for less than five minutes when the floo rustled, and Percy emerged. 

When he saw her there, he gave her a quizzical look. 

“Where’s Draco?” He asked. 

“Couldn’t find him. I think Astoria did,” Hermione replied. 

“Ah.”

To Hermione’s surprise, Percy did not vanish in a fervent attempt to find his friend. He calmly summoned a bottle of Malfoy’s fire whiskey from the cart, and poured himself a glass before taking a seat next to her on the sofa. 

“Narcissa?” He asked. 

“Still asleep at St Mungo’s.” 

“Asleep?”

“They had to give her dreamless sleep.”

Percy’s jaw tightened and he took a sip. It was slightly disconcerting at this point when he was serious. Hermione had gotten so used to his upbeat personality in the last few months. He didn’t say anything about Azkaban though. The only indication that he was even affected by the news was that his beard wasn’t trimmed today. The edges of his cheeks and down his neck beyond where it was usually neatly trimmed was flecked with shades of red. 

“Kingsley?” She asked. 

“Told him this morning. He’s in.” 

“Good.” 

“When did you find out?”

“I got an owl a few hours before everyone connected to inmates did.” 

Early. 

He sipped his drink in silence for a few minutes as Hermione fidgeted with the coin. 

“Don’t hex me for asking, but why did you come looking for Astoria and I instead of going to him yourself?”

“When I saw the letterhead from Azkaban, he vanished. He wouldn’t talk to me anyways.” 

“He’s cagey,” Percy agreed. 

“Beyond that, I can’t stand Lucius.”

Percy smirked while furrowing his brows patronizingly. 

“Because as you know, I’m a big fan of him myself.”

“You know what I mean.” 

“You’re saying stupid shit. Of course I don’t know what you mean.” 

Hermione scowled and Percy sighed. 

“They were set to release him at one point.” 

“Astoria mentioned it.” 

“The appeal was denied unanimously after a direct family member testified against his release.”

“No offense, Percy. But that’s really the bare minimum I expect from someone.” 

“True. But I think you are brushing past the fact that he was a kid.”

“Don’t, Percy. Sirius was a kid. He was raised by these sorts of people, and he made far braver choices than Malfoy ever did at the same age.”

“Sirius was not loved. It’s easier to reject your upbringing when you’re already despised and abused. For all their faults, there was never a doubt in Draco’s mind that his parents loved him dearly."

Hermione wrinkled her nose, and the coin in her hand grew warm. 

“I have to go,” she said, jumping up from her seat. 

“We’ll talk later,” Percy replied dryly as Hermione stepped into the floo and returned to St Mungo’s. 

“She’s awake, but still rattled,” Andromeda whispered in the hall as Hermione walked up. She nodded and passed the old woman to push the door open. 

As soon as she stepped in, Narcissa looked up curiously, and grimaced when she realized it was Hermione. 

“I don’t need your pity,” she said coldly before turning her head to look out the window, away from where Hermione stood about halfway between the door and her bed. 

“Good. Because I don’t have any,” Hermione snapped. Narcissa turned back toward her as her eyebrows raised slightly. 

“Don’t try to quip with me, girl. Whatever you have from Draco just tell me and get out.” 

“I don’t have anything from him,” Hermione replied. Narcissa’s face faltered for a brief moment, as though disappointed before quickly swallowing her pride.

 “Then whatever you’re doing here can wait.” 

Hermione wasn’t sure why she was here in the first place if she was being completely honest. For some reason, she felt the need to just verify that Narcissa was alive and conscious. 

“Fine,” she replied, stepping out of the room and making her way out of St Mungo’s and to Grimmauld place. This whole day thus far was justification for a much needed drink with a friend. 

When she returned to the manor, it was only about four in the afternoon, but it may as well have been midnight for how absolutely done she felt. Harry informed her that the ministry was not accepting appeals on the subject, and that a few people were written up for throwing a fist into a colleague's jaw after the ruckus it caused. Despite the fact that it was a Sunday, and public confirmation of the news was not supposed to drop until the following business day, the ministry was flooded with complaints. 

She stepped through the floo and startled when she saw Malfoy on the sofa with his drink. He vanished before her feet completely stabilized, and without thinking, she apparated to the potions room. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Granger?” He barked when she landed right behind him. 

“You’re the one who started this with the bloody night terrors! Karma is bitter.” 

He blinked at her twice before taking a sip of his drink, but didn’t push back. Instead, he summoned a book and sat down on the chaise, seemingly set on ignoring her. Hermione took note of the way he fumbled with the pages a bit, realizing that he was more drunk than usual. 

She sat next to him, and his lip curled as she summoned her own book. 

After an hour or so, he snapped his book closed and barked at her. 

“You’ve made your point. Goodbye.” 

Hermione scowled at him, then stood up abruptly and marched to the pile of potions recipes that had stacked up the last few weeks. She picked one up and flung it on top of the cover of his book, then whirled and loudly pulled two cauldrons from the shelf. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked. 

“I’ve already had a drink with Harry over this bullshit, and I’m tired of sulking," she snapped. “Get up.” 

Malfoy’s eyebrows raised slightly. 

“Unless you’re suddenly in the mood to chat. Though frankly, the thought of discussing Lucius is about as appealing as drinking snails.”

He tipped his head a bit, studying her. Then stood up slowly and glided to his usual place and lit the coals under the cauldron she placed there. Both of them brewed silently for several hours, and Hermione lost track of the number of drinks Malfoy had. After the second recipe he worked through, he was completely unstable and nonsensically pouring random ingredients into the cauldron. Hermione kept a close watch out of the corner of her eye in case he accidentally released a lethal gas. Apparently, even sloshed, he was able to brew absentmindedly out of habit because while he did not brew what was on the page, he did end up with a batch of replenishing potion. 

She rummaged through the disorganized mess of shelves for more fireflies, and when she couldn’t find any, opened up a large upper cabinet in the far corner of the room to check there. 

“Crucio!!” 

A familiar face and black curls came hurtling out of the cabinet. 

Hermione’s head hit the corner of the desk as her legs gave out and she screamed. She felt blood run down the side of her face, and her hair felt damp and warm.

She tried to cover her ears as she screamed, the hand on the injured side of her head was sticky and warm with blood. Bellatrix’s laughter swelled all around her. 

“Mudblood whore. What did you take??”

The laughter morphed into her own screams as the boggart’s form changed. She felt light-headed all of a sudden, and the boggart’s screaming was fading. 

“Granger—Granger wait,” she heard faintly. 

Then darkness. 

. . . 

She came-to on the floor, gasping for air, heart pounding and anticipating Bellatrix’s voice. There was none. Her head no longer throbbed and must have already been healed and cleaned.

Feeling an arm clasped around her, she realized Draco was holding her. When she opened her eyes, he looked like he might faint. He exhaled and pressed his forehead onto hers.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t check there,” he whispered in a frantic sort of apology, she could smell the firewhiskey on his breath. He was very, very drunk.

“I’m fine,” she whispered and started to shift her body to sit up, but he misread the queue and pressed his lips on hers. 

His hands were shaking, and he laced his fingers through her hair, trying to wrap as much of it in his hand as possible while clutching the base of her neck. She was too shocked to stop him. He smelled like liquor and smoke and cologne, his mouth tasted like spice, and he sucked on her lip gently. 

Oh. He’s good at it. 

When he bit her lip she arched her back in response. He moved his mouth down her jawline and at the nape of her neck with intimate, passionate kisses she didn’t expect from him. She gasped when his tongue reached somewhere at the base of her neck, and he moaned into her throat, making her insides burn in response. 

His free hand couldn’t get enough of her hair. He let her down onto the rug and draped his body over hers as he kept kissing her. He let his tongue trail below her neck and she debated stopping him but decided not to. 

It felt good. 

He smelled good. 

She hadn’t been touched like this in a long time. He came back up to kissing her mouth and pressed his body hard onto hers. She felt a pulse on her thigh and impulsively rolled her hips in response. He sighed and moved his mouth near her ear and whispered: 

“Granger...” Her body stiffened nervously at the mention of her name, and the effect on him was instant. As her body tensed, Malfoy sprang up off of her. He raked his fingers through his hair. The way he looked at her just before he put up occlumency defenses again made her chest cave in. He looked mortified. His expression turned glassy just before he hurried out of the room. 

Hermione sat up and propped herself up against the wall and hugged her knees as she mulled over the emotional whiplash. She fought to swallow every memory that was suddenly pressing into her, confusing her. Memories of him waking her up from her nightmares especially. He didn’t usually occlude then. 

After a few minutes to regain her composure, she made her way to her room and went straight to bed.

December 16, 2013

Narcissa still hadn’t come home, and Hermione cast a silencing charm around her bed, unwilling to face Malfoy yet. She also didn’t go to work, and spent most of the day floating in and out of consciousness in her room. 

It must have been nearly three when she apperated to the kitchen to retrieve some food. The selections were much better since Kreacher moved in, as the old elf liked biscuits and pastries, and kept multiple jars on the counter thoroughly stocked. 

Malfoy was at the table with his own food and a book. Hermione spoke before he had a chance to vanish. 

“I’ll leave in a minute," she snapped. 

She took note of his usual glass, but it appeared to be filled with water, not firewhiskey. 

He refused to look at her, completely immersed in his book. 

“How do you defeat the boggarts?” She asked as she piled two biscuits onto a plate.

Draco’s eyes flickered above his book up to meet hers, and furrowed his eyebrows slightly. 

“I realized I don’t remember laughter. What do you do to them?”

His face twitched, as though confused by her choice of questions. 

“I… Similar concept, but I use occlumency to trick them into self-destructing.” 

Clever. 

Silence. 

“I didn’t hear you last night,” Malfoy said flatly. 

“No nightmares," she replied, and shrugged, trying to breeze by the hint. 

His eyes narrowed. 

“You snore.” 

She felt her face get warm and all she could reply with was an irritable snarl. 

“Just fix the charm,” he said, looking back to his book. 

Hermione didn’t reply.

“I’m done with the firewhiskey for now. So you don’t have to worry about tasteless behavior from me going forward," he said finally. 

He disapperated the moment he was done speaking. 

December 17, 2013

Malfoy woke her up. She had begrudgingly re-extended the silencing charm to encompass the room next door. 

He was occluding still. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, and she wasn’t sure she even wanted to know. Out of habit, she rolled over. 

The mattress shifted but there wasn’t the familiar glow of a reading light. After a few minutes, she cautiously pulled the blanket down from over her head, and looked behind her. Malfoy was lying down, facing away from her, and appeared to be asleep. 

He had been in her room a dozen times by now, but despite their more recent habit that developed, it never occurred to her that he ever actually fell asleep in here after she dozed off again. He was always gone well before she woke up. 

Now though, him laying next to her was making her stomach turn and her face twitched. 

He was drunk. She reminded herself when she found herself tempted to roll over and tuck her face in between his shoulder blades before falling asleep again. 

She turned her head back and closed her eyes to sleep again. 

December 18, 2013

Draco woke up before he was planning to when Granger’s back pressed against his. He went from willing himself to not move, to not even daring to breathe. His heart was pounding in his ears so loud that it was several minutes before he could confirm that she was still asleep. 

Not trusting himself to apperate quietly enough, he pried himself away and slipped out of her room in a rush as his breathing became shallow. He stepped into the hall, and raked his fingers through his hair as he tried to regain his composure. 

Fuck me.

He was being compressed by the floo network and landed in Weasley’s living room before he entirely processed what he was doing. 

Of course the weasel is at his desk at quarter to five. 

Weasley  looked up wide eyed and opened his mouth to speak, but Draco cut in before he could speak. 

“I hate you.” 

Percy blinked and shook his head as though he hadn’t heard correctly. 

“I’m sorry?” He replied, prompting Draco to clarify. 

“I fucking hate you.” 

“I’m afraid I’m enough of a prick that I’ll need more information than that.” 

“As soon as Astoria makes one of those traceless wands, I’m going to aveda you.” 

“Aren’t you chipper today,” Percy replied with a smirk. 

“I kissed her.” 

The weasel blinked. 

“You’re welcome?”

“I’ve changed my mind, I think I’d rather strangle you the muggle way. Feels more personal.” 

Percy chuckled. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not seeing the issue here.”

“The issue is that I got completely sloshed the day my mother lost her shit, and next thing I know Granger and I are on the floor,” Draco growled. 

Draco nearly lunged at the weasel when his laugh turned into a smug grin and he bounced his eyebrows. 

“I think you’re the worst person I’ve ever known,” he spat. 

“So what’d she say?”

“Nothing! I bolted as soon as it dawned on me what the fuck was happening.” 

“Mature,” Percy replied sarcastically. “What happened, exactly?”

Draco tried to replay the memory for the hundredth time. There was the boggart, and hitting her head. He was certain at the time that she leaned up to kiss him, but he thought he might die when he reflected on the absurdity of that assumption once he was sober the next morning. 

“It doesn’t matter. She didn’t—no,” he snapped, unable to complete a thought. 

“How would you know?” Percy asked. 

“I know, ok?”

“I don’t trust your perception of the situation.”

“She fell and hit her head, and I’m a fucking lunatic that kissed her when she woke up.”

“See, that’s the context I needed,” Percy said with a smirk. 

“Fuck you.”

Percy lifted both hands in surrender. 

“Fine. How’s Cissy?”

“Still at my aunt’s.” 

“Have you talked?”

“No.” 

His father was always going to die in Azkaban. The circumstances are just a little faster than expected. She however, was nastier than usual about it. Draco put up occlumency barriers when he felt his eyes start to sting. 

Percy seemed to be considering saying something for a long time before he finally spoke. 

“Will you see him?” 

Draco suppressed the urge to strike his friend and snarled. 

“I’m not discussing this again. With you or my mother. I’ll see him when he agrees to not discuss that blood supremacist bullshit with me any more.”

The weasel had the decency to shut up at least. 

“You and Granger work.”

This subject is not better.

“Don’t.” 

“You barged into my flat to talk about her. I admit, I was a prat about it. Originally I just figured you’d settle into being friends. You worry me, alone there so much of the time. But you two work.” 

Draco’s stomach turned a bit, and his tongue watered when the thought of firewhiskey flooded his mind. 

Fuck, I need a drink.

“It’s not happening.”

“Why not? Her attitude toward you has shifted a lot already. Three months ago she wouldn’t have come looking for Astoria and I after hearing that Lucius’ well-being was at risk.” 

“I won’t.”

“Why? You’re clearly not opposed to touching her.” 

“Wanting to shag her and wanting to be with her is not the same.”

“So you admit it, you want to shag Granger.” 

Draco didn’t even indulge Percy with an answer, and his tongue was starting to feel dry as he thought of liquor again. 

Suddenly Percy jumped as he glanced at the time. 

“Need to dash. Consider it, will you?” He said over his shoulder as he walked past Draco to the floo. 

Draco turned and returned home right after, landing in the study and immediately disapperating to his room. He could hear Granger shuffling next door, casually making her way through the morning. 

He sat down on the floor on the adjacent wall, and leaned his head back against it as his mind wandered. 

It didn’t take long for the memory of kissing her washed over him again, and blood flow moved south. 

Fucking hell. 

He couldn’t remember what he had done that made her gasp like that, but that sound intrusively popped into his head at wildly inconvenient times in the last few days. 

Her neck was sweet. 

She was responsive to him. 

For fuck’s sake. He was hard and struggling to maintain a coherent thought as various images flashed through his imagination. 

Granger flushed on his bed. 

Granger with wet hair in the shower. 

On her knees. 

Gods he hadn’t had a good shag in months. 

Granger might have been responsive to what he was doing while he kissed her, but the moment she was reminded of  who he was, she withdrew. He felt sick remembering her stiffen and pull away as soon as he said her name. 

I agreed to this. I’ll get over it. 

She must have gone to work because it was silent again next door. He hadn’t noticed her disapperate. Granger mentioned yesterday in passing that she wouldn’t be back until late due to a party after work, and Draco was irritated by the prospect of not seeing her today. 

Nightmares though. 

He immediately felt like shit for even thinking it. 

But he preferred sleeping in her bed. 

Chapter Text

December 24, 2013

Hermione was rummaging through her things looking for her Weasley jumpers so that she wasn’t in a rush finding it tomorrow. Along with three past years of Molly knits, she found two old coats that didn’t fit her anymore. 

She had kept as busy as possible lately to ensure she wasn’t spending evenings or weekends alone with Malfoy. Thankfully, there were no nightmares of late either which made detachment that much easier. However, since tomorrow was Christmas, everyone was scrambling about with last minute plans, leaving Hermione to fend for herself at the manor all evening. 

Her room was a good enough place to hide. 

She could hear Narcissa down the hall every once in a while. It still wasn’t clear to her what Narcissa and Malfoy did for Christmas, and she had no intention of asking either of them. 

“Mistress needs tea…” there was a croak behind her as Kreacher appeared with a tea cup in hand, holding it up for her dramatically. As he did so, the gray hat he was wearing threatened to teeter off his head to his left. 

“Thank you,” she said as she accepted. 

“Mistress isn’t eating,” he grumbled irritably. 

“I had breakfast this morning,” she countered. 

“Not yous,” he snarled as his lip curled. 

No. 

She would not get involved. If Narcissa wanted to starve herself over Lucius, so be it. The dementors were to be reinstated after the new year, and Narcissa visited him again yesterday. 

“Master Draco has tried. Kreacher has tried. Mistress Malfoy slapped Kreacher.”

“She will not strike you!” Hermione said, standing up indignantly. As she did, she felt a thwap on the back of her leg. 

“Where is she?” She demanded. 

“Mistress Malfoy did not hurt Kreacher. Kreacher is not allowing scolding his mistress. He won’t.”

“Fine. Where?” She demanded again. 

“The drawing room,” he croaked. 

Her stomach flipped and she disappearated before letting the thought settle. 

She landed in the far corner of the room to see Narcissa in a chair in front of the window. 

“And here I thought I’d be undisturbed here by everyone other than that wretched elf.”

“That 'wretched elf' is the only reason I’m here. He loves you and is concerned that you aren’t eating.” 

Narcissa didn’t reply, only staring out the window. 

“Get out,” the old woman hissed. 

“Then eat,” Hermione snapped back, summoning a muffin from the kitchen and walking over to where Narcissa was sitting. It was alarmingly close to the condemned spot on the floor, and she willed herself to ignore it.

“You’ve ruined my family,” she snapped. 

“Don’t flatter me. You ruined yourselves. Eat the damn muffin.” She dropped it on the side table in front of Narcissa, not even bothering to put a plate beneath. It was satisfying to see Narcissa’s eyes widen at the sight of the muffin scattering crumbs on the polished cherry as it landed. 

After several minutes, Hermione began to grow impatient as Narcissa refused to move. Her blood pressure was increasing and she was starting to get nauseous as her stomach churned standing in here. 

“Eat.” 

“Don’t try to intimidate me, girl. You’ve avoided this room since the day you got here, and we both know why. It’s only a matter of time before you can’t take it anymore and leave me be.” 

Hermione felt her face flush with rage, and when Narcissa noticed, she gave a conceited little smirk. 

“I’ll never understand how Andromeda puts up with you,” Hermione said sourly. 

“And I’ll never understand my son’s interest in you,” Narcissa snapped back, her icy blue eyes met Hermione’s. 

“He isn’t—”

“I could partially understand if you were a pretty thing, but that adjective certainly doesn’t apply to you.”

“Malfoy isn’t interested in me,” Hermione corrected. 

“Others tell me you’re an intelligent witch but frankly, I find your stupidity astounding.” 

“Eat the food, Narcissa,” Hermione said with a hint of warning in her voice.

Hermione was briefly satisfied when the remaining color appeared to drain from Narcissa’s face, only to realize that the woman was looking past to something behind her. When Hermione turned, Malfoy was standing at the entrance to the room. He didn’t appear to be occluding for once. His gray eyes were filled with a quiet rage, and his jaw was tight. 

“What is Granger doing here?” He hissed in a way that made Hermione’s hair stand up on the back of her neck. 

“Don’t ask me the motives of your mudblood,” Narcissa snapped back. 

Malfoy’s back straightened and he crossed the room briskly. Narcissa didn’t break eye contact as her son approached. 

“Get out of my sight. Next time you leave your room, I’ll have your wand and lock you in.” 

“You’d imprison your own mother?” She asked with a venomous hiss. 

“You are the one hell bent on suffering the same fate as father of late. Now, get out.” 

Narcissa vanished, and Hermione felt a wave of illness wash over her near instantly. It seemed her body had pushed back her panic attack until Narcissa was handled, but was unprepared to stay contained for a moment longer than that. 

When her head began spinning, and she thought she might pass out, she carefully reached for the chair across from where Narcissa had been sitting and tried to casually lower herself into the seat. Her eyes were beginning to glaze over and become hazy as blood started thumping in her ears. 

Merlin, she wished Malfoy would leave. He was frozen a stride or so away from her, but she was unable to try to read him as her focus spiraled more and more. When she closed her eyes to try to compose herself, Greyback’s face appeared and she suddenly couldn’t breathe. 

Her eyes popped open again, and Malfoy was crouched in front of her. His hand clasped over hers as her breathing became shallow. 

“Granger.” 

She felt her arm burning, and her muscles all contracted in anticipation of broken bones. The scar on her neck throbbed. Her wand felt warm and reassuring, and with a scream she nearly knocked Malfoy over as she stood up and began frantically throwing fire around the room. 

Where she was pinned to the floor. Where Greyback stood. Where Narcissa stood. The spot on the ceiling her eyes kept darting to. Where she looked for Harry and Ron. Where Lucius wandered. 

Warmth flooded her veins as the fire gave her focus. She exhaled shakily as she watched things around her burn, and the fire spread. Interestingly, the fire seemed to stop at the archway to the rest of the manor, flooding up against the invisible wall like a dam. 

Heat was creeping up on her from all sides, and Malfoy stepped closer. 

The fire burned hot enough and close enough that it began to hurt, but this pain was relaxing. It hurt less than the phantom bone breaking and the poisoned blade. 

She was suddenly being compressed into darkness, and apperated alongside Malfoy in the study. 

“Would you like a calming drought?” He asked when they landed. 

Hermione shook her head as she dug her nails into her wrist. She was swallowing the urge to scream with a strangled feeling in the back of her throat. Malfoy extended a hand to her and gestured to the fire. 

“I’ll take you to Grimmauld place,” he muttered. She shook her head violently and felt her body impulsively begin to crumple. She willed herself to stay standing. 

“You’ll be more comfortable there, and can go with them to the Burrow in the morning.” 

“I said no!” Hermione snapped. 

Malfoy’s jaw tensed. 

“Neville?”

“Just shut up.” She sidestepped to the green sofa just in time for her knees to give out. “I should put out the fire before the whole place burns down,” she muttered. 

“The fire has probably run out of oxygen by now,” Malfoy replied. “I warded it off from the rest of the house while you were—“ he cut himself off. 

She nodded.

“I’m tired.” An understatement. 

“I’ll go,” he replied with a slight edge to his voice before vanishing. 

Grayback’s face. Black curls. Poisoned blade. Cold metal on her neck.

Hermione’s eyes popped open in a panic, and her heart was pounding in her ears. 

No Malfoy. 

She must not have screamed this time. 

When she rolled over and closed her eyes again, black curls swished and she struggled to breathe. After an hour or so of tossing and turning, she stood up without thinking, and pushed the painting open to Malfoy’s room as quietly as she could. 

The room smelled like him, and the effect was immediately calming for some reason. That fact made her irritated for a moment before tiptoeing to the bed across the room. When she lifted the blanket, he seemed to startle awake. 

“Granger? What the—”

“Not a word.” She snapped back, holding her index finger up between them to silence him before she quickly shuffled into bed and rolled away from him. It was cold, and she wrapped herself as tightly as could in the blankets to warm herself. The scent of him was stronger on the pillow and in the blankets, and the effect was like a sedative as she drifted quickly to sleep. 

Draco woke up to the hundredth fantasy of Granger sneaking into his room as he heard the phantom sound of the portrait opening and light footsteps. Seeing her so little lately had his imagination working exponentially harder as even the sound of her breathing felt right. 

The memory of that fucking gasp rang in his ears again sending blood flow south. 

When the blanket moved, he startled and turned to see Granger standing over his bed. His heart dropped somewhere into the belly of the earth and he couldn’t breath. 

This is not real. He said to himself. His mind was unable to process as it was too preoccupied with the loss of blood, and losing more still as the top two buttons of her shirt were undone, revealing more of her tits than usual as she bent over the bed. 

Fucking hell. Fucking hell!!

“Granger? What the—”

“Not a word.” 

She was suddenly in his bed, but instead of their usual arrangement where he carefully laid on top of the blankets to create a barrier, she was under the blankets with him and he felt like he might die. 

It dawned on Draco that she had a nightmare, but he hadn’t heard her for some reason. 

Fuck. 

He wasn’t able to focus on the nightmare for long, as his body was far too preoccupied with this new scenario. Every fantasy he had of her in this room suddenly felt alarmingly relevant. 

Hesitantly, he sat up a little to look over at how her hair looked on his pillow. 

Yep. Fuck. He laid back down and brushed her hair with his nose. 

Get your shit together.  

Knowing that she chose to come to him, that she slept heavily, and that she was cold, he allowed himself to move closer than usual. He wrapped an arm around her waist and buried his face into her hair as he drifted off. 

December 25, 2013

When Hermione woke up, she felt a flood of panic when she realized that she did not think through the morning. Malfoy was always gone when he came to her room before she woke up. As she shifted, she felt her hair catch behind her and she realized his hand was laced into it.

Oh.  

“I’m sorry, I’ll go,” she sputtered as she reached for her wand on the nightstand, quickly realizing that she left it in her room. 

“It’s fine.” 

“No, it’s not. I don’t know why I even came here. I’ve completely crossed a line.” 

“Granger, do me a favor and calm the fuck down before I pour calming drought down your throat.” 

“It won’t happen again. I’ll go now.” 

“I don’t mind,” he said. She let her gaze settle on his and realized he wasn’t occluding. He looked rather sincere actually. 

When she didn’t reply right away, the barriers went back up. She knew at this point that he was attracted to her, but she also knew that it bothered him and so, she refused to discuss it. 

“I like you better when you don’t occlude.” 

Malfoy blinked and relented as half a dozen emotions flashed beneath his eyes, but she couldn’t pinpoint what any of them were as she was unfamiliar with the subtlety of his face. 

“Noted,” he replied. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said defensively. 

Malfoy said nothing as he stood up. 

“I… I better get ready to go to the burrow. Where will you be?” She said nervously, glancing at the door. 

“Not the burrow.”

She scoffed. 

“It wouldn’t be that bad.”

“No? I believe Molly was mentally preparing a recipe that featured my liver during my last visit.”

“So, what will you do today?”

“I’m not your charity case, Granger,” he said coldly. 

Hermione nodded and, without another word, returned to her room to quickly pull a knit jumper over her head, scurry through the bathroom for some expedited self care, and disapperated to the study to use the floo. 

Harry’s voice sputtered in the fire just before she stepped in. 

“Hermione?” 

“Harry?” She hissed back at him, startled. 

“I don’t have long, we’re about to head to the Burrow, but listen. You need to stay at the Manor. I’m sorry.”

“What? Why?”

“They’re sending someone from the ministry on a Christmas social call. Someone figured out that members of the Order have been in contact more than normal and they’re suspicious.”

“What about Percy?” Hermione asked. 

“Him and Astoria will be fine. But it’ll look bad if you come with or without Malfoy. I’m sorry, Hermione.”

She chewed on her lip and blinked back disappointment. 

“It’s alright. Let me know what happens.”

“Happy Christmas!” Harry said with a strained attempt at cheeriness. 

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” Hermione replied as Harry’s face receded from the flames. 

She took a deep breath and forcibly swallowed the lump in her throat as she made her way to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Kreacher was grumbling and put something into the oven before disapperating again with a happy little cackle. 

Hermione had taken hardly three sips of tea when Malfoy rounded the corner of the kitchen. He was dressed more casually than robes, opting instead for a dark gray button down, and he compulsively lifted his left forearm to hide it as he rolled the sleeve down quickly. 

He tipped his head slightly, prompting an explanation. 

“Ministry sent a social call to the burrow to check on the Order. I’m to stay here, I guess.”

Malfoy didn’t reply, but also prepared his own cup of tea and sat across from her. 

“How’s Narcissa?” Hermione asked once he sat down.

“Unpleasant,” he replied. 

“I’ll stay out of your way today. I’m thinking of just taking a bunch of Kreacher’s biscuits and coffee into the library to read for the rest of the day. Maybe send everyone’s gifts by owl since I can’t be there.”

Malfoy’s jaw tightened as his gaze was intently set out the window. 

“I know you don’t prefer me being here—“

“Just stop talking,” he said coldly. She bit her lip and felt her stomach turning. She wished she was at the burrow, surrounded by people she loved. The house was filled with hugs and good food and life, everything the manor lacked. 

“Apologies, that was uncalled for,” Malfoy muttered, teeth still clenched. His eyes were glassy as he occluded, and Hermione was annoyed by his unwillingness to act like a normal person around her. 

“Do you occlude like this with Astoria and Percy?” She asked pointedly. 

“I used to,” he said flatly. 

“When did you stop?”

He didn’t answer, and Hermione couldn’t tell if he was just thinking or if he was ignoring her. 

“I don’t know,” He finally said. 

“I wish you'd stop.”

Malfoy’s gaze met hers, and she noticed that he appeared to have relented. His eyes looked tired and sad? 

“No,” he said before his face turned blank again. 

“Why?” She pressed. 

“Because I’m selfish, and it's easier.” 

“Don’t be a dramatic prat,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. 

Malfoy’s mouth twitched and he looked back outside. 

“I dislike that you assume ill intent in everything I do. You’re surprised by any shred of kindness.”

Her heart dropped and she felt her stomach churn nervously. 

“I have no right to good faith assumptions. Your opinion of me, if it ever changes, needs to happen organically.” 

She chewed on her thumb as she considered. 

“I don’t always assume the worst,” was all she could think to say, and it fell out of her mouth before she completely realized. 

Malfoy’s mouth twitched. 

“Hm. Tell me again about earlier.” 

She flushed. This went against their rule to never discuss her nightmares and their sleeping arrangement. 

“What about it?”

His eyes met hers again. 

“Why did you assume I would be angry that you came to my room?”

“Well, you never explicitly—“

“So would you need explicit permission to seek comfort from anyone else in your life?” His nostrils flared just briefly as his lips tightened. 

Hermione was unable to think of a response. 

“It’s a rhetorical question,” he said flatly, looking back out the window. 

I sleep better.

“I’m just used to it now.” 

They sat in silence for several minutes. She realized again how much older he looked. His eyes and mouth had smile lines, which was surprising since she rarely saw him smile. It gave him a slightly softer appearance than Lucius, whom she remembered having lines between his eyes from scowling. Malfoy’s features and demeanor were still disconcertingly similar to Lucius. Even more so now than she remembered when he was younger. But with those slight changes and the shorter hair, he wasn’t off putting like Lucius was. 

He looks good, she thought to herself briefly before stifling the thought. 

“There are no adequate words to apologize for it,” Malfoy muttered. 

“What?”

“Just standing there that day. I’ve been wracking my brain for months trying to find the words.” 

Hermione bit her lip.

“I don’t blame you for it,” she mumbled as she suppressed the urge to ask about his boggart again.

“I know. But you should. Partly.” 

“Why?”

His gaze was intensely focused outside. 

“Because she saw you inside my head.” 

“What?” 

Malfoy’s pale cheeks and neck briefly turned pink and he continued to avoid her gaze and stared beyond the glass. 

“She taught me occlumency. I had a thing for you in fourth year.” Concise explanation, but Hermione’s curiosity was burning. 

“You what?? No. You hated me!” 

His gaze returned to hers for a moment. 

“Just so we’re clear, no I didn’t. I was a bigoted piece of shit who thought you were beneath me, but that’s different. You were always wildly intelligent and an academic rival I couldn’t beat. Not to mention terrifying. If you had been pureblood, I probably would have thrown myself at you.” 

Hermione flushed and looked down at her now-cold tea as her heart sped up a bit. 

“When?” She asked quietly. 

“After you slapped me in third year.” 

“You were being cruel to Hagrid!” She exclaimed. 

“I was. And no one else had ever had the gumption to go off on me like that besides Potter.”

“Did you have a crush on him, too?” She asked mockingly. 

“I might have, had he been a girl,” Malfoy replied with a smirk. 

“What did your aunt find?” Hermione asked. Malfoy flinched. 

“Enough to motivate me to improve rapidly. Even begrudging, secret compliments to a muggle born in our family was intolerable.”

Hermione cringed, and withdrew slightly, pulling her hands just a little further from his. Filthy little mudblood.

“If I could take back every time I said it, I would,” he said, seemingly reading her mind. 

“Have you ever used legilimency on me?” 

Malfoy’s face fell just before it became glassy. 

“I just mean that you sometimes know exactly what my last thought was.”

He remained unreadable, and his posture was stiff.  

“Just a guess,” he said flatly. 

She wanted to ask why he bolted out of the potions room after kissing her, but the words were stuck in her throat like taffy and her tongue was unwilling to allow that sort of vulnerability. 

“I don’t want to be in your way today,” she said, circling back to the beginning of the conversation. 

“Your company isn’t a nuisance, Granger. But I’m afraid our Christmas plans will be very grey compared to what you are used to.” 

“I would think that the Malfoys had rather elegant holiday affairs.” 

Malfoy’s jaw tightened. 

“We did. Now, my mother prefers to attend Azkaban during the day. Then visits Andromeda and Teddy in the evening.” 

Hermione's stomach turned at the thought of seeing Lucius. 

“Oh.”

They sat in silence for another few minutes before Hermione spoke this time. 

“Will you go with?”

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

His jaw tightened and his hand twitched. 

“I set boundaries with him a long time ago regarding certain subjects in my presence. He has refused to acquiesce.” 

“You don’t think he can change his mind?”

Malfoy’s gaze turned to hers with such dark intensity that her stomach flipped. 

“No.”

“You did though. Why not him?” 

He flinched and pushed his cup out of reach as though to prevent himself from fidgeting with it further. 

“He enjoys violence. He could be shamed into being discreet about it as happened between the wars. But if he’s given an inch of approval by society, that violence will re-emerge.”

“What changed your mind?” Hermione asked. Malfoy grimaced. 

“It wasn’t just one thing.” 

“And Narcissa?”

“Refuses to see healers to help her sort through her conflicted loyalties and emotions.”

Hermione bit her lip and glanced at the time; it was only half past nine. She couldn’t help but wonder about Narcissa going to see Lucius alone, then scolded herself silently for feeling bad for Narcissa Malfoy. 

“Did you find your parents after?” Malfoy asked. Hermione felt herself cringe at the mention of them, but couldn’t very well berate him for asking, considering she just asked him a handful of her own nosey questions. 

“I check on them every few years. They moved to Bristol shortly after the war ended.” 

“Do you have other family?” 

Hermione shook her head. 

“Both my parents were only children, and my grandparents all died by the time I reached fifth year. I have some distant family but none that know us well enough to reach out to.” 

She sighed and chewed on her thumb nail. 

“At least I don’t have to be sad anymore that my kids would never get to meet them.”

Her face flooded with warmth as soon as she said it and she avoided his gaze which returned to her curiously, tipping his head. 

“You wanted kids?”

“Eventually. It’s a perfectly normal thing to want!” She snapped defensively. 

Malfoy fell silent and it was quiet for an unbearable minute before Hermione spoke up again. 

“I’m sorry. I ramble. That was too much,” she said quietly. 

He shook his head. 

“Just not sure how to help without sounding lecherous considering the circumstances.” Malfoy fidgeted for a brief moment with the silver ring on his left hand. 

“What happened with you and Astoria?” Hermione asked nervously, tired of being the object of scrutiny. Their history made her slightly anxious for some reason. 

Malfoy’s eyebrows raised slightly and he looked back out the window. 

“My mother pressed the arrangement, and the Greengrasses agreed to it due to the difficulty of finding Astoria another suitable husband willing to tolerate her disease. She was easy to be with due to us both being so isolated.”

“What about Percy?”

“They got closer and closer over the years. Eventually, she chose him.” 

Hermione flinched. 

“And that bothers you?”

“Sometimes. But we never had what they have. It would have been selfish for me to expect her to stay.” 

“So, what finally convinced her?” 

Malfoy smirked. 

“I caught them shagging in the gardens.” 

“No!” Hermione gasped. “That’s awful!!” 

He shrugged and chuckled. 

“It was the push she needed.” 

“You’re surprisingly calm about it,” Hermione noted. 

“You say that like I should have been in a jealous rage.” 

“Well… Yes, that would be the typical response. You were engaged!” 

Malfoy shrugged again. 

“It was never like that between us. I had no reason to be jealous.” 

“So you two never—”

“Yes, we did.”

Hermione wished she had something to fidget with. Her discomfort was itchy, and she now had more questions than answers but all of them would make her sound like she was a jealous, lovesick, and fifteen year-old. 

“What about you and Ron?” Malfoy asked, still intently staring out the window. He seemed to be having an easier time sitting still than she was having, which was irksome. 

“What about it?”

“You seem awfully opinionated about my friendship with my ex,” He said.

Hermione felt warm all of a sudden and a flutter of anxiety in her chest. 

“Ron and I aren’t all that close anymore,” she confessed. 

“What happened?” His eyes flickered to her face briefly before returning to the window, waiting. 

Hermione’s face twitched. 

“We lived together for a few years and just found we weren’t compatible.” 

Malfoy smirked. 

“I’m stunned,” he muttered sarcastically.

“Stop.” 

They fell into silence again, and Hermione stood up to rifle through the kitchen cupboards looking for a bottle of liquor. She found an old firewhiskey bottle behind a cluster of bowls and as she withdrew it, also summoned a few glasses. Malfoy’s eyebrows raised slightly as she poured two glasses and pushed one across the table to him. 

Hermione sipped her drink in silence, meanwhile, Malfoy had still not lifted his. 

“I know you still drink when I’m not around. I can smell the cinnamon,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. 

Malfoy’s jaw tightened and he reluctantly raised the glass. He visibly relaxed at the first sip. 

“Did your mother try to set you up with anyone else?”

“Yes. A number of times.” 

“And?”

“I don’t take to just anyone my mother drags in the front door. Besides, it’s not in anyone’s best interest politically to marry a death eater.” 

“The way you talk about it is strange.” 

“Traditional families don’t marry for love," he said with a shrug. “I default to discussing the subject more practically than romantically out of habit.” 

“I just can’t imagine living in a world where that is normal.” 

“Only because society so flippantly interchanges love and lust. People think they marry for love all the time only to find years later that it wasn’t.”

“That’s not fair to say.” 

“Love isn’t just a feeling, Granger. People assume love is like a flower by nature of association, but the flower will only blossom if cared for.”

 Hermione shifted in her seat uncomfortably. 

“When did you become poetic?”

It would be most convenient if you never did that again.

“I read.” 

She laughed nervously and looked down at her empty glass. Without a second thought, she poured another cup. Malfoy was very slowly and carefully sipping his drink; Uncharacteristically so. She again wanted to ask about the potions room but her throat closed over any time she settled on something to say about it. 

“I wasn’t practical though,” she said halfway through a gulp of firewhiskey. Malfoy’s eyebrows raised slightly. 

“No, no! I mean, I don’t fit into either category,” she corrected.

Malfoy looked at her and blinked, but didn’t say anything. Hermione poured him a second glass, irritated to be the one drinking more than him today. 

“So, when are you going to let me see your arm?” It was a tad hostile, but she was anxious and not sure where to put all the nervous energy so, it all tumbled out of her tone. 

His jaw clenched. 

“Never.” 

“I can help,” she said, trying to remove the edge to her voice. “Astoria told me you’ve been trying to get rid of it.”

Malfoy continued to stare intently out the window and ignored her. 

“You've said you tried skin grafting?” 

“Yes,” he said flatly. 

“What if you were willing to risk more extensive scarring? Maybe it could be removed with muggle medicine.”

Malfoy’s gaze met hers. He looked tired. 

“It could probably—“

“Just stop.” 

“I’m trying to help you.” 

“I don’t want your help, Granger.”

She slammed her fist on the table in frustration hard enough that the teacups and the whiskey tumblers all clattered. 

“Your double standard is infuriating.”

“Have any villainous marks permanently branded on you that I don’t know about?” Malfoy asked with a sarcastic sneer. 

“You have been a relentless guest in my room that I specifically did not want or ask for.”

“Granger—“

“Besides, I’ve already seen it.”

“It’s not just you. I don’t let anyone see it,” he said. 

“Except Astoria and Percy and your mother and probably Pansy and Daphne.” 

“Not all of them,” Malfoy corrected. 

“Astoria told me she tried to help you get rid of it.”

“She did,” he agreed. “But she’s not muggle born.”

Hermione flinched and sat back in her seat, blinking rapidly. 

“You seeing it would be worse,” he clarified before falling silent, looking back out the window. He brushed his bottom lip with the rim of his glass nervously. 

“Will Narcissa get to see him again before dementors are released?” Hermione asked, changing the subject. 

Malfoy shook his head. Despite her fight with the old woman yesterday, she felt a wave of pity for Narcissa. 

“Don’t you think she wants company?” She asked. 

“I’m not going, Granger,” Malfoy hissed. 

Hermione drummed her fingers on the table. 

“I’ll go,” she said before her brain fully caught up to the idea. 

“Like hell you will,” he barked. 

“I didn't ask for your permission. You don’t want to go? Fine. But it seems wrong for Narcissa to go alone for possibly the last time.”

Malfoy stiffened. 

“Fine,” was all he could say in return. 

“Is she still upstairs?” Hermione asked, glancing at the clock. 

Malfoy nodded in reply. 

“She should be down to use the floo in the study any minute.” 

“Excellent. I’ll… I’ll be back,” she mumbled, awkwardly standing up to wander to the study. 

Spending Christmas with Malfoy had thus far led to an emotionally confusing mess. Choosing to instead accompany Narcissa to Azkaban suddenly felt like the less intimidating holiday option.

She waited on the sofa for about five minutes before Narcissa apperated in front of her. 

“I’ll be going with.” Hermione announced before Narcissa had a chance to step in the floo. 

“Don’t be noble, girl,” Narcissa retorted coldly. 

“I’m not being noble. I’m showing basic human decency.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the hovel the Weasleys call a home today?” The old woman hissed. 

“I was. But plans changed.” 

“I don’t have the energy to argue with you,” Narcissa said quietly. “Just do me the decency of staying quiet.” 

Hermione nodded once and noticed that Narcissa’s shoulders seemed to release a bit, and her face was less tight. The old woman’s relief was subtle. 

“After you,” Hermione mumbled, gesturing for the fire. 

Hermione didn’t follow Narcissa into the visitation room. She stood outside the door with a handful of guards and watched from a distance. 

The intimacy of their greeting made Hermione’s heart twist a little. Six months ago, she may not have even noticed it. But after living with Malfoy and Narcissa, and learning how restrained every display of affection was with them; Narcissa clutching Lucius’ hand as soon as she was within arms reach, and Lucius brushing his nose to her forehead felt like thousands of pages of affection poured between them in a matter of seconds. 

She averted her eyes and chose to look at the floor instead as she waited. She had no interest in sympathy for Lucius Malfoy. 

Time felt like it was at a standstill, and so Hermione wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Narcissa emerged from the room. 

“He wants to see you,” she said. Her voice was broken and she was avoiding eye contact. “I’ll tell him you left already,” she whispered. 

“No. It’s fine. I’ll see him,” Hermione said flatly as she shifted her weight on her feet so that she was no longer leaning against the wall in the hallway. 

“Please leave. If Draco finds out…” the old woman sounded uncharacteristically sad and frightened. 

“As far as he knows, you tried to stop me,” Hermione said dismissively, and Narcissa gave a resigned sigh. 

She expected Narcissa to follow her, but when she stepped in, she found herself alone and wandless with what was left of Lucius Malfoy seated at the end of the room. 

“You wanted to see me,” she said firmly. 

“Yes. I wanted to see what the swotty little mudblood grew up to be, considering she caught my son’s eye,” he said coldly. 

Hermione stood behind the chair opposite Lucius, hoping that by standing instead of sitting, she could maintain the feeling of control in the room. It didn’t seem to ease her anxiety or intimidate the old man. His hair was thinner than she remembered, he was boney to the point of frailty, and had more lines on his face, but still held his same condemning attitude. 

She gestured to herself as if to say, ‘Here I am, finished?’

“I see you prefer to wear rags to proper robes. What else have you done to shame my home?” 

“I’ve adopted the delightful habit of licking your grandfather’s portrait,” she said with a sarcastic smirk. 

“And to think that my dear wife allowed this to happen,” he muttered with disgust. 

“Unless you have something practical to say to me, I’ll be off,” Hermione said coldly. 

“And I suppose you will ensure that my son continues refusing to see me,” he snarled. 

“I don’t give a damn whether or not he sees you.” 

“A proper wife wouldn’t encourage division amongst family.” His lip curled. 

“You died to me a long time ago. I truly don’t care whether or not your son chooses to see you. We don’t discuss it. I'm here for your wife.”

“And why is that?”

“Because she has the potential to be better. But she loves you and refuses to abandon you.” 

“You are a disgrace to our name and will be the end of our family.” 

“Good.”

“So, was blood bonding to my son all part of your revenge plot? To ruin our legacy?”

“As I told Narcissa, you ruined yourselves.” 

“At least I’ll be long dead before I have to hear about half blood offspring. I can only hope that Draco has only agreed to such extremes in order to prove himself reformed in the eyes of society. But to stoop to such levels… I never could have done it.” 

“I’ll be leaving now,” Hermione said flatly, having no desire to clarify anything about the situation. 

“You’ll tell him to see me.” 

“I will do no such thing. Goodbye Lucius,” Hermione said over her shoulder as she stepped out of the room. Narcissa was pacing nervously. 

“What did he tell you? What did he ask?”

“He—”

“I’m sorry,” Narcissa blurted out, then seemed startled by her own words. 

“I think I’ll go straight to Andromeda’s after,” she muttered as she straightened her back. 

Hermione nodded. 

“Ok.” 

“He told me he’d refuse to see me,” she whispered. 

“What?” 

“If he heard from anyone that I supported it. He told me I would be dead to him.” 

Hermione bit her lip, unsure what reassurance she could possibly offer. She glanced at the guards around her before speaking again, knowing Narcissa may not answer honestly. 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

“I love my son. I don’t approve of your arrangement and wish you were more familiar with traditional customs, but…” The old woman’s lips tightened and she continued to look past Hermione rather than at her as she trailed off. 

“I should go,” she murmured, then she rushed back into the room with Lucius. 

Hermione turned to make her way back to the manor, thoroughly done with the depressing stone walls of Azkaban. 

When she stepped back into the study from the fire, Hermione found Malfoy sitting on the green sofa with a drink. 

“Delightful isn’t he?” He muttered, sipping his firewhiskey. 

“Quite.” 

Hermione was shaking for some reason, though she couldn’t tell if it was stress or rage, and she reached for a glass on the drink cart at the end of the sofa and poured herself some firewhiskey as well before sitting next to Malfoy on the sofa. She pulled her feet up onto the seat with her and curled in on herself as she chewed her thumb nail and sipped her drink. 

“I don’t think Narcissa will come back before going to Andromeda’s,” Hermione confessed. 

Malfoy’s jaw clenched, and the two sat in silence for several minutes. The space between them felt tense, and Hermione washed away the feeling with more firewhiskey. 

“Just get it over with already,” Malfoy grumbled. 

“Get what over with?”

“Berating me about him.” 

Hermione made a quizzical face and looked over at Malfoy, who was staring intently at the wall and his entire body was rigid. 

“Why would I do that?”

“Because everyone has an opinion on me seeing him before he inevitably dies in there.” 

“Harry is the generous one. Forgiving Lucius isn’t high on my own to-do list, let alone pushing it for anyone else’s.”

Malfoy didn’t reply to her, and Hermione began fiddling with the sleeves of her jumper before continuing. 

“Did you know he told Narcissa he would never see her again if he found out she supported the blood bonds?”

“I figured as much.” 

“How so?”

“Because her attitude toward you shifted from indifferent to hostile after her visit.” 

“She seemed rather distraught about it.” 

“Neither of us have handled it well over the years.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Finding out we weren’t enough of a reason to change.” He shook his head once as though trying to shake off the confession he didn’t mean to let slip. 

“In his own twisted way, I think he loves you both. I could see it when he greeted Narcissa,” Hermione said. 

“I used to think that,” Malfoy replied, and Hermione rested her chin on her knees, unable to think of anything else to say.

A clatter of dishes could be heard from the kitchen, as well as the sound of Kreatcher’s usual grumbling as he worked. 

“I suppose I should let him know that Narcissa won’t be back,” Hermione mumbled. 

“I already told him to take whatever he’s making to Andromeda’s.” 

CRACK.

“Mistress is back,” Kreacher croaked. It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t look particularly happy to see her. 

“Yes,” she replied. “Happy Christmas, Kreacher.”

Kreacher made a gargling hissing sound, and dropped a paper bag in Malfoy’s lap. 

“Master Draco must be hungry. Yes… Master Draco must eat.”

He vanished again in an instant, only to reappear with another paper bag which he threw at Hermione before reaching for a bottle of brandy on Malfoy’s drink cart and vanishing again. 

“I don’t like how much time he spends alone,” she commented as she pulled out a sandwich and a handful of candies. “And that he still feels the need to cook for us.”

Malfoy shrugged and the two of them ate in silence. When he was done, he summoned a book from his desk and poured another glass of firewhiskey to drink as he read. 

Hermione on the other hand was lost in thought. The Weasleys would be well into the wine by now, and the kids would all be upstairs. She wondered how long Astoria and Percy would be there before either Astoria became physically fatigued, or became tired of Molly’s prattling. 

“What do you do for fun?” She asked. 

He lowered the book a bit and turned toward her. 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s Christmas and I haven’t had such a dreary holiday in years.”

“I don’t have any secret, thrilling hobbies, Granger,” he said irritably. 

“Just answer the question.” 

“I read,” he said flatly, letting the book in his hand snap shut. 

“What else?” She asked. 

“Nothing that will interest you.” 

“Like?”

“Quidditch. And flying.” 

“Oh,” she chewed on her thumb nail, when suddenly an idea sprung up in her mind causing her to sit up. 

“Have you tried a charm to change its shape?”

“Pardon?” Malfoy replied. 

“Your dark mark. I bet you could use a charm modeled after transfiguration to change the shape of the image since it’s resistant to being removed.” 

Malfoy just looked at her. He must have been occluding because he was still to the point of disconcerting, and even his breathing was concerningly quiet. 

“It’s an interesting idea for a cursed mark,” she said. “Have you tried it?”

“No,” he said flatly. 

Her excitement sprung up and both feet landed on the floor as she sat up straighter. 

“Really?” She leaned forward toward him, feeling the thrill bubble up inside her as the wheels began turning, and she tried to place how it could work. Her feet seemed to develop a mind of their own as she found herself bolting toward the library and pulling every book on concealment charms and bodily transfiguration that she could find. 

When she returned to the study, she found Malfoy in the same place. He hadn’t moved, but he did appear to have drained another glass or two of firewhiskey. His white blond hair had fallen in his face, and he flinched when she dropped a stack of about ten books on the little table in front of the sofa. 

Hermione plunked down next to him again on the sofa to his left, sitting close enough that her knee brushed his. He flinched and leaned his upper body away from her. Without hesitation, she held out her hand. 

“Let me see, please.” 

Malfoy’s eyes closed and his nostrils flared briefly. 

“Back off, Granger,” his voice cracked. 

“Let me help you.” 

Hermione tentatively reached for his left wrist. He flinched, but he didn’t pull his arm away. Instead, he pressed the bridge of his nose with his other hand as he rested his elbow on the arm of the sofa. His eyes were pinched shut at this point, and his jaw was rigid. 

Tentatively, she unbuttoned the wrist cuff of Malfoy’s shirt, and tried to ignore how stiff he was. His hand started to shake, and she clasped his wrist firmly, trying to calm him as she rolled his sleeve a little at a time. She bit her tongue to choke back a gasp of surprise at the scarring littered up and down his inner forearm. Evidence of years worth of removal attempts could be seen with burn scars, damaged blood vessels, thin white lines, and raised skin tissue where it looked like in some sort of drunken rage he had tried to cut it off with a blade. 

Malfoy’s hand was still shaking in hers, and she glanced up at him to find that he was still refusing to look at her. She opened her mouth to say something reassuring, but couldn’t find the words. His shame was thick and oppressive. 

Instead, she cleared her throat and withdrew her wand, gripping his hand tightly in her left hand as she worked with her right. The mark as a whole was resistant to anything beyond a minor notice-me-not concealment charm, which did little more than blur its features. She decided to target changing only part of the mark to test the theory, rather than change the entire image which could take months to figure out how to do effectively. 

She wasn’t keeping track of time passing, and worked in silence while Malfoy continued to keep his eyes closed. Her wand hand was stiff and the hand gripping Malfoy’s was numb, but she feverishly tested everything she could think of to force the skull to transform into a rose. She opted to leave the snake intact after discovering that it tended to swirl and move when provoked, which was both disconcerting and beyond her improv abilities to test her theory. 

When the skull finally relented and shifted into a rose, she gasped with relief. 

“Look!” Malfoy hesitantly leaned his head over to steal a glance and all of the color drained from his face when he saw. Both of them froze, staring at the altered image for what felt like an eternity. Malfoy appeared to have stopped breathing. A minute or so later, the image flickered and returned back to its original form, but the point was proven. 

“Once I figure out how to get it to stay, it may only hold for a day or so. It would probably need to be cast regularly until we find a more permanent solution.” 

She flung her arms around Malfoy, who was still frozen in shock, in an attempt to ground him with a hug. He didn’t reciprocate and it resembled hugging a board. As she withdrew, his face turned toward hers, brushing her cheek with his as he did. On instinct, she kissed him. 

As soon as it happened, she gasped, pulled back and began a string of incoherent apologies. 

“I’m sorry—I don’t know why—I’m terribly sorry. I thought that—“

Malfoy lunged toward her mid thought and gripped the back of her neck as his mouth landed on hers. He tasted like spice and began feverishly kissing her with a combination of need and relief. Anxiety over the mark forgotten. 

She immediately relented and kissed him back, clutching the front of his shirt and leaning backwards. Her head was spinning as he pressed his body onto hers. When his tongue brushed her lip, she opened her mouth and bit her nails into the back of his neck. He responded by frantically consuming her until she could hardly breath before moving his mouth down to her throat. 

“Draco…” 

His head snapped up with interest. He kissed her again before dropping his forehead to hers. 

“Yes. Say it again.” 

“What?” She blinked, trying to process. 

“My name,” he growled, low in his throat so it was almost a groan. “Say it again.” 

She was more than happy to oblige the request before leaning up to kiss him again. Both of them were panting, and gasping as one of his hands strayed from her hair to her shoulder, and then boldly moved down further. He brushed the side of her breast as he dragged his hand along her side to follow the curve of her body all the way to her thigh, drawing a moan from her in the process. When she tucked her hand just under the collar of his shirt to touch more of his neck, he groaned and rolled his hips. They feverishly continued to test the reactions they could pull from one another for nearly ten minutes. 

The sound of the floo activated pulled her out of the moment. 

Hermione sat up in time to see someone unfamiliar step out of the floo. The poor lad had to have been freshly passed NEWTS, and had turned bright pink. 

“Oh, Merlin. I’m terribly sorry. I’m—no mind then. The ministry, er, Minister Parry—The ministry—Merry Christmas!” He stammered over his shoulder as he fled back to the floo. 

Hermione turned to Malfoy. His silvery-blonde hair was standing upright a few places where her hand had raked through it, his pale skin was blotchy with color, and his shirt was wrinkled where she had been clutching it. She imagined she looked similarly disheveled, and she covered her mouth as a fit of giggles started to swell. 

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Merlin, shut up. It’s funny,” she said, cutting him off as her laughter turned into uncontrollable cackling. 

“What’s funny?” Malfoy snapped. The pink in his face and neck was draining, and he looked rather sick actually. 

“I was too busy wallowing this morning to consider that they would send the ministry to check on Order members who didn’t show up at the burrow,” she said through gasps. At one point, she rolled off of the sofa and onto the floor when she bent over to laugh. 

“Our cover story is immaculate at least,” she wheezed. 

Malfoy didn’t seem to find the situation nearly as funny. Once she gained her composure she crawled back up onto the sofa as Malfoy re-buttoned his shirt sleeve. 

“Oh my! It’s nearly six,” she said with surprise. 

“It is.” 

“Should we go to Andromeda’s since Narcissa is there?” She asked, suddenly not sure how to proceed with the evening, and feeling a little sick at the thought of him bolting again. 

No answer. 

“Malfoy?” His nostrils flared and his jaw tensed. 

“The thought of Andromeda’s can’t be that insufferable,” Hermione said with an eye roll. 

“I didn’t say it was.”

“Then what?” She snapped, feeling impatient with his sulking.

No answer.

“Malfoy?”

His mouth twitched at the use of his surname again before his neatly curated walls were propped back into place and his eyes turned glassy. 

Really?

“You call me Granger,” she said, which wasn’t really the point she was trying to make, but it was the first thing that came to mind. Sometimes, when he said it, her spine tingled. But she would die before confessing that.

“Yes,” he said flatly. 

“If it bothers you, why wouldn’t you say something?”

“It doesn’t. The explicit avoidance of the alternative does.”

“Why? You call me Granger,” she said again. 

“It’s different.” 

“Not really.”

“I don’t associate anyone else with that name. Granger is just you. Malfoy—” He cut himself off. “It’s just different.” 

Hermione fiddled with her jumper sleeve, unable to look at him. 

“Oh.” 

Without warning, he stood up and offered a hand clinically as he gestured to the fire. He was occluding again. She wasn’t sure this was much better than bolting out of the potions room. 

“Shall we?”

“I didn't—” 

“No more,” he said firmly. Hermione sighed and stood up, walking with him into the fire to Andromeda’s. 

“Hermione!” Andromeda said cheerily as she stepped out of the smoke. “Cissa didn’t tell me you were coming!”

When the older woman saw Malfoy land beside Hermione, she flinched before promptly correcting herself. 

“Draco.” She nodded politely. 

“Andromeda,” he bowed his head once in return. 

“Where’s Teddy?” Hermione asked, looking further into the room to see Narcissa sitting in a chair facing away from them all. She hadn’t turned to look back at them yet. And Teddy was nowhere to be seen. 

“He’s upstairs somewhere. He’ll be leaving for the burrow any minute.” 

Hermione smiled and nodded. 

Malfoy made his way to where his mother was sitting and sat down in the seat across from her. The two of them spoke in hushed tones across the room. Hermione realized she had never seen the two of them immediately after one of Narcissa’s visits with Lucius. 

“Come to the terrace with me so that I can show you my rose clippings,” Andromeda said, gesturing to Hermione with false pretense to leave the room. As soon as the door to the terrace was closed behind them, she turned back to Hermione to ask:

“Cissa said you went to Azkaban with her.” 

“Yes.”

“Merlin. You have more patience than me.” 

“She might never see him again.” 

“Good. Maybe my sister will finally get some closure in her life and move on.”

“I know, but I can see it’s painful for her.” 

“Yes, treating the poison killing you tends to be painful,” Andromeda scoffed. 

Hermione nodded, unable to disagree.

“Did Kreacher bring food?” Hermione asked. 

“Oh yes. Enough to feed the Weasleys twice over. I’m sending some with Teddy before he goes to the burrow.” 

“How long will he be gone?”

“He’ll return to Grimmauld place for a few days with Harry.” Andromeda replied. 

“Did the Ministry send someone here, too?”

“A few hours ago,” she confirmed.

“Meda?!” An adolescent voice could be heard inside. Hermione smiled, and eagerly poked her head back into the main house in time to see Teddy knock over a small table and trip over his shoelace as he staggered through the house. Malfoy’s eyebrows widened as though he’d never seen anything so graceless in his life, but Hermione smiled, reminded of Tonks. 

“Yes, love,” Andromeda replied, stepping into the house behind Hermione. 

“Have you seen James’ watch?”

“Why would I know where someone else’s child’s watch is?”

“Because I borrowed it.” 

“Good luck with that, dear. No, I haven’t,” Andromeda replied before gesturing to Malfoy and Hermione. “Draco and Hermione just arrived.” 

“Oh! Hi.” Teddy said awkwardly before kneeling down to re-tie his shoes. His hair was flickering through an assortment of colors Hermione knew to be signs of anxiety, excitement, and impatience. He was eager to be told he was allowed to leave. 

Fair.

“Enjoy your evening,” Narcissa said quietly, dismissing him subtly before his grandmother had the opportunity to enforce polite small talk. 

“Thanks, Cissa. Bye!” He said happily, waving awkwardly as he rushed into the fire before Andromeda could protest. 

“He was supposed to take some of the food with,” Andromeda said to her sister as she sat down in the seat next to her. 

“If you made that boy stay a moment longer, he was going to accidentally break all of your crystal in an anxious fit,” Narcissa replied, holding up her glass of wine. Hermione noticed that Malfoy had already helped himself to a glass as well, and she took the seat next to him, carefully leaving nearly a third person’s worth of space between them on the sofa.

“She’s not wrong. He broke an entire shelf of liquor in the study last year,” Malfoy said with a small shake of his head, as though he could not believe so much chaos could fit inside one lanky teenager. 

Hermione poured herself a glass of wine and mostly listened as Narcissa and Andromeda exchanged stories about their childhood, about Tonks and Malfoy, and about Teddy. Malfoy chimed in a few times when prompted and drank a few more glasses of wine. 

By the end of the night, Narcissa looked flushed and slightly less distraught than when Hermione had seen her earlier that day. 

When Malfoy said his goodbyes to Andromeda and set his glass down to leave, he turned to his mother, waiting. 

“I… I’m not ready,” she said. 

Malfoy nodded once in acknowledgement before standing up to leave. Hermione followed with her own goodbyes and a hug from Andromeda. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Malfoy grasp his mother’s shoulder as he walked by her on his way to the fire. 

When Hermione and Malfoy landed back at the manor, he turned to her and gave her a polite nod. 

“Goodnight, Granger.” 

His formality of his tone made the words stick in her throat, and she didn’t have a chance to get ahold of herself and reply before he disapperated. After a moment to collect herself, she disaperated as well, quickly shuffling into comfortable clothes and crawling into bed to try and sleep off the emotional ride this day had been. 

Eventually, she gave up on trying to sleep on her own and begrudgingly pushed the portrait door open again. When Malfoy woke up to the blankets being shuffled again, she defensively snapped: 

“Can’t sleep,” and pulled the blankets over her head as she crawled into bed. 

He didn’t protest, and she fell asleep quickly before she had a chance to think too hard about having come in before a nightmare this time. 

Chapter Text

December 26, 2013

Hermione woke up with one of Draco’s hands laced casually in her hair again, and his other hand resting on her waist. She could feel him breathing on the back of her neck as he slept, and she was finding it hard to relax with him so close. 

“Hermione?” She heard Astoria’s voice downstairs and she sat up quickly to run to her room for her wand to disapperate to the main floor. Not checking behind her for signs of Draco waking up. 

“Oh. Did I wake you?” Astoria asked when Hermione landed in front of her. Blue eyes glanced at her sleepwear. 

“I was up, just haven’t done anything yet,” Hermione replied for clarity. 

Astoria fidgeted nervously with her hands. She wasn’t wearing her glove and Hermione tried to swallow her anxiety when looking at the black, cursed veining under the skin in her exposed hand. 

“How was Molly?” Hermione asked. 

“The same,” Astoria replied curtly. 

“Is everything alright?” Hermione asked, noticing that it was still rather early. 

“Yes. Yes! It’s great actually. I think I found something…” 

“Found what?” Draco said as he approached from the top of the stairs. 

“A way to get rid of the trace,” she said. 

“That was fast,” Hermione noted with a small smile. 

“It’s just a theory. I may have to test dozens before I figure it out, and that’s without customizing the equation for each individual wand.”

“What are you getting at, Astoria?” Draco said with a sigh, recognizing her skirting around the point. 

“I need dragon heartstrings. Wood is fine, I have lots and no one monitors that. But anything that could be used as a wand core is registered at the ministry at the time of purchase. If I use any dragon heartstrings I already have on hand, and the ministry decides to audit me, I’ll end up in Azkaban before they even get to the bottom of it.”

“Great,” Hermione grumbled. 

“Can you test with unicorn hairs? That would be easier to move under the ministry’s nose,” Draco asked. 

Astoria shook her head. 

“I’ve never been good with unicorn hairs. Besides, with what I know about goblins, I suspect unicorn cores won't be drawn to them often anyway. It has to be dragon heartstrings.”

Hermione bit her lip, knowing who Astoria was hinting at. 

“Charlie’s good, but he mostly works with live dragons, not dragon products. Besides, getting heartstrings over borders is a logistical nightmare. We wouldn’t just be dealing with the ministry in Britain at that point. And Kreacher is too old to apperate that far.”

“Charlie is moving dragon eggs though?” 

“To the goblins. I imagine he’s bringing them directly to the bank. Gringotts is all over the world, and they have their own deals and policies with local governments, and they aren't barred from having dragons or dragon eggs like they are wands.”

“If Charlie can get heartsrings to Gringotts, can the goblins move them across the border?” Astoria asked. 

“Maybe…” Hermione trailed off. 

“If they’re already threatening Gringotts audits, I wouldn’t bet on it,” Draco mumbled. 

“So they’ll have to be carried across the border,” Hermione said. 

“I suppose. But magical artifacts brought across borders are monitored and will be inspected upon arrival. Whoever was smuggling items would have to do it wandless,” he argued. 

Astoria’s gaze never left Hermione. 

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Draco grumbled. 

“Well, she’s muggleborn,” Astoria shrugged, but Hermione was already three steps ahead and was already trying to figure out how to get ahold of a valid muggle passport on short notice, or alter one. 

“That doesn’t automatically qualify her to be a smuggler.” 

“It does if she’s also probably the best of us at charms to hide the dragon heartstrings’ magical signature, and will know how to best blend in for long term muggle travel.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Draco snarled, raking his fingers through his hair. 

“You’re absolutely sure you can’t use the heartstrings already in the shop?” Hermione asked. “What are the odds the ministry audits the shop?” 

“They’re supposed to do one twice a year, but have only come once since Ollivander died. There’s no way to know,” she shrugged. 

Draco pressed the bridge of his nose with his fingertips before mumbling: 

“Go tell Potter. He’ll have to go with.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione scoffed. “He’s an auror, he can’t be illegally crossing borders.” 

“So your plan is to smuggle illegal magical contraband wandless and alone?”

“He has a point, Hermione. Maybe Ron could go with? He works in the department of muggles,” Astoria suggested. 

“No,” Hermione said flatly, and Astoria’s eyebrows raised apologetically. 

“Oh, I forgot about—”

“Not that. Just, Ron won’t pass as a muggle.” 

“Isn’t that part of his job?” Astoria asked, visibly confused. 

“Harry is the only other person in the Order capable of not accidentally drawing attention to himself,” Draco clarified. 

“Oh, I see,” Astoria nervously picked at the fingernail of her cursed hand. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary.” 

“Can you start teaching without it? I don’t know how long it will take. Even if we can’t get them from Charlie, we’ll have to get them over the border from elsewhere. There aren’t many dragons left in Scotland.”

Astoria nodded. 

“I have plenty of teaching material for the basics, but working with the most accurate math as soon as possible will help.”

“I’ll talk to Harry,” Hermione mumbled. Astoria glanced behind Hermione, and for a moment, Hermione held her breath as she waited for the questions about what happened to the drawing room. Her friend exchanged a look with Draco, but didn’t say anything.

“Where’s Percy?” Hermione asked, hoping to skip the subject of the fire.

“At the ministry already, do you have to work?” 

“I have the rest of the week off,” Hermione shrugged. 

“Any idea when we’re supposed to go back to the bank?” Astoria asked. 

“Probably not until after the New Year.” 

“Oh, speaking of the New Year, Draco, you can’t skip the minister’s New Year’s party again,” Astoria said firmly. 

“What party?”

“An annual excuse for Parry to kiss people’s arses and get as many connections together in one place. No thank you.” 

“You’re already not on anyone’s good side for refusing to make political donations,” Astoria scolded. “And everyone knows you’ve blood bonded to a member of the Order.” 

“I thought you weren’t allowed in politics?”

“Those twats don’t consider my money political. Just my face,” Draco said with a hiss. 

Astoria began fiddling with a finger on her cursed hand again and Draco’s eyebrows raised a little. 

“Have you been to St Mungo's?”

“No.” 

Hermione felt a sizzle of anxiety in her chest. 

“I can take you if Percy can’t,” she offered.

“No,” Astoria said again, rather curtly. 

Draco’s lips tightened. 

“Did they stop working again?”

“They just aren't as efficient,” Astoria replied quietly. 

The two of them then appeared to be having a silent battle of wills as they glared at one another, and Hermione seriously considered whether or not Draco was using legilimency to converse with her when Astoria shook her head as though to fling the discomfort from her. 

“I better go back home. I haven’t slept and should lie down.” 

“I’ll be by to check on you in a few hours,” Draco said quietly before Astoria turned toward the study again. Draco disapperated as soon as she was gone, leaving Hermione standing at the bottom of the stairs feeling anxious for Astoria. 

Later. Draco will check on her later. 

Draco knocked on the door to the bedroom when he was unable to find Astoria elsewhere in the flat. 

No answer. 

He quietly pushed the door open to find her sleeping. She was curled up on her side of the bed with a throw blanket, not even bothering to crawl under the covers, and there was an assortment of pencils, books, and parchment on Percy’s side of the bed. 

Curious to know how quickly she had been working through the most recent pain relief potion he created, he pulled open the drawer to her nightstand. Most of them were gone already. 

Fucking hell, Astoria. Tell me so that I can make more.

The clink as he closed the drawer again woke her and she startled when she realized he was there. He touched her hand in an attempt to be reassuring. 

“Just me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“What are you doing?”

“I told you I would be back to check on you.” 

“Oh. I’m fine,” she mumbled as she brushed the hair out of her face. 

“So, you’re going to make me say it?” He said, raising an eyebrow.

“Just let it go, Draco.” 

“No. It’s bad enough you refuse to take some of the most effective pain killers available to you. I need you to tell me when you’re running out of what I’m giving you in the meantime. Or if they aren’t working so that I can adjust them.”

“If I tell you, then you over react and you spend the next three days looking at me like I’ve already died.” 

You are going to die.

“I can always go back to occluding on a regular basis,” he said sarcastically. Astoria replied with a cold glare, and furrowed brows. 

“Percy doesn’t like it.” 

“What?”

“That you’re still brewing my potions.” 

Draco made a derisive sound. 

“His issue is less with me than with you not taking the stronger alternatives available to you.” 

Astoria began to nervously play with her braid and pulled her knees up to her chin. Draco cautiously sat at the end of the bed and looked up at her, waiting. 

“I’m not taking them,” she said, voice full of warning. 

“We’ve already had this fight. Check the hair color before picking it again,” he barked back. Astoria had made it explicitly clear to both he and Percy that she wouldn’t take anything unsafe for pregnancy until that was no longer an option for her. 

“You disagree though, still,” she mumbled. 

“No, I don’t,” he said, and immediately regretted it as soon as her eyes snapped up to try and meet his. 

“Really? Maybe you could talk to—”

“I’m not getting in the middle of this, Astoria,” Draco said, meeting her gaze and waiting. 

He was used to people being uncomfortable with his gaze. In all fairness, they had a reason to be. Sometimes he accidentally had a peak into a thought at the forefront of people’s minds, especially if they weren’t trained in occlumency. But Astoria wasn’t usually one to avert her eyes from him, so when she did, he felt guilty. She looked down and tucked her nose into her knees to sniffle. 

Well shit.

He was never particularly adept at dealing with weepy Astoria. 

“Should I find Percy?” 

She shook her head, clusters blonde hair that had fallen out of her braid moved as she did. Draco wasn’t entirely sure whether or not to hug her or if she wanted to be left alone. 

“Why won’t he?” A little broken voice muttered. 

You should be having this conversation with Percy. Or Daphne. For the love of Merlin, anyone else. 

“He doesn’t want to do anything to make the inevitable come sooner,” his voice cracked, and the air in the room felt thinner. 

Silence. 

“If I wasn’t sick, or if I was someone else, he would want them.” 

Draco made a mental note to strangle Percy tomorrow. 

“He loves you, Astoria.” 

“But not enough to want a part of me after I’m gone. It’s not fair that he expects me to live in a cage with whatever time I have left just because he can’t come to terms with it.” 

Draco sighed and stood up. With a small flick of his wand, he shifted Astoria over just enough for him to sit next to her propped up on the headboard. Out of habit, he rested his head on hers. 

“He doesn’t want to lose you. None of us do.” His voice broke again and his eyes were burning. 

Swallow it. Don’t fucking do it. 

“But you would have.”

Fucking hell . 

“Draco?”

“Saying it won’t help you.”

“But you would have,” she snapped, turning toward him.  

“Yes,” he confessed dryly. 

Astoria rested her face back onto her knees, and mumbled:

“It was easier to be with you sometimes.”

Draco sighed and took her cursed hand in his. 

“Clearly you need the reminder that our sexual chemistry was similar to stale bread.” 

“It wasn’t that bad,” she mumbled. 

“It absolutely was. Don’t bullshit me.” 

She let out a choked giggle followed by a sniffle. 

“Give it time,” he said, immediately regretting his choice of words. 

“I don’t have time.”

“He will come around.”

“How do you know?”

Draco rested his head back on Astoria’s. 

“Because I have to. Coming to terms with your curse is a lot.”

She didn’t reply for a long time. Long enough that Draco thought she had fallen asleep, and startled when she spoke again. 

“What’s going on with you and Hermione?” 

Draco briefly wondered which conversation topic was worse. This, or Astoria’s plan to nearly kill herself trying to have a baby. 

Obviously the latter, don’t be a dramatic prat. 

“There’s nothing going on.”

“Yes, there is. Percy told me you kissed.”

“The weasel needs to learn to keep his mouth shut,” Draco grumbled. 

“What happened?” 

“I was drunk and impulsive.” The memory made him anxious and sick, compounded more so by the confusing encounter yesterday. She had kissed him. He wasn’t entirely certain he hadn’t fucked up and done it again until she started rambling an apology. But she snapped out of whatever delightful lack of composure came over her in a mortifying fit of giggles after their interruption. 

“I think she likes you.”

“No. She doesn’t,” he replied. “Stay out of it.”

“I think it’s sweet. It would be dreadfully romantic, all things considered.” 

“Meaning?”

“I’ve seen your boggart, Draco.”

“Only because you’re irritatingly good at killing them.” 

Astoria shrugged. 

“My secret weapon. I've been laughing at death all my life.”

“You’re reading too much into it. It’s not because of Granger. It’s because I didn’t do anything.” 

“Even so, it makes for a great story. Besides, wouldn’t it be convenient since you have to live with one another anyway?” 

“If a convenient wife was what I wanted, I wouldn’t have let you leave me for the weasel.”

“Then what do you want?”

Merlin, he was getting tired of being asked that question. 

“I think you’re lying to yourself," Astoria continued. "And I think you partly agreed because you secretly hoped she’d come around,” she teased. 

Draco grimaced and replied reflexively: 

“It’s been too quiet at home since you left.” 

The confession of loneliness hung over them like a cloud for a few moments. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

“You have no reason to be sorry.” 

“We could have been happy,” she shrugged. "We were happy."

Draco sighed, and her head shifted onto his shoulder as he did. He readjusted his head onto hers and the two of them sat in silence for a few moments propped against one another. 

“You’re my best friend, and I love you more than anything. If it were anyone other than Percy, I wouldn’t have let you go.” 

“It was easier to be with you,” she said again. 

“We had more time.” 

“Still.” 

“You hate my work habits,” he reminded her. 

“You’re always up late,” she grumbled.  

“Need I remind you that you’re the worst shag I’ve ever had.” 

“Hey!” She snapped defensively. “Rude!”

“It took years to get rid of that scar from when you bit my neck. Who the fuck bites like that?”

“I didn’t mean to bite that hard. You startled me when you grabbed my wrist.”

Draco chuckled and shifted down on the bed to a more comfortable position. The sex wasn’t always terrible, but it also wasn’t ever particularly great. It only ever happened when both of them were exceedingly drunk. Undressing when both parties are interested and attracted to one another? Wildly thrilling. When neither of you can summon a flicker? Painfully awkward whilst sober. Astoria shivered next to him. 

“What?” He asked. 

“Oh, nothing. Just remembered a time your teeth clacked on mine when you tried to kiss me in the shop. I thought for sure you cracked one of them.”

The two of them laughed again and exchanged a few more cringe-worthy stories before falling into silence again. When Draco noticed that Astoria had fallen back asleep, he carefully shifted out from beside her and readjusted her onto a stack of pillows instead. 

He nodded once and stepped back out of her room to find Percy stepping through the floo. His eyebrows raised with concern as his footsteps quickened for the door. 

“Is she alright?” He asked, his voice higher pitched than usual. 

“She’s fine. Asleep again.”

“Then what—”

“Manor. Now.” It was a little colder than he intended to come across, but he was having a hard time suppressing his anger without occluding. 

“If something—”

“Get in the damn fire, Percy.” 

Percy nervously glanced around Draco’s shoulder into the bedroom, trying to catch a look at Astoria to confirm that she was alright before conceding and retreating to the floo. 

Draco landed in a plume of smoke just behind Percy, and wasted no time. 

“What the hell is your problem?”

“What are you talking about?”

“This fight the two of you have been in for ages.” 

Percy’s face darkened. 

“Stay out of it.” 

“I have been. But you’re being a selfish maggot and I can’t watch any more.”

Draco leaned out of the way of the glass tumbler Percy threw toward his face. It shattered on the back wall in a glorious explosion of glitter. 

“Just because you were fine with killing her for your fucking dynasty doesn’t mean I am.”

“Go to hell.” Fire bubbled in his chest. 

“I’ll see you there.”

“So your plan is to keep her in a glass box until she dies, and then what?”

Percy threw a curse across the room, slashing the chair and ripping the fabric just before Draco disarmed him. He waved both of their wands momentarily in front of Percy before tucking them in his holster while his friend fumed and turned red with anger. 

“I won’t sit on the sidelines anymore. Not after having to listen to her cry this afternoon about how you would want kids with someone else. Is that your plan? Once she’s dead you’ll get yourself another wife and have a proper family then?”

“Fuck you.” Percy kicked the side table. 

“Go tell her you’ll do it, and make plans for what happens when she’s gone. It’s apparently the reason she’s been insistent on playing nice with Molly.”

“Why would my mother be the one helping me raise my kid?”

“Maybe you’d know if you bothered discussing the logistics with her.”

“I’m not discussing logistics because it’s not happening.”

“Then call off the wedding.”

“Why is she determined to kill herself?”

“Damnit, Percy! She’s going to die. You signed up for this! You knew exactly what would happen to her. You knew you weren’t going to get to grow old with her. You can’t just refuse to live a life with her just because you’re afraid to lose her. At best, refusing to get her pregnant buys you a couple years.” 

Percy collapsed into a chair and buried his head in his hands, suddenly overwhelmed by grief. Draco’s chest on the other hand was still pounding with rage, and he exhaled slowly, attempting to slow his heart rate. 

“Every night I worry she’s not going to wake up again. A few years feels like a lifetime.” 

“It is literally her lifetime!” Draco barked.

Percy kept his head down in one hand, and began nervously rubbing the back of his neck with the other. He unbuttoned his shirt collar and loosened his tie, and Draco waited for him to make the next conversational move, not trusting himself to say anything rational right now. 

“Does she really think I’ll just forget about her and start over with someone else?”

“Yes,” Draco snapped immediately. 

More silence. 

“I’m not ready.”

“You’ll never be ready for her death.”

Draco walked over and calmly withdrew his friend’s wand from the holster and held it out to him. 

“Fix this shit.”

Percy hesitantly accepted the wand and tucked it into his own holster before nodding once, standing up, and stepping into the floo.

Draco swallowed the crushing feeling that had suddenly settled in his chest, and fled to his office to try and distract himself with work. The sight of Astoria’s cursed hand was burned behind his eyelids, and Percy’s fear of wondering if she would wake up felt a too sickeningly familiar. 

Granger was pulling an assortment of bottles off the shelf looking for something, and startled when he landed. 

“Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t realize you were back. Is Astoria alright?”

“She’ll be fine,” he replied flatly. 

Her nose wrinkled as though she didn’t entirely believe him before turning around to rummage through the shelves, continuing her search. She was wearing another one of the ragged knit jumpers, and her hair was sticking up in the back in a few places where she had slept on it. When she reached above her head though to the top shelf, the jumper rode up her torso exposing her waist and he stopped himself from breathing to make sure he didn’t inadvertently gasp with interest. 

That vile jumper should still be burned.

“What are you looking for?” He asked after regaining his composure.

“Veritaserum. I’m going to Grimmauld place for a belated Christmas with Harry, Ginny, and Ron. Ginny is set on a high stakes game of truth or dare.” 

“Bold,” he said. “Third drawer in the desk.”

“Why the desk?” She asked.

“Since when is anything in this room sorted by logic?” He asked. 

Granger didn’t answer as she withdrew the bottle, instead changing the subject. 

“I could try transfiguring your mark again later. I did some reading last night and have a few more ideas.” 

“No,” he replied, unable to stomach the thought of more emotional turbulence today. Besides, he still hadn’t had time to process her seeing it yesterday. It had taken all of his self control not to spiral into a full on panic attack at the time, and he was unable to even look at her, too afraid to see her inevitable disgust with him. 

This was getting to be a problem. He wasn’t supposed to be getting attached to Granger. She was supposed to just be company. Possibly, eventually, a friend.

When he considered her playing truth or dare with Ron Weasley, he felt a flicker of annoyance. 

“Odd game choice with an ex.” 

What the hell? Shut up.

Granger shrugged, unbothered. 

“It’s just Ron.” 

He flooded with warmth and irritably dismissed it. Why should he be relieved by her brushing off Weasley? 

Astoria’s words rang in his ears. I think she likes you.

Yes, that’s why she found it hilarious to be caught horizontal with me. 

“Besides, maybe Harry will finally admit to losing my first edition copy of Mer Legends.” 

Draco nodded. 

“Anything secret confessions you’d try to drag out of someone?” Granger asked.

What was so funny?

Do you hate me?

Would you like to stay in my room?

Would you enjoy it if I shagged you senseless?

Will you ever forgive me?

“Nothing comes to mind.” 

Shit. He underestimated how much his attraction to Granger contributed to his willingness to live with her. 

Granger glanced at the time and startled. 

“Oh! I lost track of the time looking for this. I’m late. Goodbye, Draco!” She dissapperated without giving him a chance to reply. 

The sound of his name on her tongue made his lungs feel fluttery.

He stayed up late until he heard Granger shuffling back into her room, but his door never opened, and he slept alone. 

Chapter Text

December 30, 2013 

Hermione returned to the manor after work to find Kreacher scrubbing the floor in the drawing room of the remaining soot. 

“Kreacher, what are you—”

“Mistress hasn’t come home yet.” He barked back at her, knocking over a bucket of water as he did so.

“Narcissa? She should have been back by now.” 

“Kreacher knows. Kreacher always knows. Kreacher makes tea and waits. Kreacher cleans and waits. Kreacher makes mistress’ favorite lemon bars and waits…” He splashed the water as he grumbled, no longer even looking at Hermione as he complained. His green tie was dragging in the filthy water, and Hermione took note of the teacup full of what appeared to be tea with milk, and the bottle of brandy next to it. 

Hermione turned straight back toward the floo to Andromeda’s. When she stepped through, she heard the sound of what must have been Teddy and James upstairs, and looked up to see Narcissa on the sofa with a book. 

“Narcissa.” 

The old woman’s head snapped up to Hermione’s. 

“What’s happened? Where’s Draco?” She said anxiously. 

“Nothing,” she realized she didn’t know where Draco was. “He’s working.” 

Safe guess.

Narcissa’s nose wrinkled for a second, but she didn’t say anything. 

“Where’s Andromeda?”

“Out.” 

“Narcissa, why haven’t you come home?”

Narcissa’s back straightened indignantly, and her nose wrinkled again. 

“I don’t have to answer questions from a wild girl in rags.” 

“Swallow the derogatory remarks for once in your life. I think you’re an utter fool for still loving him, but I have no control over your emotions. I will not, however, tolerate your behavior toward everyone else in your life a moment longer.”

Narcissa scoffed. 

“Draco tells me you’ve refused to see healers.”

“None of those imbeciles has any respect for Lucius to know what I’m going through.” 

“Lucius deserves the respect of troll dung.” 

“You wretched—”

Hermione held up her hand. 

“I don’t care what insults you throw at me. While I sympathize with you, I will not do so at the expense of facts. Lucius is a disgrace, and it’s time you stop allowing your affection for him cloud everything else.” 

Narcissa’s eyes glazed over and it reminded Hermione of Draco. 

“Are you an occlumens?”

“I am,” Narcissa said flatly. “Not just anyone could lie to the Dark Lord’s face and live to tell the tale,” she smirked. 

“Thank you.” 

“Pardon?”

“For saving Harry.”

“I did it for Draco,” Narcissa said coldly. 

Hermione nodded and sat down in the chair opposite the old woman. For a witch, she was technically considered quite young still. But bitterness added lines to her forehead and the corners of her mouth faster than that of even her sister, who had lost her husband and her daughter in the war. 

“He reminds me of Draco.” 

“Who?” She couldn’t mean Harry.

“Teddy.” 

Hermione smirked and tipped her head in confusion. The two could not be more unalike, but she held her tongue. 

“Sometimes when Draco steps into a room, I feel like I’ve accidentally stepped on a time turner, and that Lucius is home.”

While the features were eerily similar sometimes, Hermione couldn’t deny that, she also couldn’t imagine accidentally mistaking Draco for Lucius. The shorter hair was the most distinct difference, but it wasn’t the only one. Draco had his mother’s eyes, not his father’s. And while their faces were structured the same, Draco didn’t have the hard, angry lines that Lucius always had. 

“Wouldn’t you rather be home when it happens? If it happens?”

“Malfoy manor hasn’t been my home in a long time. Draco has been burning portraits, freeing elves, banishing ghosts, and changing things for years now. I scarcely recognize it anymore.”

“Kreacher has made you lemon bars,” Hermione said, reaching for something normal. 

Narcissa relented the occlumency and met Hermione’s eyes with a sad but interested gaze. 

“Why is that elf acceptable but not ours weren’t? He’s such a wretched thing. Always was.” 

Hermione bit back an angry response. 

“Kreacher is family, and is there of his own volition.” 

Narcissa’s nose wrinkled again and she looked away from Hermione, eyes glazed over again.

“Your son is worried about you.”

“But not his father.”

“Not that it’s any of my business, but from what I’ve heard, Lucius has had no respect for Draco’s boundaries.” 

Narcissa scoffed. 

“Love must be fickle to you. I always thought that real love had no parameters.”

“Says the woman who burned her own sister off the family tree for marrying a mudblood.”

“I did no such thing. Bella did!” 

“But did you stop her?” 

Narcissa blinked. 

“Get out.”

“How much longer do you insist on being here?”

“As long as I like.” 

Hermione stood up and brushed her robes as she turned toward the fire. 

“Fine. Goodbye, Narcissa.” 

Hermione stepped out of the smoke and into the study to find Kreacher lurking just outside the door, peering cautiously inside. He was scowling, and his lip curled when he noticed that Narcissa was not behind Hermione. 

“She’s decided not to come home yet.” 

Kreacher responded with a bubbling, gargled sound in the back of his throat. 

“I think you should take the lemon bars and stay with her and Andromeda until she decides to come home.” 

The elf didn’t reply, but his eyes met Hermione’s briefly before he snapped his fingers with a CRACK and was gone. 

She exhaled and turned into the library to return to the stack of research on Draco’s scar, and almost ran into him in the doorway. 

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she said abruptly. The two had hardly spoken since Christmas, nor had either returned to one another’s room in the night. 

“Granger,” he nodded before turning to move past her. 

“Wait, if you’re here anyway, I’d like to try altering the mark again. I’ve got a few actual theories now, not just an improvised mess.”

Draco’s face was blank. 

“That’s not necessary,” he said, turning again to leave. 

“Just sit down,” she snapped, feeling a bit childish as she stamped the heel of her foot without meaning to as she said it. 

Draco’s jaw tightened as he looked down at her. A number of emotions she couldn’t identify flickered behind his eyes before he turned to sit at the table in the library. He unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve but didn’t roll it up. 

Hermione cautiously sat down across from him, and extended her left hand. Like last time, Draco didn’t watch as she rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. He was staring at a shelf to his left blankly, and shielded behind glassy eyes. Hermione worked silently, holding his hand less aggressively this time. 

“What are you planning for the drawing room?” Hermione asked, trying to distract them both as she worked, and thinking of Kreacher scrubbing soot all weekend. 

“Nothing in particular.” 

Silence again. 

“I’m sorry for burning it. I wasn’t—I wasn’t thinking clearly.” 

“I’ve been trying to get my mother to refinish it for months. I should be grateful that you’ve extinguished another endless argument with her.” 

“I saw her today.”

No answer. 

“She doesn’t want to come back for some reason.” 

Draco shrugged. 

“I imagine she won’t be back until I drag her here.” 

“If she doesn’t want to be here, and Andromeda is fine having her, maybe it’s best that way.” 

“Andromeda’s place is not as secure,” he mumbled. 

“How many wards do you have here?”

Draco dropped the mask for a moment to narrow his eyes and meet her gaze. The crinkles at the corner of his eyes creased a bit as he squinted. 

“Death eaters, members of the ministry, and foreign governments all send people here from time to time; Hoping to orchestrate a clever accident. Take a guess.” 

“You could put up wards at Andromeda’s, too. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.” 

The corner of Draco's mouth turned up slightly in a little smirk. 

“You’re really quite dense sometimes,” he mumbled. 

“There are already wards there?”

He nodded. 

“Well, how am I supposed to know what you’ve warded and what you haven’t?? You can’t anticipate everywhere your mother goes.” 

“No, but I can be as thorough as possible with her usual preferences.” 

“And you don’t think that’s excessive or paranoid? You said attacks aren’t frequent.” 

“They only need to work once.”

“Where else have you cast them?”

“Percy’s flat. Ollivander’s. Here and there.”

Hermione squinted suspiciously but didn’t push further, and Draco went back to occluding as she worked silently. All attempts to transfigure the snake failed again, but she was able to repeat the rose transfiguration, and this time, the image didn’t waver. It melted into his skin and turned dark red, as though it had always been that way, and didn’t show any signs of flickering or returning to its original shape. 

“Oh, it might stay longer this time. The snake is still an issue though. I don’t understand why it moves so much when provoked. I don’t remember them moving before except when summoning Voldemort.” 

Draco didn’t say anything. He was calmly looking down at his forearm, and almost imperceptibly examining it. His pupils contracted a few times, his nostrils flared, and his jaw tightened. 

“What changed your mind?” She asked, hoping this time, he would answer. 

“There’s no concise explanation.”

“Good. I should hope not,” she let go of his wrist and hoped he didn’t notice her flick her hand from nerves. 

His nostrils flared and he rolled his sleeve back down as he withdrew his hand. 

“I was told that muggles and muggle borns would destroy us and our way of life. We were told that if muggles weren’t kept in line, and muggle borns were allowed to join wizarding society, that there would be witch burnings again eventually.” 

Hermione tried to not be annoyed that he was occluding while he spoke. 

“When you don’t know a lot about someone, and they are the subject of childhood nightmares, it’s easy to imagine them as the enemy. Fear circumvents rational thought. Exposure is the most efficient way to unlearn.” 

“So, Draco Malfoy spent time with muggles?” She said with a teasing tone. 

“Not much, but enough,” he said quietly. 

They both sat in silence for a few minutes. Hermione wasn’t sure what to say to fill the silence, only that nothing she could think of felt right. 

“I’ll meet you back here tomorrow and we’ll take the floo together.” 

Hermione’s stomach turned. She’d forgotten about the New Year’s party already. 

“Okay,” she replied before he excused himself for the evening. 

Hermione stood by the door to Draco’s room late that night after trying to sleep, but unable to push the door open. The seconds turned into minutes before she resigned herself to crawling back into her own bed. 

December 31, 2013

Hermione emerged from the floo after her morning at Golding’s, and Draco was at his desk working. 

“Dress robes are there,” he mumbled, gesturing with his quill to something hanging in front of a case of collectibles. He didn’t look up as he did so. 

The silky dress robes were a beautiful dark green with a giant, brass snake decorating the back over a diamond shaped cut out. The bell sleeves were long, but with exposed shoulders. The structured top layer was a slightly darker shade of green. Hermione squirmed awkwardly and shook her head. 

Because you assume I have nothing? 

“I have something I can manage,” she said, trying to politely decline. 

“The atrocities you’ve chosen to wear in recent days doesn’t support that statement,” he replied. 

“My jumpers are fine!” 

“Not for this event, they’re not.”

“Of course not, but I do have nicer things.”

“What do you have?”

“Argh!” She disapperated to retrieve her dress attire from her room, suddenly nervous and irritable. She didn’t need his approval for this evening, but the thought of Draco being publicly bothered by something she wore was distressing for some reason. 

Hermione reached for her two sets of black dress robes, a set of burgundy silk dress robes, and a lavender gown, before returning to the study. She tossed each of them onto the sofa irritably.

“I’ll make do,” she snapped, unable to think of a more quippy comment. 

Draco looked up from his work, calmly put the quill down and stepped over to the sofa to examine the options. Hermione hadn’t expected him to actually look at them. 

“This was to prove a point that I have dress attire. Not an invitation for you to select my clothing for me like a child,” she barked. Draco’s eyebrows raised slightly, but he didn’t otherwise seem phased. He flicked his wand, prompting each hanger to hover, one after the other, glancing for a few moments at each before speaking. 

“Your black dress robes are work robes.”

“So?”

“This isn’t a work event.”

“My boss will be there. And you said it’s the minister trying to make connections.”

“Under the guise of a personal event,” he corrected. He glanced a third time at a strappy, navy, velvet dress she hadn’t meant to take with. 

“It’s too short,” she said abruptly. “I didn’t mean to bring that one.” 

“Quite,” he replied with a nod before turning back to the lavender gown. “Are you good with alterations?”

“What?”

“This one won’t fit.” 

“What?” 

Why would Draco assume that from glancing at the hanger? Hermione tried to recall the last time she wore that dress. Maybe four or five years ago? She felt heat rising to her face in embarrassment. Why would he know that? 

“The burgundy is a bit understated,” he nodded once before gesturing to the green robes again.  

“I’m not a slytherin.” She scowled. “It’s a public function, why should I wear school colors? Why should I wear your school colors?” 

Malfoy stepped closer. His face bent down to hers until she could feel the warm air from his breathing. 

He reached for her left hand and twisted the ring on it. It was disarming and she felt her face get warm. 

“Just put the damn robes on, Granger.” 

Before he stepped out, he pressed something metallic in her hands before turning quickly. 

She opened the palm of her hand to see a pair of golden pendants, displaying what looked like a duel between a snake and a phoenix. 

The snake’s body was in the talons of a phoenix, while further up it had coiled around the throat of the bird. Wings stretched outright, the snake’s face met the phoenix’. It was a remarkable piece of art. The phoenix obviously being a gesture to her Gryffindor house without using the more overt lion imagery. 

Her irritation waned a little at the gesture, and she returned to her room holding the earrings and the stack of clothing. After staring at the green robes and the red robes for what felt like an eternity, she chose to put on the green, scowling as she did so; followed by the earrings and a pair of short, pointed heels.  

The golden snake on the back of the robes was cold on her bare skin, and she cast a warming charm on herself to ensure she didn’t have gooseflesh all night from a draft. She’d never worn anything so ridiculous. 

When she stepped into the study an hour or so later to meet Draco, he looked up from his book, expressionless. He wore a traditional set of black dress robes. 

Hermione withdrew a golden clip to twist her hair up in. As she began wrapping her hair, Draco’s face twitched. 

“Wear it down.” 

“What?”

“Wear it down,” he repeated. 

She squinted questioningly, prompting him to explain himself. 

“It shouldn’t look like you’re trying to hide it.”

“I’m not going to a black tie event looking like a feral cat,” she shrugged and began twisting the ends again. 

Draco shook his head once, then reached into his desk drawer for a small vial, and handed it to her. 

“What is it?” She asked. 

“Charmed hair oil. It’ll tame the mane.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t accept smoothing charms or anything I’ve ever tried for more than a few minutes.” 

Draco’s jaw tightened.

“Suit yourself,” his eyes flickered down her green robes. 

Hermione flushed.

“These were nicer than the red ones,” when she couldn’t come up with anything better. 

The two of them stood in silence for a few moments, and once again Hermione was unable to tolerate it for as long as he seemed able to. 

“You think it would work?” She asked, gesturing for the charmed oil. 

“Yes.”

“How?” 

His face twitched. 

“My mother.”

“Yes, I’m sure she has much experience with wild curls,” she replied sarcastically. 

“She made it for someone else.”

Bellatrix.

Hermione felt sick all of a sudden. 

“Are you seriously suggesting that?” She asked with a hint of anger. Draco’s face, as usual, was stony. 

“I’m offering a solution to your feral cat comparison.”

Hermione scowled and held out her hand for the bottle. 

“Fine. Hand it over.” 

Draco carefully did so. Hermione twisted the top off to pour a few drops into her hand and began working it into her hair. As she did, Draco waited by the fire. He was occluding, and appeared to have mentally left the room. 

When she was done, she glanced in the mirror hanging where a portrait once was. The oil contained more frizz than usual, and helped weigh the curls down a bit without looking grossly heavy or greasy. She wanted to ask what type of charmed oil was in the bottle, but she bit her tongue as Draco handed her the floo powder. 

The two of them emerged together at a banquet hall in London that Hermione had never been before. It was still decorated for Christmas with an assortment of candles, trees, lights, and other glittering items. The dull roar of the party immediately thrummed in her chest. 

“How long do we have to be here?” She asked, leaning closer than she preferred to be heard in a hushed tone among the crowd. 

“Depends.”

“On?”

“How much money they want.” 

Hermione scrunched her nose before glancing around the room to look for a familiar face. She hardly had a moment to search when two unfamiliar faces approached. 

“Draco Malfoy! Merlin, it’s been ages!” The old man said. 

“Is it true, you’ve soul bonded with a mudblood? Good for you my boy. I think it’s time that we start taking a more progressive approach to things, wouldn’t you agree?”

Hermione felt Draco stiffen at the word, and when she looked over, his eyes became glassy.

“Muggleborn, yes,” he corrected. “I don’t believe you’ve had a chance to meet. Granger, this is Marius, an old Romanian friend of my father’s. His wife, Elane, is from London. They spend a few months of the year here.” 

The conversation was about as stale as expected. Hermione answered dull questions about her work, her education background, and her experience living at the manor thus far. 

“Merlin, I daresay you’re quite accomplished for a mudblood. Achievements of this sort aren’t common!”

“I don’t socialize with individuals who use that word,” Draco said coldly, nodding once to indicate that the conversation was finished. Elane did not accept the dismissal. 

“Oh, I’m sure you understand,” she said to Hermione. “We’re rather traditional. It’s a convenient descriptive word for someone who wasn’t reared in this environment,” Elane gestured generally around the room, and her husband agreed with fervent nodding. 

“It’s true. Pure blood, half blood, mudblood, they all roll off the tongue so nicely. Muggleborn just doesn’t have the same ring, you have to admit,” Marius explained. 

“Exactly! Besides, you seem like a rational witch, not the sort to be so easily offended.”

Draco’s hand touched Hermione’s shoulder, prompting her to turn away from the couple holding her hostage with conversation before cutting them both off. 

“Your pedantic talking points are old and stale. Goodbye.”

The couple looked aghast as Hermione turned to follow Draco. His arm remained around her, careful to only barely touch her shoulder and otherwise keep his distance. 

“Delightful,” she mumbled. 

“Quite,” Draco agreed as he relented occluding, and his eyes softened. 

Hermione smiled through a dozen rounds of the same conversation until the muscles in her face were sore from the strain of it. Acting like a couple was natural for Draco. He seemed to have the perfect balance of touch figured out. His affection was almost believable, making her wonder what else he was lying about. 

Meanwhile she was stiff and couldn’t decide if holding his hand was too clingy looking. Or having her arm looped through his. Was she supposed to just lean on him like she was drunk? She had seen a few women doing that. She tried to remember how Lucius and Narcissa presented themselves, but it was too long ago and she didn’t make a habit of evaluating Malfoy body language at the time. 

Golding appeared out of thin air seemingly to greet them, and shake Draco’s hand, offering congratulations and asking him how many bets he had lost so far. 

Draco’s head tipped in confusion, Golding chuckled and bobbed his head. 

“I see, I see. A man who doesn’t want to admit to the loss. Can’t blame you there. Took me almost two years to learn to not take the bait. Blasted witch has cheated me out of half my salary by now,” her boss chuckled to himself and wandered off.  

“A gambling woman, I see,” Draco said in a cool tone, but the corner of his mouth turned with a faint smirk of entertainment. 

“It’s not gambling. Other people are just wrong but won’t admit it. So, I had to make the stakes higher.”

She saw Montague out of the corner of her eye and groaned as he approached. He eagerly shook Draco’s hand with a drunken grip. 

“Congratulations to you both!” He declared before mumbling dramatically to Draco in a pretend hushed tone, “You and I ought to get a drink so you can tell me how you managed to bag that one. I’ve been trying for years.” 

She felt heat rising to her face, and resisted the urge to hex a colleague. Especially with her boss so close by. 

Draco nodded, but Hermione was too distracted to hear his response. 

“Well done. Bet she’s a great shag.” 

Draco’s body stiffened and his neck flooded with red for a moment, then nothing. 

Occlumency. Bastard. 

Hermione decided that Montague was sufficiently drunk, and quietly directed a wandless hex at his champagne glass with a subtle flick of her hand. He would be vomiting slugs shortly and his visit would, sadly, be cut short. 

When they were no longer within ear shot, Draco muttered, “Charming.”

“He’s less lecherous when sober. Besides, he’ll be headed home shortly.”

“What did you hex his drink with?” He whispered. Her stomach flipped, hoping no one else noticed 

“Slugs.” 

Draco winced dramatically, then in mock sympathy added:

“Yikes, almost feel sorry for the lad.” But the corner of his mouth turned up slightly.

She covered her mouth to hide a laugh. 

Damnit. 

They were then approached by a dozen colleagues of his, and the small talk continued. Hermione went back to being unsure of how she was supposed to act. She nervously shuffled her feet and fidgeted during conversation.  

During a reprieve in a secluded corner, Draco’s face was suddenly intimately close to her neck. She inhaled sharply. 

“Calm the fuck down,” he whispered in her ear. “You look like you’re going to collapse from stress.” All of her blood rushed from her head and she wondered if she would faint. 

Malfoy extended a hand. 

“Dance with me.” 

“Oh, umm…” she hesitated. 

“Don’t make me talk to any more of these people,” he said with a smirk. 

She pressed her lips together to try to hide her laugh before following him to the dance floor. 

The waltz started and her feet couldn’t remember which dance it was. Draco on the other hand was irritatingly graceful, moving in long fluid motions as though it was second nature. Hermione tried to ignore his hand at her waist, which was making her lightheaded.

“This is worse than the small talk,” she mumbled. 

“Impossible.” 

Hermione noticed a photographer, probably from the Prophet, lurking with his camera near the dance floor. 

“You’re making me nervous!” She snapped. 

“Stop trying to control everything,” Draco shrugged.

“I’m not trying to control everything!” 

“You always try to control everything. Stop trying to lead.” 

“I’m not trying to lead,” she protested, then flinched as she lost her footing a bit.

“There isn’t a passive cell in your body, is there?” He sighed. 

“I’m not trying to lead,” she barked again. 

Through each dance, whenever Draco’s hand rested on the small of her back, her stomach turned. She felt the prickling of anxiety crawl through her body, and wondered who was watching.

Stop touching me.  

Three dances later, when the music stopped she noticed the same photographer waiting for something to capture, and Hermione realized with horror, that he was waiting for an opportunity to photograph the two of them together. 

Draco noticed too because he pulled her into him and pressed his mouth to hers. She tasted lingering liquor, and could smell his cologne. He was holding the back of her neck, and gripped the small of her back. The kiss felt performative instead of passionate. Like he was trying to prevent her from moving or reacting.

Nothing like the potions room. 

She felt lightheaded and nauseous, but willed herself to freeze. 

When he released her, he grasped her hand and pulled her aside. It took a moment for her to realize that he was walking toward the bar. He refused to look at her, prompting her to follow only with his grip. 

Instead of champagne this time, he asked for a double shot of firewhiskey, and drained it immediately. Hermione was relieved at the first indication that he was also stressed from this performance. Her heart was still thrumming wildly, and she began twisting her ring to hide that her hands were shaking. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ron approaching. 

Oh no.

Many ministry employees were here, but it had not occurred to Hermione that Ron would be for some reason. 

“Hermione!” There was a bitter edge to Ron’s voice that hadn’t been directed her way in a long time. She felt sick. Draco was close behind her, and she felt a rigid hand land on her shoulder at the sound of Ron’s voice. 

Don’t make it worse. 

“Ron!” She feigned excitement. 

Her heart sank at the casual formality with someone who had been one of her best friends in what felt like a past life now. Even before Draco, Ron was an intermittent participant in her life lately at best. Which seemed impossible considering they were both close with Harry, and so much of his family was like a second family to her. She wondered how a rift could become so large without a clear milestone to mark it. 

Hermione saw a flicker of sadness in Ron’s eyes. His focus was intensely directed at Draco, and vice versa. 

Ron turned to Hermione again.

“This place isn’t your style. He made you come?”

“Granger isn’t a hostage. Refer to our prior conversation on the subject,” Draco said calmly, but with an edge. The charming, relaxed man from a few minutes ago had turned cold and rigid. 

Ron offered his arm to Hermione to dance, and she hesitated. 

“Best not to dote on your ex at a public event, Weasley,” Draco said coldly. “Aren’t you here with a date?”

“I’m offering to dance with my friend.”

Hermione tentatively took Ron’s arm and refused to look at Draco as she stepped toward the dance floor. 

They went two dances without saying anything before Ron finally spoke up during a waltz. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

“I know,” she replied. 

“What do you mean you know?”

“You’re always sorry.” 

“What the hell does that mean?”

She bit her tongue. This wasn’t a conversation she planned on having, let alone in public. 

“Mum told me she cornered you on Halloween,” he muttered. 

“Yes, she did,” Hermione said coldly. She did not want to bring Molly into this. 

“I tried to find time to apologize at the Christmas party, but couldn’t find a way to get you alone.”

Hermione shrugged.

“It’s not fair that when something happens between us, mum has to pick my side.” 

Hermione shrugged again.

“It is what it is, Ron.” 

“Why did you tell Harry and Neville, but not me before you blood bonded to him?” He finally asked. She sighed.

“It didn’t seem appropriate considering our… history.” 

“I thought we were friends despite that.” 

“Are we?” She asked. He looked wounded. “When’s the last time we spent time with one another that wasn’t a fight or didn’t include a handful of other people as a buffer?”

“I’m sorry. I needed time to process.” 

She pulled him aside to the edge of the dance floor before responding. 

“And you think I didn’t? You’re so focused on your feelings that have you ever considered what this arrangement is to me? What I sacrificed for it?” 

She was blinking rapidly, and her throat was closing up. When arguing with Ron, she always ended up crying from sheer frustration. He got quiet and shuffled his feet, looking at the floor before replying. 

“I’m sorry. No, I haven’t. I just can’t get over that marrying him of all people was somehow preferable to me. I know we weren’t perfect but bloody hell, I thought it was better than him.”

Hermione’s stomach flipped. 

“Ron, we agreed it didn’t work. And it’s been years.” 

Ron shrugged.

“True, but still hard to get over the idea of what we could have been.”

“That’s not fair to put on me.” 

“I just want back what we had. Before it all went to hell.” 

“Then be present! Stop avoiding me when your feelings are hurt and stop hiding from conflict. You’re not fifteen anymore. Harry has an even more twisted history with Draco than you do, and he has been making an effort.”

“Draco?” Ron said with a quizzical look.

“Yes. Harry and Draco—”

“Since when do you call Malfoy Draco?”

“That’s his name,” she replied. 

“I’ve never heard you say it.” 

Hermione didn’t reply. 

“What’s going on with you two?” Ron asked, suddenly suspicious. 

“Nothing. We just know each other a little better.”

Ron’s jaw tightened and he nodded. 

“Goodnight Hermione.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek politely before leaving. 

Within moments of Ron rounding the corner, Draco appeared in front of her again, and was looming over her. She could smell the firewhiskey on his breath and her heart skipped a beat. 

“What was all that?” He asked. 

She shook her head, refusing to engage in a drunken interrogation and turned to walk into an adjacent hall for some air. Draco followed close behind her. 

“What do you want?” She whirled on him, teeth bared, and he took a step backward. “You don’t actually care. You just are holding onto a grudge from childhood.” 

His jaw tightened. 

“Am I wrong?” She asked indignantly. 

“Yes,” he said flatly. 

She blinked. “What then?”

He averted his gaze as though he realized he had said too much. 

“What? What’s your problem with him specifically? You’ve not been particularly friendly with Harry but you’ve at least been cordial!” She was angry now. It wasn’t his fault that there was a rift between her and Ron, but he certainly wasn’t helping and it was a convenient place to fling her anger right now. 

“Nothing specific,” he snarled. He was too close to her still, and it was making her feel claustrophobic and anxious. 

“Bullshit,” she snapped. 

“Fine,” Draco barked. “I’ve seen flashes of what’s in his head. One or two awfully explicit scenarios with you.”

Hermione flushed and felt her blood pressure rising. 

“That’s over the line, Malfoy!” 

His mouth twitched. 

“Only twice when I could tell you wanted to leave. It was the first thing on his mind.” 

“You had no right!” She snapped. “He’s with Katie anyhow, and he’s never acted on an impulsive private thought!”

He took a step closer and she had to remind herself to breathe. 

His eyes were black, and she could smell a cloud of cinnamon over him. She wondered how much firewhiskey he had while she danced with Ron. 

“What does it matter to you anyway who’s attracted to me? I haven’t had a good shag in years, and this isn’t anything,” she gestured vaguely between the two of them. 

“Isn't it?” He asked coldly. 

His eyes darkened a bit and he grasped her wrist with one hand, and the back of her neck with the other, and pressed his face against her neck. She completely stopped breathing. When he bit her earlobe and she shivered again. 

“I’d rather be with someone who actually liked me,” she murmured. Malfoy responded by sucking on her neck just under her jaw. 

“I like you just fine,” he whispered, then pressed his body into hers and she felt a pulse on her hip.

Without warning, he pressed his mouth into hers and began to consume her. One hand had moved from the back of her neck into her hair, and the other moved to her hip. 

Hermione’s vision began to blur as his tongue brushed her bottom lip. 

He used legilimency on Ron.

She pulled her mouth away to bark at him again. 

“Have you used legilimency on me?”

“You’ve asked me this,” he growled, fingers still laced into her hair. 

“You didn’t answer me then either.” 

Draco’s eyes flickered with an assortment of emotions and his pupils dilated and contracted a few times as he seemed to be undecided on an answer. 

“It’s a yes or no question,” she said coldly before realizing that she was gripping the front of his jacket.

“Not on purpose,” he confessed. 

“What does that mean?!” She whirled out of his grip and felt her wand warm in her hand, realizing that she had drawn it defensively. 

He was stiff and cold again, but didn’t draw his wand. She could no longer see his emotions flashing, and it was again like speaking to a shadow as he occluded. 

“I can perform legilimency nonverbally,” he explained quietly. “So I sometimes see a thought or two at the front of someone’s mind without meaning to if I’m curious what they’re thinking.” 

“What have you seen?”

“Granger—”

“What have you seen?” She asked again, feeling violated and angry that he hadn’t told her, even if it was unintentional. Had she known, she would have at least considered occlumency training. 

“Your parents. Astoria. Only a couple passing thoughts.” 

Hermione’s stomach bubbled. 

“I have to go,” her voice cracked and she turned to flee. 

She dodged a number of people that tried to stop her as she made her way to the floo, blinking rapidly as she did. An overreaction? Possibly. But the feeling of violated privacy mixed with alcohol was clouding her ability to proceed rationally. 

Grimmauld place?

No, Harry was probably here, or would be soon. 

After grappling with a list of options, she emerged into Neville and Theo’s living room. 

“Well, well, well,” Neville said teasingly as soon as she landed, but his face fell with concern when he saw that she was upset. 

“What happened? Weren’t you at the Minister’s holiday banquet?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, I just don’t want to go back to the manor right now.”

Neville’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“What did he do?”

“Apparently he uses legilimency to see what people are thinking once in a while.” 

“What??” Neville was aghast. 

“Since he can do it non verbally, it apparently happens accidentally.” 

It wasn’t unreasonable to think that he could do it by accident, but he should have said something. 

I deserved to know if my thoughts were occasionally going to be accidentally seen .

“Ok, far be it from me to defend Malfoy, but would you have believed it was accidental if he told you sooner?”

“I might have. Now I’ll never know.” 

Neville fiddled with his hands a bit, and Hermione noticed the book on exotic herbs that he was reading. 

“Any good?” She asked. 

“You’re not here to talk about plants.” 

“I’m here because I’m avoiding Malfoy.” 

“Fine. Then open a bottle of wine so that I can catch up to you.”

Hermione was more than happy to oblige, pulling a bottle from the shelf, and the two of them chatted about herbs and work for an hour or so before Theo joined and the conversation tailspun into utter chaos. Hours into the new year, Hermione felt herself falling asleep. 

“Go home, Hermione. You’re drooling on my velvet,” Theo said, drunkenly half asleep in Neville’s lap. Meanwhile, Neville’s head was leaned back against the wall and his mouth was open partially as he drunkenly snored. 

“I don’t have a home,” she mumbled. 

“Ok fine, go to your retirement villa.” 

“Eat slugs.” 

“You’ll have to sort it out with him at some point. Just get it over with.” 

Hermione grumbled as she stood up and staggered to the fire. When she landed in the study, Draco startled up from the sofa where he appeared to have been sleeping. 

“What are you doing?” She barked. 

“You weren’t with Potter or Astoria.” 

“No, I wasn’t.”

“We should talk.”

“It’s late and I’m drunk. Not now.” She fled to her room, and staggered into the bed without bothering to change out of her dress robes before drifting off. 

“Granger, wake up.” 

Hermione’s heart was pounding so hard her ears were throbbing, and she couldn’t breathe. Draco was in more comfortable attire, but seeing him made her flinch. 

“Go away,” she mumbled as she rolled over. A wave of relief washed over her when he obliged. 

Hermione cast a silencing charm around her bed in case she screamed again. 

“Go away,” Granger mumbled before pulling the blanket up over her head. Draco’s heart lurched and stomach turned. He wanted to lie down next to her more than usual. 

He disapperated and sat back down in his room, on the floor against the adjacent wall. It wasn’t long before he realized that he couldn’t hear even the faintest sound, meaning she had cast another silencing charm to prevent him from hearing her again.

Draco’s thoughts at this point were so disjointed from alcohol and sleep deprivation that he wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say to her. 

It was just a few thoughts.

Not even anything interesting. 

That was definitely not something to say out loud. Best to not accidentally call her thoughts boring while trying to assure her that he hadn’t seen anything very private. 

I wish it was something interesting. 

The shame of it all would almost be worth it if he ever had a glimpse that she was attracted to him. Or even assurance that she didn’t hate him. Draco only saw a glimpse of himself once, and it was confusion over a thoughtful gesture. 

His mind wandered to drunkenly kissing her. He pressed the tip of his wand into his forehead. The memory made him sick. Though not nearly as sick as her whirling on him, wand drawn. 

It was nearly morning when he fell asleep on the floor. 

Chapter Text

January 1, 2014

Granger was gone by the time he woke up. Draco was feeling sick and disoriented from the hangover, and he decided to read in the study to distract himself. To his surprise, Bill emerged from the floo an hour or so later. He visibly stiffened when he saw Draco. 

Oh, fuck off.

“Is Hermione here?” Bill asked. 

“No.” 

“Any idea where she is?”

Wouldn’t be here if I did.

“No.” 

“What about Astoria?”

“What do you want, Weasley?” Draco’s head began to thump. 

“They want to start tomorrow night.” 

“Fine,” Draco replied. 

Bill’s blue eyes were boring into Draco’s. 

Bold. 

Most people shied away from eye contact after a moment or two instinctively. Bill was probably decent enough at occlumency to shield his thoughts, provided Draco didn’t actively attempt to push past his defenses. 

“Can I assist you further?” Draco said in an icy tone. 

Bill didn’t reply right away. It was almost impressive how he could look relaxed and hostile at the same time. 

The scars certainly help. 

“No, just observing.” 

“Observing what?” 

Say it.

“You,” Bill confirmed.

“And?”

“Doesn’t matter. Percy’s mind can’t be changed, and Hermione’s made her choice.” 

“Can’t be changed about what, exactly?” Draco felt his blood pressure increase slightly. 

Bill shrugged and picked up a small marble globe off a nearby shelf to toss absentmindedly from one hand to the other. 

“I’ve just always found it hard to swallow that you’re supposedly this reformed death eater.”

Draco felt a wave of defensive thoughts hit him at once, then swallowed them. 

“I don’t waste energy on public opinion,” he said dismissively. 

“People like you could bother to do so a bit more,” Bill shrugged, placing the globe back on the shelf. “Eight tomorrow night in the Malfoy vault,” he said before nodding once and stepping back into the floo. 

Draco waited several seconds before stepping into the floo himself to go Diagon Alley, and make his way to Ollivander’s. When he stepped inside, the familiar scents of woodworking and parchment were calming. 

“Draco?” Astoria looked over from the shelf she was rearranging near the window. “Are you alright? You look dreadful.” 

“Hangover,” he mumbled. 

“Serves you right. You were obscenely drunk by the time Percy and I found you. Did you find Hermione?”

“Eventually,” he replied, not wanting to relive last night with Astoria. 

“So, are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Nope.” 

“I heard the two of you were seen in a corner shortly before she disappeared,” Astoria said with a smirk before moving another stack of boxes to a lower shelf. 

“The goblins want you at Gringotts tomorrow night at eight,” he said, switching the subject. 

“Oh!” Astoria gasped, stepping down from the step stool she was standing on and rushing to her counter. She began frantically tugging at scraps of paper stuffed in various corners, inside notebook pages, and tucked between book pages. 

“I’ll need to pull together my notes. I thought they’d give us more time!” She wasn’t really talking to Draco, and so, he didn’t respond. 

“Will you and Hermione come with?” She asked. 

Draco shook his head. 

“Just Granger since you’ll be apperating.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“No.” 

Let it go, Astoria.

“She might be with Harry today since Ginny had to leave for Austria early for a quidditch game," she continued. 

“Stay out of it.” 

“No. I don’t understand you two. You’re clearly attracted to one another. I don't understand why you are in this absurd stalemate.” 

Draco scoffed. 

“You’re one to talk.” 

Astoria flushed and her eyes flashed angrily for a moment. 

“Don’t,” she said warningly. 

“Then stay out of it.” 

She pursed her lips and seemed to be debating internally whether or not to press further for a moment before taking another step toward him. 

Damnit.

“Fine. Then speaking from experience, you can’t just ignore it.” 

“At least it won’t be a scandal if I’m ever caught shagging Granger,” he bit back.

Astoria flushed again. 

“Don’t act wounded about something you didn’t give a damn about,” she snapped. 

“What makes you think I didn’t give a damn?” He barked. 

Astoria’s face fell. 

“What?”

Learn when to shut up, you idiot.

“Nothing,” he said flatly, turning to leave. Astoria gripped his hand. 

“Draco, you tell me what you meant by that right now! ” When he glanced behind, her eyes were welled up with tears. 

Great job nitwit.  

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. If—”

“—Oh bloody hell,” he turned toward her again and yanked his hand away. “I thought you were willing to be with me until I walked in on you two.” When his eyes burned, he began occluding. 

Astoria’s mouth was open in shock, and he stared down her blue eyes. As he waited for her reply, her mind spiraled a bit. He saw a flash of evenings together when she lived at the manor. 

“I…” She was struggling to find the words and Draco wished he hadn’t come and wondered if there was still too much liquor in his system. 

Definitely should have just cut out your tongue last night. 

“Don’t you want a chance at passion and love?” She asked hesitantly.

“I never hoped for either and loved you anyway,” he replied. 

“What’s going on with Hermione?” She asked again. 

“Nothing.”

“I don’t understand why you won’t talk to her. You at least talked to me.” 

“It was different. I wasn’t cruel to you as a kid, nor did my family ever torture you.” 

“I still think—”

“Stop,” he hissed. “She has every right to mistrust me and doesn't owe me anything. Got it?” 

Astoria’s jaw clenched. 

“But you care what she thinks.”

“Of course I care what she thinks,” he said, shaking his head irritably. 

“She came here this morning.” 

Draco felt all the blood leave his head and he thought he might vomit. 

Don’t ask.  

Astoria answered anyway. 

“She wanted to know if I was aware that your legilimency occasionally gets out of hand.” 

Draco bit down on his tongue hard, and silently hoped Astoria would continue without prompting. 

“You should have told her sooner,” she scolded. 

Draco nodded once before turning to the window, refusing to respond to ‘should haves.’

“Go talk to her,” she snapped, obviously irritable that he had shut down. 

“I tried last night.” 

“Try again sober.” 

“Why are you so invested in this?” He asked, turning back to her face. Her brows were furrowed with annoyance. 

“Because you’re both twitterpated and irritating me, acting like you’re fifteen.” 

“Isn’t that a muggle word?” He asked with a smirk. 

“Yes, Hermione used it when describing Ginny’s affection for Harry when she was little. It’s a delightful word and I’ve adopted it into my vocabulary now.” 

Draco nodded once before stepping back toward the door. 

“I better go,” he said. 

“Find Hermione.”

Draco didn’t answer. 

“Draco?”

His eyes met Astoria’s. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. 

“I know,” he replied before stepping out and going back home. 

“Don’t you want a chance at passion and love?” 

He shook the thought as he poured himself a glass of water and wandered to his desk in the study. A fantasy like that was a fever dream not worth entertaining. His nose twitched at the intrusive thought of Granger’s hair in his face. 

Too much history. 

The floo activated and Granger stepped out. 

Shit.

“We should talk,” he said. 

“You should have told me,” she snapped. 

His heart was pounding. 

“I’m sorry,” he hissed.

She blinked twice and furrowed her brows as she startled at his apology. Her surprise felt like a knife driven between his shoulder blades. 

“Thank you,” she said briskly. His face flooded with heat and he felt a prickle of annoyance crawl up his spine. 

“Bill was here,” he said, switching the subject. Granger’s body language immediately shifted as her shoulders pushed back and her back straightened with delight and anticipation. 

“What did he say?”

“They’ll be ready for you at Gringotts tomorrow night.” 

“I should tell Astoria!” She announced, turning for the floo. 

“I already talked to her.” 

“Oh,” she flushed for some reason and it made his mouth twitch. His eyes were briefly drawn to the spot on her neck he figured out that she liked. He stayed sitting down, not trusting himself to stand as he found himself physically clenching his left hand in an attempt to restrain himself from stepping closer to her. 

I'm pathetic. 

“I talked to her about it,” she confessed. 

“And?”

“She said she turned down your offer to teach her occlumency.”

Draco shrugged. 

“She’s not a natural occlumens. Besides, I’m more likely to see something private when teaching occlumency than the random gibberish or images that tend to be at the forefront of someone’s mind during conversation. Percy’s the only one who has taken me up on the offer, and only because of his work.” 

“That makes sense…” She trailed off, and Draco waited. 

“I’d like to at least know what you see when it comes up, so I’m not wondering all the time.” 

“Done,” he agreed. She hesitated before continuing. 

“What did you see of my parents?” 

“Just a flash of what looked like a birthday.” 

“And Astoria?”

“Twice when you were trying to decide if she was lying about the pain,” he replied. 

“Was she?”

“Likely, yes.” 

“Anything about you?” She asked, refusing to look at him and her cheeks turned pink. 

Not anything exciting. His heart rate sped up. 

“Vague disdain. And confusion when I thanked you for talking to my mother.” 

“Oh,” she looked relieved. “Ok.” 

Why the fuck are you relieved? What are you hiding? He had a fraction of a second of hope before he swallowed it. 

The two of them fell into a long silence before she excused herself. Draco wasn’t sure where she spent the remainder of the day, but he did not go looking for her. 

The portrait door opened, and Draco stopped breathing. When the blankets shuffled next to him, he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He was lying on his side facing the other direction, and willed himself to not move, afraid that if she knew he had woken up that she would leave. 

A few minutes later, Granger fidgeted again and he bit his tongue to stop himself from sharply inhaling when he felt her face suddenly pressed between his shoulder blades. 

How can she breathe?

He wasn’t sure how she possibly could, considering how smothered she was. 

Don’t move, he told himself. As long as she was touching him, it was her prerogative if she wanted to suffocate while doing it. He drifted off to sleep again quickly.

January 2, 2014

When Astoria arrived, Hermione strongly considered retrieving a calming drought for her. Her friend was typically neatly put together in clean, pressed robes, without a single blonde hair out of place. Today, while her robes were still cleaned, they were slightly wrinkled as though she had been sitting on the floor for much of the day, and a few pieces of her hair had fallen out of her usually neat chignon. 

“Can I get you a calming drought?”

Astoria’s eyes bounced up to Hermione’s. 

“What? Oh. No thank you. I’m just worried I forgot something.”

“What did you bring?”

“Notes, extra parchment, The Art of Arithmancy, Arithmancy Codes, Arithmancy of the Ages, Wands: A History, Dragon Heartstrings: Wand Essays, pencils, elm, birch, walnut, holly—”

“Merlin Astoria, take a breath. You won’t get through even a fraction of that today.”

“I don’t know where to start!” Astoria snapped as she opened her bag to look again. “I don’t know how familiar they are with arithmancy, and I was going to give them the books.”

Just then, Kreacher wandered into the room with his finger in his ear. He had been upstairs helping Narcissa settle in again at home after Draco insisted that she return. 

“Mistress is ready?” he croaked, tugging at his tie a bit as he did so. He wasn’t holding his usual flask of brandy, but he was holding a small purse of some sort. Or, it may have been a purse a long time ago. It was blackened from dust and Hermione wondered if Kreatcher found it somewhere in the attic. 

“Yes, we are.”

Kreatcher reached for both Hermione and Astoria’s hand, and with a CRACK, the three of them vanished from the manor. 

Astoria’s hand burned as blackness compressed around her. When she landed, she could taste iron and her vision was blurred at the edges. All normal symptoms of disapperation for her, but she hoped that Hermione wouldn’t notice. Thankfully, she seemed preoccupied with trying to get a look at the goblins who were meeting them in Draco’s vault. 

Hermione and Astoria were both given a brief introduction to a stocky goblin named Gorm, who gave a polite head nod to Astoria. 

“So, you’re the one who took over Garrick’s shop,” he said briskly. 

Astoria flushed, and her hands were trembling. 

Well, it’s not like I stole it. He died. 

“Erm, yes,” she replied. 

“Doesn’t the ministry keep a close eye on wands?” Gorm asked suspiciously. 

“Yes,” Hermione replied confidently. “But they can only do so with a combination of willing participation from the wizarding community, and the trace which monitors wand activity. Astoria is going to remove it.” 

Trying to.

Gorm turned to Astoria and furrowed his brows. Astoria found his gaze extremely disconcerting as she couldn’t tell whether or not he was angry or just interested in the subject. The old elf digging through a box of treasures behind her wasn’t helping, and the noise was dreadfully distracting. 

“You and Kreacher really don’t need to stay with me…” She said, trailing off as she did. 

Hermione wrinkled her nose irritably, and shook her head. 

“He’s our way out in a pinch, and I won’t be a bother,” she withdrew a book from her back, and a handful of parchment. 

Of course she did.  

Gornuk made a growling sound toward Hermione, who snapped her head in his direction to boldly scold him. 

“She’s ill. I’m here to make sure that she’s alright is all, and to make sure she doesn’t overdo it.” 

Astoria strongly considered sinking into the tunnels below from embarrassment. 

“I’m not a glass doll!” She protested. 

“I swore to Percy and Draco I wouldn’t leave you here alone. So, until we figure out another way for you to leave early in case of emergency without Kreacher, I’ll wait right here.” 

She dramatically thumped down onto the floor, and opened her book. 

“It seems we will have company,” Gorm grumbled, then gestured to her bag that she had dropped at her feet when they landed. 

“Oh, erm, Yes,” Astoria stammered as she bent down to withdraw a handful of books and notes. His eyes lifted slightly when she did, then narrowed in annoyance. 

“It was made clear you needed someone skilled in arithmancy,” he said gruffly. 

“Yes. I do, I just. I wasn’t sure where to start. So I brought a little of everything, and those are just in case you need a refresher on the basics.” 

“I do not,” he said, and handed back the books. 

Her cheeks were burning, and her voice was starting to waver. Merlin, she preferred working alone. She had rehearsed this a dozen times but already his reactions were not what she anticipated and prepared for, and now everything else she rehearsed was no longer relevant. Her mind was buzzing. 

“I’m sorry,” she cleared her throat and rummaged through her bag for a handful of pieces of blank wood, pre-whittled wands, and a few of her notes. She closed her eyes and exhaled. 

“I suppose I can just show you what I have, and you can just ask me questions as needed.” 

Gorm bowed his head in a polite nod, curiously eyeing the wood. 

“Every wood behaves a bit differently. Willow makes a wand a bit more flexible, while woods like walnut and holly are stubborn. Ultimately, the wood is less important than the core, but if they aren’t properly whittled, they won’t bond to the core.”

“Why wood?” He asked. 

Astoria felt her mouth open to reply, but the words were stuck in her throat. 

Wands have always been wood. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question,” she said. 

“If the core is the important factor, could you make a steel wand?” He asked. 

Steel doesn’t come from a living thing. 

It’s cold, the earth is warm. Steel won’t bond to part of a living thing. 

Goblin steel is different though.

Oh! Goblin steel takes on the properties of whatever makes it stronger… So maybe just not regular steel. 

How would you bond the core without melting it?

Gorm cleared his throat, pulling her from her thoughts. 

“Sorry. I’m not sure. I’ve never considered it. It wouldn’t be possible with regular steel, but I’m not sure how much different goblin steel is.”

“Quite,” he said firmly. 

“I also don’t know how you could bond the core without melting it.” 

Gorm bowed his head once, and prompted her to continue. 

She awkwardly stumbled through her explanations of the basic logistics of making a wand. When she pulled out a dragon heartstring, Gorm’s eyes widened. 

“The wizards?” He said cautiously. 

“Until the wand is sold and registered, they can’t track anything. Just the core is registered with me. Hermione is working on how to get some unregistered heartstrings for me to test my theories on removing the trace.” 

Gorm’s eyes flickered to Hermione in the corner, who had lost interest ages ago and was completely immersed in her book, knees pulled up against her chest as she propped herself against the wall. 

“Can you not use something else for cores?” He asked. 

Astoria nodded once. 

“You can. But it completely changes the math, and I’m rubbish at anything beyond heartstrings, phoenix feathers, and sometimes thestrals.”

Gorm’s eyes narrowed, as though he had more questions, but he did not ask them. He gestured to the core, prompting Astoria to continue. She tried to ignore the numbing, cold sensation that was settling into her right hand as she worked, and the thumping of her heart in her ears as she walked Gorm through the math of this particular wand before bonding the heartstring to a holly stick. 

Maybe it’s being so far underground. She blinked rapidly a few times to chase away the anxiety that bubbled in her throat upon remembering what happened to her last time she was this far into the earth. 

When she was finished, she awkwardly handed Gorm the wand, and felt a lot like a child showing a teacher her first transfiguration assignment as she held it out awkwardly. 

Gorm tentatively touched the wand, which sparked manically and knocked over a marble statue a few strides away from them. He didn’t seem particularly bothered by the crash, meanwhile she and Hermione both leapt at the sound. Kreacher cackled from behind something, and Astoria couldn’t see him. 

When Gorm was done examining the wand, he handed it back to her and gave another polite head bow. 

“I would like to see your theories for the trace,” he said. 

Astoria tasted iron again, and her ears were pounding. 

“I’ll bring them with next time,” she replied. 

Home. Need to go home. 

“You don’t have them now?” He asked gruffly. 

Home. 

“It—I—” she tentatively reached for the table beside her when she noted that Hermione was completely lost in her book again. Gorm however, was more observant than she expected.

“Next time then,” he said with a brisk flick of his hand. He turned to Hermione. “Where’s that elf, time to go.” 

Hermione sprang up from her spot and called Kreacher over, who returned wearing at least six strings of pearls around his dirty tie, and a bulging dirty purse. 

Home.

Astoria didn’t completely catch all of the goodbyes, or what date was decided next. She vaguely caught Hermione say something about a portkey, and emergency use, more chatter, and then familiar compression as the world turned black.

Home. Get home. 

When the three of them returned, Kreacher did not linger and immediately disapperated with his purse overflowing with galleons. Hermione was fairly certain she saw at least three roll under the sofa as he vanished. 

Astoria visibly released tension in her shoulders and her eyes glazed over with fatigue. 

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked. 

“Yes,” Astoria replied through a stiff jaw. “Just tired.” 

Astoria’s cursed hand twitched and Hermione thought she looked rather pale. 

“Is Percy home?” Hermione asked. Her friend nodded slowly. 

“Yes, I should go,” her steps to the fire again were stiff and strained, and Hermione swallowed the urge to follow and make sure she was alright. 

“How long has she been like that?” Draco’s voice startled her and she jumped a bit. 

“The last hour or so.” 

Draco’s jaw tightened, and Hermione felt a tinge of anxiety. She worried for Astoria too, but the vagueness of Astoria and Draco’s history annoyed her for some reason. Whenever questions about it sprang to mind, they seemed too personal to ask and so she bit her tongue. 

“Percy is home,” she said in an attempt to alleviate some stress. 

Draco wandered to the drink cart and poured himself his usual glass of firewhiskey before sitting on the sofa. 

“How did it go?”

The attempt at casual conversation felt strained, and Hermione narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. 

“Gorm is the goblin working with her. He didn’t appear overwhelmed, but I admit, I wasn’t completely invested in their conversation the entire time.”

Draco didn’t reply, and instead seemed to be focusing intently on a corner of the rug as he sipped his liquor. 

“Has it stayed?” She asked as she sat down in the chair across from him. When Draco looked up at her with furrowed brows, she clarified. “The scar.”

His jaw tightened and he shook his head once before returning his gaze to the rug. 

“No.”

“When did it turn back?”

“Last night.” 

“Oh, that’s not terrible. I can change it ba—”

“No,” he interrupted firmly. 

“What do you mean ‘no?’ It works! For a little over a day! Besides, I have another theory for the snake I’d like to try.” 

“No, Granger,” he said again. 

“Why?” She snapped. 

Draco didn’t answer. 

“You’re insufferable,” she grumbled. 

He snorted and sipped his drink. 

“You’re the one pressing the issue.” 

“Obviously you hate it but you refuse to let me help. Why?”

“You don’t want my answer,” his eyes darted to hers with a hard edge. He was brushing the rim of his glass to his bottom lip again. 

“Just tell me and then I can decide for myself.” 

Draco didn’t break eye contact with her, and while she had a glimmer of anxiety trying to stare him down, she forced herself to hold her ground. 

“I don’t want that mark to become a cornerstone of time spent with me.” 

Hermione’s face flooded with heat and she was suddenly twitchy. She began chewing on her thumb nail. 

“Why would that matter?” She asked, hoping that the crack in her voice wasn’t too audible. 

Draco’s gaze was still unrelenting, and his jaw still rigid. 

“You’re many things, but you’ve never been an idiot so don’t act like one. My interest in you has been explicitly clear lately, albeit not in any sort of respectable manner.” 

Hermione felt all of the blood leave her head and suddenly felt like the air around her was thinner. She continued chewing on her nail as she digested the confession. 

“Is that why you agreed to this?” She asked for what felt like the hundredth time. 

“No,” he said bluntly. “Had I realized sooner, I never would have let you come here.” 

Her nose twitched and she felt claustrophobic. She knew that when he was drinking, his behavior was erratic, but she hadn’t considered that his advances were anything more than a drunken lack of impulse control. But he didn’t appear to be drunk now…

“I don’t know what to do with that information,” she confessed. 

“Touché. I’m equally at a loss.” 

“I just want to help,” she said, gesturing to his left arm. 

“Maybe another time,” he mumbled. 

The two of them fell into a long silence, and Hermione found herself anxiously mulling over Draco’s confession. 

“I’m not sure how to get over it,” she said without fully considering her words. 

“Get over what?” He asked as he took another sip, still staring at the rug. 

“The things you’ve done and said.” 

His face was so imperceptible that Hermione wondered if he was occluding. 

“I’m not asking you to.” 

The two of them fell into another long silence before Draco stood up and stepped toward the door. 

“Do me a favor and don’t bring up this conversation again,” he said as he stopped at the doorway. 

“Why?”

“Because I have a general idea of what you think of me. I only said any of this because of my behavior the other night, and I owed you the explanation.” 

He waited for a moment, and when she didn’t answer, he left the room. 

Hermione stood by the door for several minutes before taking a shaky breath and pushing it open. She immediately regretted stepping in when she saw that Draco was reading in a chair by the window, and wasn’t asleep. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were still up,” she flustered. Draco calmly met her gaze. 

“I don’t sleep till after eleven at least,” he replied. 

“Oh!” She felt her face get warm. She was typically in bed well before then. 

“I don’t want to intrude, I just thought you would be asleep,” she mumbled apologetically before slipping back into her room and crawling into bed. A few minutes later, her door opened and she heard familiar light footsteps. She pulled the blankets up over her head to avoid being seen. 

“Granger?”

“What,” she snapped, the sound muffled by quilts.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she replied curtly. She refused to confess that it was easier to sleep with company, and her bed at this point was less comfortable than his because of it. 

Draco hesitated for a few moments, as Hermione didn’t hear footsteps. When he did move, her portrait door didn’t reopen. The blankets shuffled as he crawled in next to her. Hermione saw the glow of the reading light through the weave, and heard pages ruffling as he opened his book again. Within minutes, she drifted off.

Chapter Text

January 10, 2014

A new unspoken agreement was made. Hermione would quietly open the door to Draco’s room while he was reading, and would crawl under the covers while he read. He opted to read in bed now instead of in the chair, and rarely acknowledged her when she came into the room, for which she was grateful. 

Greyback’s face. Black curls. Cold metal on her arm. 

“Hermione.”

Her heart was pounding in her ears so hard she couldn’t properly hear if Draco said anything else. His hand was on her shoulder and his face was so close to her neck that she could feel his breath as he exhaled. 

Instinctively, she shuddered and moved toward him. The sensation of his shirt and the smell of his cologne and firewhiskey clouded the other sensations pressing in on her memory and deep in her nervous system. Draco’s arm wrapped around her when she shifted closer, and within minutes of pulling her tight against him, she fell asleep again.  

January 11, 2014

Hermione woke up to the sound of tapping on the window. 

Odd. She opened her eyes to see an owl. It was still black outside. It couldn’t have been any later than four in the morning. 

Draco had sprung up gracefully and darted to the window to retrieve the letter. As soon as his hand touched the envelope, he disapperated. 

With a quick glance around, Hermione shuffled out of bed and to her own room, not used to being left alone in Draco’s room and suddenly unsure what to do. She left the door open and listened for him to return for nearly an hour. Nothing. 

She sighed and pulled on a pair casual house robes and a long wrap jumper before reaching for her wand and disapperating. She checked the potions room, the study, the library, and the kitchen for Draco with no sign of him. 

When she stepped through the study a second time, the sound of the floo activated and Percy stepped out looking still half asleep. 

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know. I can’t find him.” 

“Fuck,” Percy swore and scratched the back of his neck. He was wearing a jumper and Hermione realized she hadn't seen him in anything so casual before. “He had to have gotten a letter by now.” 

“About an hour ago,” she confirmed. 

Percy tipped his head in slight surprise, and smirked. 

“That’s… quite the hour to be together.” 

Hermione flushed and felt her blood pressure increase. 

“It’s not like that and it’s not funny. Where would he be?”

“Cissa’s room,” Percy said walking toward the door. Hermione’s stomach flipped as she realized what that meant. 

“Is he—”

“Yep,” Percy confirmed. “Let’s go.”

“Where’s Astoria?” She asked, suddenly feeling ill equipped to deal with the grief of the Malfoys over Lucius’ death. 

“She took a double dose of a relaxant after yesterday’s trip to Gringotts. Being that far underground is hard on her. She won’t be up for several more hours.”

“Oh.”

The two of them made their way to the bedroom door which Percy boldly pushed open. Narcissa was sitting at a little table by the window. Draco was directly across from her and they sat in silence. When Percy and Hermione stepped into the room, Narcissa didn’t so much as flinch. Draco’s head turned enough to see the two of them out of the corner of his eye before turning back to his mother. His hand was clasped tight around her hand, and Hermione noted a ring on the table between them. 

“I’ll be back with tea,” Percy said abruptly before disapperating, leaving Hermione gawking and alone. 

Narcissa was stone faced and appeared to not even be present in the room. Both she and Malfoy were occluding so severely that their anguish was still as sharp as a scream. 

“I’ll be right back,” she mumbled before disapperating to the study, and rushing into the floo for Andromeda. 

Andromeda was in her living room, sipping a cup of tea and reading a book. When she saw Hermione, her eyes widened a bit. 

“Is everything alright, dear?”

“He’s gone.”

“Who?”

“Lucius.”

“May he rot in hell.”

“Narcissa needs you.”

Andromeda blinked. 

“I’m afraid I won’t be much comfort to my sister on this matter. Where is Draco?”

“They’re both at the manor. Please just come with me,” Hermione pleaded. 

Andromeda’s lips tightened briefly. 

“Fine.”

She stood up and reached for a comfortable jacket to pull over her house robes, wrapped her long black hair into a loose bun, and followed Hermione into the floo. 

When they arrived at Narcissa’s door again, Andromeda took a shaky breath. 

“I’m not sure I can do this,” she mumbled cautiously. 

“She needs you,” Hermione reminded her. 

“He’s the reason Ted and Nymphadora are gone.”

Hermione bit her lip, unable to think of anything to say in return. After another shaky breath, Andromeda pushed the door open. 

Neither Draco or Narcissa appeared to have moved a muscle in the time Hermione was gone. Two full (and now cold) cups of tea sat on the table in front of them, and Percy had pulled up a chair behind Draco and was sitting silently with them. 

“Cissa, love,” Andromeda said softly as she approached and knelt in front of her sister, taking a hand into hers. She briefly turned to see the ring on the table before furrowing her brows, confused. 

“I felt him go,” Narcissa replied to the silent question. Hermione felt her stomach turn and she wondered if she would vomit. The thought of Narcissa holding so tightly to her connection to Lucius over the years was sickening. 

Draco’s mouth twitched at his mother’s words. His hand was still tightly grasping one of her hands, and both of their knuckles appeared white with the strain of it. 

“When?” Andromeda asked. 

“Around eleven,” Narcissa replied. Well before the owl arrived. Narcissa had clearly been up all night. 

“I remember it, too,” Andromeda said as she brushed her sister’s hand with her thumb. 

Narcissa just looked blankly at Andromeda for several seconds. 

“Come back to the flat with me,” Andromeda said gently as she glanced around the room and stood up. Narcissa’s eyes flickered to Draco, who nodded once. When he did, the old woman’s shoulders visibly relaxed. She released his hand and stood up slowly and shakily. The sisters vanished in an instant as Andromeda disapperated in tandem, leaving Draco, Percy, and Hermione alone with the silence. 

Draco didn’t acknowledge either of them in the room. Percy touched one shoulder and dropped his forehead onto Draco’s other shoulder. The obvious ease of intimacy of a member of the Weasley family was a stark contrast to Malfoy’s. Draco was still stony and silent. Hermione tentatively sat down where Narcissa had just been sitting, but didn’t put her hand on the table where Draco’s was still resting. 

The three of them sat in silence for nearly an hour before Percy whispered:

“I need to check on Astoria. I’ll be back shortly.” He squeezed Draco’s shoulder once as he sat up and disappearated. 

Draco stiffened when Percy left, and Hermione suddenly felt like an intruder. 

“I can leave if you prefer,” she said. His jaw tightened but he didn’t answer. Hermione’s limbs were resistant to much movement, and she didn’t currently trust herself to dissaperate without holding her wand which was tucked away still. Her mind felt foggy due to the heavy air in the room. 

At one point when she fidgeted, her foot shuffled and touched Draco’s, and he visibly relaxed as she did. 

Oh.

It was almost not noticeable. But his jaw released some tension, and his spine appeared less stiff. She impulsively reached for his hand on the table, and his nostrils flared as she did. To her surprise, a few moments later, his grasp on her hand tightened as he exhaled audibly. 

Percy landed again, this time with Astoria in tow. She looked dreadfully ill as she leaned on Percy for support. She wasn’t wearing her glove on her cursed hand, and her hair was down around her shoulders in a tangled mess. It appeared as though she tossed and turned all night. 

Astoria was clearly in an immense amount of pain, and Hermione bit down on her tongue hard to stop herself from asking if she was alright. It was obvious that Astoria would not be here if not for the circumstances. She staggered on her feet to Draco and collapsed onto his lap, flinging her arms around his neck as she did so. His grip on Hermione’s hand relaxed, and he tucked his face into the crook of Astoria’s neck instinctively. 

Percy’s hand landed on Hermione’s shoulder, and when she looked over, he gestured to her to follow him. The two of them quietly shuffled out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen where he brewed a cup of coffee for both of them. They sat silently for a long time sipping the warm drink, trying to wake up. 

“Does it ever bother you?” Hermione asked as Percy sat across from her at the counter. 

“Does what bother me?”

“How close they are.”

His eyebrows raised slightly, and Hermione wrinkled her nose at his reaction. 

“It used to,” he confessed. Hermione wasn’t sure what to ask next, but Percy continued. 

“You get used to it.”

“I just don’t understand it,” she mumbled. 

Percy shrugged. 

“How? Your situation with Harry is rather similar.”

“What? No, it’s not. Harry and I never dated.”

Percy shrugged again. 

“Doesn’t matter. Everyone assumes you did at one point. You both grew up with muggles, you understand one another without having to say anything half the time, and you’re fiercely defensive of each other.”

“Harry is my best friend. We don’t have a romantic history,” she said again. 

“Astoria and Draco dated because their families demanded it. They have about as much sexual chemistry as you and Harry.”

“What?” Hermione said as her cheeks felt warm. 

“Utter rubbish,” Percy nodded. “You have nothing more to worry about than Ginny does.”

“I’m not worried!” She snapped. 

“Sure you’re not,” Percy nodded sarcastically. “Not at all why you’re asking about it.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose but didn’t reply. Percy let the silence sit for a few moments before asking:

“What were the two of you working on so late?” He asked. 

“We weren’t working,” she mumbled. 

Percy chortled. 

“Ok, you have my attention. Do tell.”

“No.”

“Just a morsel!” He pleaded. 

“No!” She barked back. 

“Fine,” he said, lifting both hands in the air in surrender. “At some point, you two are going to have to admit it.”

“Admit what?” She asked through clenched teeth. 

“That you’re a couple of lovesick idiots.”

“You’re reading too far into it.”

“You tell yourself whatever you want. We all see it. Even Harry has mentioned it.” 

Her stomach turned. 

“I don’t know what to think of him,” she said. 

“Well, you should probably sort that out.” He pushed his chair back and stood up, gesturing for the door again. 

They quietly wandered back upstairs and when they stepped in, they found Draco and Astoria had moved to the loveseat under the other window, side by side. He looked wretched for a moment before noticing Hermione and Percy step into the room, and his occlusion walls were firmly reinstated, eyes glassy and face stone. 

Percy strode up to the both of them and knelt in front of the sofa. Hermione on the other hand, stood behind him uncomfortably while chewing her thumb nail. 

“I’m sorry,” he said to Draco briefly, touching his knee before turning to Astoria and holding out his hand. “You need more sleep.”

Astoria shook her head and turned back to Draco, but Hermione couldn’t help but notice the tremor in her cursed hand. She’d never seen it that bad before, but neither Draco nor Percy seemed alarmed by it, meaning this was apparently painful but typical. Draco turned to her. 

“Go, Astoria.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“He’ll still be thoroughly dead in a few hours. Go.”

Astoria hesitated, but Percy grasped her hand and tugged gently on her arm, prompting her to stand unstably. Just before he disapperated with the both of them, Astoria’s eyes met Hermione’s. Her lips tightened and she tipped her head toward Draco once. 

Keep an eye on him. 

They vanished and the room was tense again, air still heavy. After a minute or so, Draco stood up, disapperating elsewhere in the house. 

Hermione withdrew her wand, and with a sigh, checked the potions room, the study, and the kitchen with no success. 

He looked tired. 

She apparated to his room to see that he had crawled into bed. There was a bottle of firewhiskey on the nightstand, and a glass. It appeared he had swallowed two or three glasses before lying down. Hermione froze for a moment, unsure how to proceed. When she couldn’t think of anything to say, she crawled under the covers next to him, and shuffled as close as could, clasping his hand in hers. He was on his side, facing her with his eyes still closed, and his jaw tightened as she adjusted herself close enough that she was on his pillow. She could feel his breath on her face, thick with spice and liquor. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” He asked with an edge to his voice. 

“Nope.”

His body was stiff and his hand twitched in hers. 

“I don’t want you here.”

“Go to sleep,” she snapped back.

“I’ve had too much firewhiskey.”

“I don’t care,” she said and tucked her face up under his chin and against his chest. His heart was erratic and thumping loudly. 

“Get out…” he growled, his whole body stiffened. 

“No.” She shuffled her ankle to rest on top of his, and his hand vibrated in hers briefly before releasing it and lacing his fingers tightly in the back of her hair. He dropped his forehead to the top of her head and shuddered. 

She wasn’t sure when either of them fell asleep. 

Hermione woke up to Draco’s hand wrapping around her throat just under her jaw as his nose nestled into the back of her hair. 

Shit. 

He was clearly still sleeping; his breathing was steady and deep. But she was suddenly extremely alert and hyper aware of how close he was. His grip on her throat was possessive, and made her insides burn. 

She froze, concerned that if she moved, she might kiss him and wouldn’t stop him this time if he kissed her back. 

After what felt like an eternity, it became clear that he had woken up. As soon as he was conscious, his body became rigid again, and he hissed as he inhaled and released her throat.

She didn’t move and carefully kept her breathing steady to appear asleep, despite the fact that her heart was pounding wildly. Draco carefully rolled away from her carefully, and she bit her tongue hard. 

She waited a long time before shifting and rolling over to face him again. 

“Hungry?” She asked. He shook his head. 

“I am. Let’s go.” She sat up and grasped his hand as he sat upright. 

She kept a firm grip on his hand as she walked down the stairs, and he continued to stare blankly as they stepped into the kitchen. Hermione rifled around until she found fruit and crisps to snack on, filled a bowl, and set them down in front of Draco. 

He was severely occluding again, and Hermione swallowed the itch in her throat. 

“You don’t have to occlude,” she said. 

“Yes, I do,” he replied. 

“Why?”

He relented for a few moments to reveal the fiery rage behind his eyes as his nostrils flared. 

“You have a right to be angry,” she shrugged. “The ministry had no business putting dementors back in Azkaban.”

“Things tend to set fire when I’m angry,” he mumbled as the walls went back up. 

Hermione smirked. 

“One of the portraits in the study calls me a mudblood whenever I walk by without you. We could always start there.” 

He didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth turned a little. 

Percy and Astoria stepped into the kitchen, Astoria still requiring more support than normal but looking considerably better than this morning. 

“Shall we all take out the firewhiskey?” Percy asked cheerily as he summoned four glasses and a bottle from a cabinet. 

Hermione glanced to Draco who had noticeably stiffened at the suggestion of more liquor, but she swallowed her comment. Now was probably not the time to mention concern for his dependency on alcohol. 

Percy sat next to Draco and toasted his glass as he poured everyone drinks. 

“In about three drinks I’ll be ready to hear stories about Lucius that don’t involve bigotry.” 

Draco snorted in derision. 

“Absolutely not.”

“Drink up chatterbox,” Percy said as he lifted his drink to Malfoy before pouring his entire shot down his throat. 

The four of them drank all afternoon, eventually moving to the living room where Astoria was drunkenly sitting on the floor and leaning on Percy’s knee. She had fallen out of the chair enough times that everyone stopped encouraging her to get back into a seat, and instead, Percy threw a pillow at her. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this drunk,” he howled. 

“I don’t—“ hiccup “drink firewhiskey!” She said through a giggle as she tipped over again. 

Hermione’s head was spinning as well, she lost count of how many drinks she had when they were still in the kitchen. Percy seemed determined to get Draco to say anything about Lucius, but Draco was a sealed book on the subject. 

“Did he like cats?”

“No.”

“What was his favorite book?”

No answer.

“What was his favorite quidditch team?”

No answer.

On and on it went. When Astoria started snoring on the rug, Percy stood up and lifted her up to prop her on his shoulder and stagger with her to the floo. 

“No no, we shouldn’t leave,” she slurred, struggling to stand. 

“Shh,” Percy hissed gently as he supported her. 

“Draco,” he said firmly. Draco’s eyes met his, still heavily occluding and distant. “I’m sorry.” 

The statement hung in the air for just a moment before Percy and Astoria continued toward the floo and disappeared, leaving Hermione and Draco along again. Hermione topped off both of their drinks, and Draco shook his head when she did. 

“Why?” She asked. 

“I can’t be trusted around you any drunker than this.” 

The memory of his hand around her throat made an intrusive appearance and she almost told him to by all means, please finish the bottle. She bit her tongue. 

“Don’t bother,” he muttered. 

“What?”

“Harassing me for stories.” 

She shrugged. 

“Not my business how you grieve.”

“I’m going to bed,” he muttered as he stood up. She stood up so fast to follow that she almost knocked over the side table as she did. 

“Merlin, take a replenishing potion before you make an idiot of yourself," he hissed as he reached into his coat pocket and handed her a small vial. An odd thing to just have on hand, but she didn’t mention it. 

When he disapperated to his room, she followed and he whirled on her. 

“Has it occurred to any of you that I want to be fucking left alone?!” 

Hermione froze, stunned. 

“I just—“

“Just get away from me!” He slashed the open palm of his hand between them. 

“What the hell is wrong with you? Percy has been harassing you all afternoon and you don’t say a word and now this?”

Draco snorted derisively. 

“Back off, Granger. Percy doesn’t pretend to give a shit. Don’t bullshit me. I’m fully aware that the only reason you’re here is because he and Astoria told you to. Now, get out.”

“Bastard,” she swore at him. “That’s not the reason.”

“No? Then what were you and Percy discussing alone? And remind me of the look Astoria gave you?” 

“We were—“ she stopped herself. She didn’t want to confess to the conversation with Percy about Astoria, but most definitely not when he was this angry. 

“That’s not what we talked about,” she said quietly. 

“Bullshit. I’m tired of your false pity. Now get out so I can sleep some before you inevitably fucking wake me up again!” He barked, nostrils flared and eyes wide with rage. 

Her eyes burned and her throat felt strangled as her chest caved in. 

“You know what? I think you’re worse than I remember. You have some bloody audacity bringing that up as though I ever asked for your help.” 

His eyes widened in horror and his stance faltered. 

“That’s not what I—“

“Save it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“That came out wrong.”

“One of these days, you’re going to drink enough to become such a snake that not even Percy will put up with this shit anymore,” she growled before dissaperating. She landed in her room, still dizzy from liquor, and collapsed into bed before remembering to adjust the silencing charm. 

Hermione woke up to the sound of her portrait door opening and Draco tripping as he tried to slip into her room. 

Really? More whiskey?

She swallowed her irritation and desire to slap him. All sympathy over Lucius’ death was extinguished when he snapped at her a few hours ago. In an attempt to ignore him, she rolled away from him and pulled the blanket up under her chin. He staggered to the bed and clumsily landed on the mattress and then over her. He drunkenly draped over her, blonde hair falling over his eyes as he struggled to drunkenly see her; she felt paralyzed. 

“I didn’t mean it…” he slurred as he allowed his body to buckle and crush hers, quickly pressing his face to where her neck met her shoulder and shuddering. 

“Get out, Malfoy,” she mumbled, pushing his shoulders as she did. 

He laced both hands into her hair and moved his forehead to hers as he started to chuckle, low and delirious.  

“What the hell is so funny?”

“That I’ve fallen in love with a witch who can’t stand me,” he laughed again, and Hermione froze. 

No.

“Your indifference is like poison…” he mumbled as he dropped his head back into her hair and rolled off of her so that he was draped next to her, and he began absentmindedly twisting her curls in his left hand. 

“Draco, what about Lucius?” She asked, trying to switch the subject.

“Oh, he’s dead now,” he mumbled. “I didn’t see him though.”

Hermione’s stomach turned. 

“Did you want to?”

“No. Just thought he’d eventually want to see me.”

Hermione couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Draco’s forehead was pressed into her shoulder and his fingers kept wrapping themselves in her hair in a strange, self soothing motion. She felt a wave of sympathy flood her again, and couldn’t bring herself to tell him to leave. Instead, she rolled over to face him and pressed her forehead to his. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he mumbled again between shaky breaths as he began to doze. 

“Not now,” she replied, brushing the hair out of his face. 

“I hate your room…” 

“Excuse me?” She bristled and he tightened his grasp in her hair. 

“Can’t sleep without you…” he muttered. He was silent after that. 

Hermione brushed the hair out of his face again as he slept. Percy’s words kept interrupting her thoughts. 

Couple of lovesick idiots. 

She wrinkled her nose and shoved the thought aside. It would be easier to take seriously if every advance wasn’t while he was excessively drunk. Even his sober confession felt more like him trying to justify his drunken escapades. 

Still, it was an interesting idea. 

She came to no conclusion before falling asleep. 

January 12, 2014

Draco woke up early to churning in his stomach. Fuck, he hadn’t been this hung over in ages. Granger’s hair was wrapped all around his hand and wrist, and his face was essentially buried and veiled in it as his forehead was pressed against hers. 

The context of this leaves much to be desired. 

He tried to remember when he came in last night. He vaguely remembered yelling at her when she followed him to his room. Her pretending to feel sympathy toward him was draining, but he couldn’t pinpoint what he had said. 

When the memory finally clicked into place, he tasted bile.

“Before you inevitably fucking wake me up again.”

Was it possible to throw up over a memory? No, best to not. This wasn’t even his bed. 

He tried to remember when he came in. 

Did she have a nightmare?

She must have. But why would she let him stay after that? What else did he say? 

Granger’s breathing changed as her eyes opened and Draco’s stomach dropped. He let go of her hair reflexively as he panicked. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. His voice was still gravely due to the combination of morning, liquor, and grief that settled into his throat. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes, you told me,” she replied dryly, avoiding eye contact. But she didn’t sit up or pull away from him at least. 

“Listen, about what else you said…” she trailed off and Draco couldn’t breathe. 

The what else? Nothing else. Better not have been an else. Fucking hell. 

“What else?” He asked. Granger’s brows furrowed a bit and she tipped her head. 

“When you came in here last night.”

What??

Nothing.

Not a shred of a memory. 

He vowed to pour every bottle of liquor in the house down the drain. 

“Forget anything I said. I can’t remember…” he trailed off. “Whatever it was, I was too drunk to mean it.”

Her nostrils flared and her face twitched with what looked like disappointment for some reason. 

What the hell could he have possibly said that made her disappointed at being told to forget it??

An original Romanian copy of ‘Vampire Origins’ would be worth at least a million galleons. Maybe offered to buy her one as recompense. 

Nothing else made sense. 

“Oh. Ok,” she said before sitting up. “Percy said he would be here around nine… I have to meet Harry in an hour to go over the plan to get the heartstrings here.” 

He bristled at the implication that he shouldn’t be left alone. 

“I’ll make it an hour without aveda-ing myself,” he said irritably before standing up and taking the queue to leave so that she could get ready. 

“I’ll see you tonight?” She asked before he walked through the door. 

“Fine,” he replied before continuing through. 

“Remind me again why Kreacher can apperate to Gringotts but not Romania?” Harry asked. 

“He’s getting old. Long distance apparition is significantly more complicated even for an elf. He could hurt himself, and I don’t trust anyone else with this.”

Harry nodded. 

“Fine. What about your work?”

“I’ve taken the week off at the end of January for holiday.” 

“Alright, I haven’t taken a holiday in a while I guess.”

Hermione began chewing her thumb nail. 

“Are we going to travel as ourselves or with fake muggles identities?”

“I have passports for Albert Branch and Melissa Baker,” Hermione replied. “I don’t want the ministry to accidentally see us traveling together muggle style under our real names.”

“Not likely to happen.”

“It’s not worth the risk,” she shrugged. 

“And you’re sure the ministry will notice our wands even if they’re in the bag? Why didn’t they find us when we were hunting hoarcruxes then?”

Hermione had been wondering the same. 

“I don’t know. The trace isn’t super well understood within the wands itself. Mostly the ministry tracks minors. Astoria is certain it’s possible but they are maybe just not as well versed in it.” 

“Unless you have more concrete proof, we’re bringing by them; and won’t use them unless under duress.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose at Harry but didn’t argue—for now. 

“So…” he trailed off as though he wasn’t sure how to start the conversation Hermione knew quite well was coming. 

“What?” She snapped. 

“I heard Lucius died.”

“Yep.”

“How’d Malfoy take it?”

“Better than Narcissa.” 

“Still can’t believe they let dementors back in. Bloody hell…” he muttered as he scratched the back of his head, tousling the ragged mop of dark hair in the process. 

“What about the other prisoners?” Hermione asked hesitantly. 

“Only one other has died from what I know,” Harry replied. “In both cases, they were ill and barely clinging to life anyway. The stifled happiness and cold is all it took to cross the line.”

Hermione shuddered. 

“Can I ask another question?” He asked. Hermione sighed and nodded. 

“What’s up with you and Malfoy?”

“I’m getting tired of that question,” she mumbled. 

“So your answer is…?”

“I don’t know.”

“Excellent. A non answer,” Harry scoffed. 

“It is absolutely an answer. I have no idea what’s going on. He’s not who I thought he was, but I never know what he's actually thinking.” 

Harry was smirking deviously. 

“Why do you ask?” She said, narrowing her eyes. 

“Ginny saw the two of you in the hall at the New Year’s party.” 

Hermione grimaced. 

“Must have been before the fight then since you're smiling like a fool.”

“What fight?”

“That’s what he does. One minute he’s kissing me or confessing things and the next, we’re arguing, or he disappears.”

“Confessing what things?” Harry asked, eyebrows raised. 

“Nothing,” Hermione replied dismissively before the two of them opened another bag of chocolates and Harry began discussing quidditch. 

Hermione returned to the manor late in the afternoon to find Astoria lying on the green sofa. 

“I’m fine,” Astoria mumbled before Hermione had a chance to ask. “Draco and Percy are in the dungeons. It’s cold down there and I got tired.”

“Would you like some tea?” 

“Yes please.”

Hermione brewed a cup for each of them, and walked back to the study with drinks in hand. Astoria sat up as she stepped back in, looking a little pale still. 

“How is he today?” Hermione asked. 

“Seems mostly the same. Hasn’t been drinking at least.”

Sure. 

Hermione nodded once, but didn’t otherwise reply. 

Draco and Percy landed in the study together, and Draco tensed when his eyes landed on Hermione. Astoria’s eyebrows furrowed and Percy’s raised as they both noted the reaction. 

“What’d we miss?” Percy asked. 

“Nothing,” Hermione and Draco said at once. 

No one pushed further, and the four of them drank tea and discussed nothing of substance for the remainder of the day. 

When Astoria and Percy left again, Draco refused to even look at her. His occlusion walls were high again, and he looked blankly at the bookcase ahead of him. 

“I never meant to give you the impression that I was indifferent toward you,” she said. 

Draco didn’t reply. 

“Harry and I will smuggle the heartstrings at the end of the month,” she said, changing the subject when he refused to engage. “He is insisting we keep our wands in my charmed purse though.”

“I agree,” Draco finally said. 

“Astoria is certain our wands can be traced.”

“Doesn’t mean anyone at the ministry has bothered to know how in over hundred years.”

“It’s risky.”

“The whole damn plan is risky, Granger.”

“It’s an unnecessary risk,” she specified. 

“I’ll remind you that there are numerous death eaters after you to spite me, and Merlin knows who else to prevent you from helping goblins. They would be more than happy to take advantage of you in another country, wandless.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. 

“They’ve been quiet thus far for the most part.” 

They sat in silence for a long time before Hermione sighed and dissaperated to her room to get ready to sleep. 

She crawled into her own bed, and hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet when her door opened. 

“Are you awake?” Draco asked. 

“No.”

“I know that trick.” She could hear the smirk in his tone. 

“What do you want?” She asked, pulling the blankets over her head. 

“I’m settling in to read and wasn’t sure if you wanted to be alone.”

She grimaced. 

“I wasn’t the one barking about that last night.” 

He was silent for several seconds before the door closed again, and Hermione thought he left until the mattress shifted. 

A truce. 

Chapter Text

January 16, 2014

Astoria held her breath as Kreacher reached for her hand, and darkness compressed around her. Her landing wasn’t graceful, and her knees buckled. Thankfully, they landed near the marble table, and she was able to catch herself. 

The elderly elf made a strange hissing sound, and grumbled something about boredom and jewels as he began rifling through a chest on the left side of the room. He was plucking rubies one by one, and counting them as he sipped a flask on his side. 

Astoria glanced around for Gorm, who was watching for her arrival from the doorway. 

“Where is your friend?” He asked briskly. For a moment, Astoria wondered if she made a mistake coming without Hermione, who was unavailable today. Draco offered to come instead, but Astoria insisted that she would be fine alone for a few hours. Draco only conceded after making Kreacher promise to keep an eye on her. 

“She won’t be joining this time,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. 

Gorm made a strange face, and Astoria struggled to pinpoint the meaning. Despite meeting one another nearly every other day, she still wasn’t able to completely work out the subtlety on his face yet. 

She was also becoming more ill with every descent. The edges of her vision started to blur, and she wretched without warning. 

“Miz?” Gorm said tentatively. 

Kreacher gargled in the background. 

“Kreacher will take mistress home now, he will,” the old elf mumbled as he stalked over to her, itching his ear as he did. 

“Wait,” Astoria said firmly as she fumbled for a vial in her pocket and lowered herself to the ground. Gorm folded his arms as he observed her, and she wished he had the decency to look away while she tried to regain some composure. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

She swallowed the contents of the vial and felt a numbing sensation throughout her body, and her mind started to hum as she tipped her head backwards. 

“Master Draco will be angry if—”

“I said wait,” Astoria said in a dry whisper. 

“You have been getting sicker,” Gorm said matter of factly. 

“Yes,” she replied. 

“What is killing you?” He asked plainly again. 

She swallowed the impulse to laugh at his frankness. After a lifetime of sadness and pity whenever people found out about the curse or saw her unwell, the less standard responses still tended to catch her off guard. 

“Blood curse,” she replied. 

“What is the metal in your collar bone?” He asked. 

Astoria’s vision was still blurring in and out of focus, and the ground below her felt slightly unsteady, but she tipped her head back up to look at Gorm. 

Have I mentioned the implant?

Did Hermione?

I couldn’t have mentioned it. 

Maybe I just don’t remember.

Maybe when I asked about goblin steel?

How would he know? It’s not like it’s visible. 

“Goblins are sensitive to metals. I wasn’t able to tell where it was at first, but I could tell you integrated the metal to your body somehow. It’s an interesting concept—for a witch,” he said with a smile that showed a disconcerting amount of teeth. 

“Ummm, it’s just a charmed piece of steel charmed with regenerating blood cells. I have two now actually. The curse expends a lot of energy fighting those cells and doesn’t have as much to spare for the rest of me,” she was panting from the energy it took to speak, and Kreacher growled low in his throat. 

“So, it’s slowing the curse?” Gorm asked. 

“Yes.”

“Why are you getting more sick underground?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s something about the cold, but I’m not sure,” Astoria confessed. 

“You wear gloves,” Gorm noted. 

Astoria sighed, and removed one glove begrudgingly to show the black webbing on her cursed hand.

“Show me how the steel works,” Gorm said flatly. 

Why?

I can’t get them to take any more strain. 

The curse also adapts. 

It’s not like it will last forever, just slows it down. 

“I don’t know how long I’ll make it down here, and I still have only explained half of my theory to remove the trace for—”

“The steel. Show me the steel,” Gorm insisted. 

“Well, I can’t remove it without killing myself!” She snapped irritably. She was prepared to show him wands, not discuss her illness at length. 

“There’s so much to show you before Hermione brings us unregistered heartstrings,” Astoria mumbled. “I don’t want to waste it on my curse.”

Gorm’s face tightened, and he gestured to the door of the vault. 

“Follow me,” he said gruffly as he sauntered gracefully to the giant brass doors. 

Astoria struggled to find her voice to reply. Even more so she struggled to think of the words to say. 

“I don’t understand,” she said. 

“I want to show you something,” he grumbled. “The elf may come as well,” he sighed as Kreacher stepped closer to her defensively. It was a kind gesture, but Astoria silently wished he wasn’t here at this particular second.

“Where?” She asked tentatively, wondering how far she could walk even if she could bring herself to stand. 

“The stones,” Gorm replied flatly, gesturing again to the doors that had started to open. 

Astoria’s breath hitched. 

No one is allowed in the stones. 

No. He can’t be serious. 

Maybe it’s a joke. Maybe he has a strange sense of humor. 

“That’s even further underground,” she said quietly, concerned about her stability and how hard it was to walk right now. 

The brass doors had opened, and Gorm was mumbling to another goblin just outside the door, who narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Astoria. 

Maybe he was serious. 

I shouldn’t go with.

But she was curious. 

“It will be worth your while,” Gorm said with a slow nod, gesturing again to the cart. Astoria carefully pulled herself up, using the table as leverage. Her knees were shaking and her mind already started to spin with every step. 

I’ll come back for my bag, she decided, not wanting to carry it with her. 

She violently coughed into her handkerchief halfway to the door, and quietly folded the bloodied cloth back into her pocket. Kreacher had noticed though, apparently having a more keen sense of smell than she expected considering his hygiene habits. His nose wrinkled when he smelled the blood, and he turned to her to hiss. 

When she reached the door, Gorm reached for her hand, and supported her the rest of the way to a cart that another goblin stopped in front of Draco’s vault. Despite being quite a bit shorter than her, he was surprisingly stable for support, and she let herself lean significantly on him for her remaining steps before climbing in next to Kreacher. 

The ride further down was hell. She bit down on her tongue so hard that she could taste blood to keep from letting out any pained sounds, closed her eyes, and tried to recite every arithmancy rune she could think of, and its origins as she tried to suppress the focus on the pain. 

When the cart finally stopped, she didn’t move until she felt a tap on her shoulder. She saw Kreacher first, who’s eyes were pinned backward, and eyes were bulging wide in awe. 

She turned toward where he was facing and saw that they had stopped in a grand station underground with marble walls, and granite floors and ceiling. Golden statues of fire lined the stone walkway every few yards or so, and there were giant goblin runes etched into the stone ceiling in spiraled patterns. 

“Oh!” She gasped, the pain briefly dulled as she was caught up in the beauty of it all. 

Gorm extended a hand from outside of the cart, prompting her to step out and follow him. Every step felt like knives and she had to stop to rest twice. 

“Will you be able to apperate back to the vault?” She asked Kreacher. He nodded slowly. 

“Kreacher will bring Astoria straight home, no vault,” he said flatly. Knowing that this was the last of her travel made the pain easier to endure, and she nodded vigorously, still leaning on Gorm as she walked. 

Several goblins stopped him as they walked down the hall to speak with him for a moment in their strange tongue. Translation was unnecessary. Astoria knew they were asking about her by the way they nervously glanced at her as Gorm guided her. 

The hall served as the entrance point to a grand underground city. They stepped through a beautiful brass gate at the end of the seemingly endless hall, and looked out into an atrium that looked down on hundreds of stories built into pure granite. Each floor was bustling with activity. 

All of this? The whole time?

“Is it like this everywhere?” She asked quietly as she gripped the brass railing. 

“Is what everywhere?” Gorm asked.

“This,” she gestured to the city below. “Is there a city under Gringotts everywhere?”

Gorm shrugged. 

“Mostly. But not all of it. Europe’s mainland stones are connected underground. We are cut off from it due to the sea, and are one of the smaller cities.”

Astoria found that hard to believe as she stared into the giant city beneath her, made of pure stone, fire, and metal. 

“Gringotts was built to guard the entrance to our home,” Gorm said. 

“It’s beautiful,” she mumbled. 

Gorm bowed his head in another polite nod before gesturing for them to continue. She thought she might pass out when they boarded an elevator that rapidly descended even further down. Her knees completely gave out as she sat on the floor, waiting for the movement to stop. 

Kreacher sat next to her and croaked something about “...master Draco wouldn’t like this…” and “...no he wouldn’t…”

When they stopped, Astoria pushed herself to her feet and kept her eyes closed as she felt her way out of the elevator. Heat immediately flooded her face and spread over her whole body, easing some of the pain. When she opened her eyes, there was a roaring fire in what looked to be a gigantic forge as molten metal flowed in a red river on the ground all around them. She could hear goblins in the distance as they worked, and metal clanging in the distance. It took a few moments for her to realize that they were singing. 

Gorm gestured generally around them. 

“Goblin steel,” he said gruffly. But he couldn’t completely shield his pride with the way his head bobbed once and his lips pressed together. 

“It’s lovely,” she replied. 

“Show me how you made it,” he said, gesturing to her collarbone again with a long, pointed finger. 

He couldn’t. 

That’s too much. 

“My steel will be better. I will make you a new one,” he said with a grumble. 

“That’s not necessary,” she said as she flushed and looked to the floor. 

“I only have one condition,” he said.

“What is it?” She said quietly. 

“When you die, the steel must be returned,” he said with a grumble. 

“I know goblin steel is much higher quality, but I… I don’t know if it will be that much better,” she said tentatively, trying not to get her hopes up. 

“This steel would be different from other goblin steel you have held,” he said gruffly, nodding to the forges again. 

“How so?” She asked. 

“Our steel is our magic—gifts from the stone god. When the steel is forged for someone specific, the magic is stronger and attuned to its owner. Our steel was never meant to be traded, or kept beyond death and passed down. But when you are gone, it must come back.”

Astoria looked past Gorm again, toward the giant fire. 

“You’re sure it will work better?” She said tentatively. 

Gorm bowed his head once in a nod. 

“It won’t cure you, but it will be more efficient than what that one is doing,” he said, pointing to her collarbone again. 

“Why are you doing this?” She asked hesitantly. 

Gorm grumbled and crossed his arms. 

“I’m proud of my steel. It’s time some of you again see why its magic is so revered, beyond just taking on qualities that make it stronger.” 

Astoria turned to Kreacher. 

“Can you go to my flat and retrieve a notebook on the second shelf under the windowsill? It has a red dragonhide cover.” 

“Kreacher will not leave Astoria alone,” he replied with a hiss. 

“It’ll just be for a moment,” Astoria reassured him. He growled before disapperating with a CRACK . 

She had to admit, while she still felt weak, and her cursed hand hurt, the cold bothered her significantly less here in the forges. The liquid steel flowing nearby was mesmerizing, and the warmth of the fire was settling into her bones. 

“The magic here is different,” she muttered under her breath. The songs in the distance had changed, and with it, the speed of the melted steel flowing around them. 

Gorm nodded in agreement just before Kreacher apperated with the red book in hand, eyes bulging with distress until he saw Astoria right where he left her. He tossed the book at her irritably and opened his flask of brandy again. 

Astoria carefully flipped to the pages with her most recent modifications, and handed them to Gorm. She had discovered recently that he was skilled enough with arithmancy to not need much explanation. If he did, he would ask for clarification. 

“Is there a way for me to cast the charms? Or must you?” He asked as he reviewed her notes. 

“Currently? Either Hermione or I would have to. I don’t know anyone else good enough with charms and arithmancy combined, and our wands haven’t worked for you…”

“Weasley could,” he grumbled. 

“Percy? No,” she said. 

“No, the other one,” Gorm said gruffly. 

That narrows down nothing. 

Oh, Bill. 

“I suppose,” she conceded. “I made this with a plain piece of steel. You should be able to just make the part, and I can cast the charms later.”

Gorm shook his head. 

“The magic is embedded into the molten steel,” he said, eyes flickering to the red river as he spoke. 

Astoria’s eyes widened. 

“I don’t know how to embed charms into metal,” she said tentatively. 

“I don’t either. But, your arithmancy used to make the endless regeneration of cells—that can be added to the steel.”

“How?” She asked. 

“Song,” he said as a slow smile spread on his face. 

She listened again to the music in the distance as the river’s speed changed again. She suddenly felt like she was intruding, and had no business in the stones—seeing what she was seeing. 

“You don’t have to do this,” she said quietly. 

“You have shared your legends with me, and because of that, I will have the dragon heartstring wand that my people before me only dreamt of.”

“It’s not a debt,” Astoria snapped. 

“No, it’s not. If you considered it one, I wouldn’t have brought you down here,” he grumbled and snapped her notebook shut. “May I keep this?”

Astoria nodded. 

“The warmth here is better. We will continue working in the Stones when you return, not the vault,” Gorm said firmly. 

Astoria hesitated. 

“The elf has just proven he can travel this far now that he knows where to go,” he said briskly. Kreacher itched his ear grumpily, but didn’t disagree. 

“Go, I’ll see you in a few days,” he said with a wave of his hand. Astoria didn’t have time to say goodbye before Kreacher’s hand reached for hers, and darkness compressed around her with a giant CRACK.

Astoria and Kreacher landed in the living room of her flat, where she immediately collapsed and began dry heaving. 

“Astoria?” Percy’s voice. 

Great. 

“Bloody hell!” He barked before swooping down next to her and wrapping an arm around her. Astoria leaned on him as her body continued to wretch until she expelled a few clumps of blood, alone with some purplish-black bile. 

Percy gently pulled her hair back as she vomited onto the rug, then scourgified it when she was done before pulling her against him tightly. Kreacher meanwhile, still hadn’t left. 

“Kreacher, can you ask Draco for—“

“No,” Astoria interrupted. 

“He might have—“

“I just want to go to sleep,” she cut him off quietly as they knelt on the living room floor. “Draco doesn’t have anything new yet. All you’ll do is worry him.” 

She turned to Kreacher before continuing. 

“Can you just grab my things for me?” She asked. 

The old elf wrinkled his nose before vanishing, returning quickly with her bag she had left in Draco’s vault. Once he dropped her things at her feet, he vanished again without a goodbye. 

Percy handed another vial of potion to her, and she gladly poured the contents onto her tongue. She pressed her face into Percy’s coat jacket as she ground her teeth and waited for the pain to ease into a low hum

“You’re getting sicker every time you go down there,” Percy mumbled as he began stroking her hair. 

Astoria nodded. 

“I know.”

The air became tense, and Percy sighed. The energy between them was several unresolved fights hanging in the air all at once. 

Her working this hard. 

Her refusal to accept more aggressive treatments. 

Molly. 

Kids. 

“I’m worried about you,” he confessed when the pain dulled and her shoulders relaxed. He turned her face to his and kissed her briefly. 

“Gorm had an idea…” she muttered. 

“Yes?”

“A goblin steel implant.”

Percy’s eyes widened. 

“I don’t know how serious he was,” she clarified. “Or how much it would help. But if it’s able to take on more strain, we could—”

“You’re bringing this up now?” He asked, sounding exasperated. Astoria sighed and pulled her knees up against her chest and hid her face as she blinked rapidly. 

She felt his hand on her shoulder, gently prompting her to turn toward him, but she stiffened and kept her face hidden as tears prickled her eyes and trailed down her nose against her will. 

“Astoria?” He said, voice a little softer now. 

She bit the inside of her cheek to stifle the sob at the back of her throat. When his hand rested on the back of her neck, she flinched. 

“Astoria look at me,” his voice cracked as he gently prompted her to look up at him again. 

She shook her head, keeping her face hidden. 

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted,” he said firmly. “Do you understand me? The day I met you, I knew. You’re all I want... Why am I not enough?”

What? 

She swallowed her bitterness for a moment and lifted her face to his. He was crying too. 

“What?” She muttered. 

“You’d rather risk dying than be with me. You want to shorten whatever time we have left,” he choked out. 

“That’s not—”

“I’ll make an unbreakable vow,” he said, cupping both sides of her face in his hands. “I’ll never have a baby with anyone else. I swear it. I’m not just going to move on and forget about you. Even if I live another hundred years. I don’t care. I just want you. I don’t want to lose a single bloody moment with you.” His forehead dropped onto hers and she felt his tears land on her face. 

“I don’t want that vow,” she said. 

“If you die because I—” his voice broke and his hands trembled. “If I kill you, I’ll never recover.”

Astoria felt a flood of empathy and sadness envelop the bitterness in her chest, and scooted closer to him. 

“If I wasn’t sick, would you want to?” She asked tentatively. 

Percy let out a choked laugh between sobs and kissed her forehead. 

“Probably, I suppose. I want everything with you,” he said, pressing his head down onto hers a little more firmly. 

You suppose?

She grimaced before catching herself, and Percy noticed. 

“What?” He said. 

“I… um. I just was hoping for a more affirmative answer,” she said quietly. She pressed her eyelids shut tight to try and stop the relentless stream of tears that was starting to give her a headache. They found a way out anyway. 

“Why?” He asked. 

“Because I want it. The thought of you not caring breaks my heart. You’re the one that would get to see them grow up. Not me. I need you to want it as much as I do. But you’ve never said it.”

Her eyes were still pinched shut, and he was quiet for the longest minute of her life. Her heart felt like it was being wrenched with every beat as she waited. 

“I thought it was implied,” he finally confessed as he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I’ve just never let myself dwell seriously on it.” 

Percy pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her for several seconds before pulling away and sighing. 

“If the goblin steel works, and you feel significantly better with the change, I’ll do it.” 

Astoria’s heart sputtered as her head spun and she lost her breath. 

“Really?”

“You have to get better than this first,” he said firmly, gesturing to where she had vomited a few minutes prior. 

“Well, sure. But Gorm seemed certain that it would work,” she said. “Also I’ll have to change my prescription for—”

“Bloody hell. Could you at least let me marry you first?” He said before kissing her cheek. 

“Well, obviously,” she said with an indignant puff of air at the end. 

Percy nuzzled her face one more time with his before standing up and helping her upright as well. They walked together to bed, and the familiar space was soothing already to the aches in her bones. She could almost forget about the burning sensation in her cursed hand. 

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he said as he leaned down to kiss her forehead once she had pulled a blanket over herself. 

“Where are you going?” She asked. 

“I’m going to check with Draco, you’re really pale,” he replied. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Astoria shook her head. 

“Stay with me. Please.” 

He hesitated for a moment. Astoria reached for his hand in an attempt to reassure him that she really just needed rest. 

“I just need to sleep. Please stay,” she said. She nearly sighed with relief when he loosened his tie and readied himself for bed. Once settled, she rolled over toward him and clasped her hand in his while tucking her face on his pillow between his neck and shoulder. 

Despite the pain and fatigue, and despite the dread of whatever was coming in the world, Astoria slept more peacefully than she had in years.

Chapter Text

January 30, 2014

The following weeks were uneventful. Astoria continued wand training, and Hermione was swamped preparing two cases at work before “holiday,” and Percy spent much of his time away from the ministry complaining about the state of things there. 

Draco had also refrained from drinking as far as Hermione could tell. She hadn’t commented on it though. They continued their usual sleeping arrangements, but beyond that, she saw very little of him due to work constraints and planning with Harry. 

The afternoon she and Harry were supposed to leave, she was pacing in the manor’s study, waiting for him to arrive when Draco walked in. 

“Oh, I thought you were still brewing.”

Draco blinked. 

“Brewing can wait.” He held out his hand. “Your ring please.”

She gave him a quizzical look. 

“Why?”

“Just hand it over,” he muttered. 

Hermione didn’t have the energy for this conversation, and pulled the ring off to hand to him. 

Malfoy held it in the palm of his hand and gently waved his own wand over it a few times before handing it back to her. 

“It will feel different now.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. 

“I can’t have any charmed objects while I travel as a muggle.”

“Put on the damn ring Granger,” he growled. 

“What did you do to it?”

“Reinstated its original charms.”

“It’s original charms?” She asked, her stomach turning as she already knew the answer. 

Draco gestured to the ring on his left hand in confirmation. 

“You can’t seriously expect me to wear this,” she said. 

“If anything happens to the two of you, I intend to know immediately.” 

“No one is going to suspect a few muggles traveling through Europe.” 

“No, but your absence from London will absolutely be noticed by certain folks.” 

Hermione stared at it in her palm for several seconds before slipping it on. She was startled by the sensation. Deep in her bones and mind, she could feel Draco’s pulse. 

“Hmm,” she said compulsively. 

“You’ll get used to it,” he shrugged. 

Hermione shook her left hand out once as though to help adjust to the strange sensation, and felt Draco’s heart flutter as she did. When she looked up at Draco’s face, he was emotionless. 

“Any changes to the plan?” He asked. 

“No,” she replied. She chewed on her thumb nail as the floo activated. Harry and Ginny both stepped in, and Harry made a quizzical face. 

“Everything alright here?” He asked. 

“Fine, Potter,” Draco muttered. 

“Ready?” 

Hermione nodded and stepped toward Harry. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and withdrew his wand, prompting her to open her purse as he looked over her shoulder back at Draco. He then withdrew two muggle cell phones and solar chargers from his pocket, and Ginny scowled. 

“Tracking is on mine,” he said, holding out a phone for both Ginny and Draco before tapping his coat pocket. 

Hermione wrinkled her nose, annoyed that she didn’t think of that. 

“What’d you do to it?” Draco asked. 

“Don’t bother asking,” Ginny said with an eye roll. “He still can’t explain it.” 

“Merlin!” Harry exclaimed before tousling the hair on the back of his head. “It’s just a muggle cell with the tracking enabled. It’s tracking this, not me,” he said as he withdrew the cell from his pocket. 

“What’s the point of that?” Ginny asked. 

“You can see where I am from yours as long as mine is in my pocket.”

“What if you lose it?”

Harry looked down at the floor and sighed before opting to ignore her and turned to Draco. 

“Leave that cord attached and in a sunny window, otherwise it will die after a day or so.”

“It’s alive!?” Ginny screeched. “How??”

“No, it’s not alive. It’s a figure of speech! It just will stop working. It runs out of energy.” 

“How does the tracking work?” Draco asked, tipping his head with curiosity. 

“They use satellites,” Harry replied. 

“What’s a satellite?” Ginny asked. 

Harry slowly turned his head to her and clenched his jaw. 

“Muggle magic.” 

Hermione bit back an explosion of laughter at his attempt to cut off the stream of questions. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Ginny barked. 

“Bloody hell. Both of you watch me.” He used Ginny’s phone to walk them through the sequence of buttons on the touch screen to find the tracking information for the device in his pocket. Draco observed silently, but Ginny was still bursting with questions. 

“Wait, that picture was different yesterday,” she said, pointing to an application on the home page. 

“It doesn’t matter. Just don’t click it,” Harry grumbled. 

“Why is it changing by itself?? Are you sure it’s not alive? What’s controlling it?”

“It’s just a software update!” Harry barked. 

“A what?”

“The software updates automatically. Sometimes the icons change when it does.” 

“What’s soft? And what is it wearing?”

Harry closed his eyes and exhaled, and Hermione again swallowed the urge to laugh. The corner of Draco’s mouth turned up slightly with an entertained smirk. 

“These only work because the people that built them still sort of control how they operate,” Harry said, searching for a way to simplify the explanation. 

“Why is someone else controlling mine? ” Ginny asked. 

“Muggle technology is all math,” Hermione cut in. “These are essentially their version of arithmancy. They taught inanimate objects how to do math, so things like these take photos, talk to one another, send letters, sing music, and a hundred other things. But since they don’t have magic, they have to use energy from the sun for it to work. Which is why you have to leave that in a sunny window.” 

Ginny slowly turned her head to Harry and scowled. 

“Math. Was that really so hard to explain??”

Harry raked his hands through his hair with frustration. 

“How was I supposed to know that’s what would finally make sense??”

Ginny left for Grimmauld place again shortly after. Time to leave. 

Hermione felt Draco’s heart skip another beat when Harry touched her shoulder just before they turned toward the floo.

Interesting.

She met eyes with Draco, nodded once, but said nothing as she stepped into the floo. She and Harry emerged in Diagon Alley, where they quickly made their way to muggle London. 

They traveled by train from London to Paris, and then again from Paris to Munich before needing to retire for the evening. It was late when they booked a few adjacent rooms, and Hermione was eager to sleep as her eyelids were closing on their own. 

She, Harry, and Ron were running, Greyback could be heard in the grass as he chased after them. Astoria screamed in the distance.

“Crucio!”

Hermione woke up in a panic, hyperventilating as she clutched the blankets. She could feel Draco’s pulse thumping wildly as well, and realized she must have woken him. She tossed and turned for a while, unable to completely relax as her heart still thumped wildly in her ears and Draco’s in her bones. At least it didn’t appear that she had been screaming, considering she couldn’t cast a silencing charm.

Tentatively, she wandered to the hall and knocked on Harry’s door. A few moments later, the door opened to Harry as he pushed his crooked glasses up his nose after clearly not putting them on properly. 

“What?” He yawned. There was a spot on the side of his head where his hair stuck straight out in a rather comical fashion.

“I can’t sleep.” 

“Did you bring any dreamless sleep?” 

Hermione hesitated. She did, but she didn’t want to tell him that it only forced her to stay asleep through the nightmares. 

“Can I stay with you? I’m not used to sleeping alone.” 

Harry’s jaw dropped. 

“Wait, do you and Malfoy—”

“Sometimes,” she interrupted. “He found out about the nightmares. But it’s not what you think, so don’t ask!” She hissed.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows suspiciously but opened the door a little more to let her in before closing it again and flopping onto the bed rather dramatically. He took his glasses off after collapsing and dropped them onto the floor next to the head of the bed. 

Risky.

Hermione bit her tongue. Since there was only one bed, she tentatively crawled under the covers next to Harry as he snored. Apparently he had no issues falling asleep. 

She compulsively turned the ring on her left hand as she tossed and turned again. Draco’s heart rate had slowed considerably by now, and the steady, familiar rhythm was calming for some reason. A few minutes later, Harry’s hand landed on her face. 

“Merlin, stop moving and go to sleep,” he mumbled. 

“I’m working on it!” She snapped as she pushed his hand away. He responded by wrapping an arm around her in a hug before making a “pff pff” sound. 

“What?” She said. 

“Your hair keeps getting in my mouth.” 

“Don’t breathe with your mouth open,” she replied before shifting to a more comfortable spot. Harry’s hug was familiar, and her entire body relaxed. 

“Your situation with Harry is rather similar,” the memory of Percy’s statement interrupted her other thoughts. 

She fell asleep to the sound of Harry snoring. 

February 1, 2014

When they arrived in Romania, they stopped at the designated drop site that Charlie informed them ten dragon heartstrings would be left. All from the same two wild dragons that had recently died. Hermione quietly dropped the box into her bag before they did some casual muggle sight-seeing to evade suspicion all day on the last of January before beginning their trip back home to London. 

“So, you and Malfoy,” Harry asked on the train.

“Please don’t ask again, Harry.” 

“There’s absolutely no way for me to stay quiet about it.” 

“If you don’t, I’ll have no problem enforcing your silence when we get home,” she grumbled. 

“I knew he had a thing for you, I just never would have imagined the reverse,” he shook his head with a laugh. 

Their trip home was entirely uneventful. So much so that even Harry mentioned the potential of a serious black market issue in Europe. 

“The ministry really ought to have more structure in the muggle department; all this considered…” Hermione flinched. Harry wasn’t typically one to suggest that Ron needed to step up.

When they arrived London late that night, something felt off. The hair stood up on the back of Hermione’s neck as her heart began to thud wildly in her chest, and time felt like it slowed down as she took in her surroundings.

“Hermione?” The voice was familiar but she couldn’t place it at first. When Montague strode up beside her, she wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved that she knew him, or hyper alert because it was Montague outside of work. 

“Well damn,” he mumbled, glancing over her shoulder at Harry. 

“What?”

“Malfoys typically aren’t known to share. I heard the two of you happened to take a holiday at the same time.” He whistled low. “Unless the other halves don’t know? Tsk tsk.” 

“Goodnight,” Hermione mumbled, pushing past him through the crowd of muggles at the station. She could smell the cloud of liquor around him. 

What I wouldn’t do for one week without some drunken man following me around!

“I’m relieved truthfully,” he said with a dramatic bow as he followed her. “Not that I had any intention of giving up on you anyway, but this saves me the inquiry.” 

“Move along, please!” Harry barked, reaching over Hermione’s shoulder to shove Montague out of the way with a bit of force. 

“Holding that bag awfully tight. Any delightful travel souvenirs?”

“No,” Hermione muttered, gripping her purse. Without warning, she was being compressed from apparition, and, to her horror, landed somewhere unfamiliar in grand central station with Montague, not Harry. She couldn’t recognize the corridor from where they were standing.

“Sorry about that. Had to get you away from Potter. It’s been a while since we’ve had a private conversation.” 

Hermione strongly disagreed, especially considering the amount of time she had spent at work lately.

“What do you want, Montague?” She asked, resisting the urge to reach into her purse for her wand.

“First of all, it’s Graham. I think we ought to be on a first name basis by now.” 

“Unless you have something to say, I’ll be headed home now.” 

“There’s been some speculation about you working with goblins on something mysterious. Anything you want to share?”

Her stomach lurched. 

“They hired me to defend the bank last year. Everyone knows that. If you’re going to accuse me of something, at least be original.” She rolled her eyes. 

“Not accusing. Just curious. Your tendency toward illegal activity is a significant part of your appeal.” His eyebrows raised, and Hermione tasted bile. 

“I’m working on SPEW,” she lied. “If you want to know more about it, we can set up a lunch hour and I’ll discuss it with you. But Draco will be waiting for me now.” 

“Done,” he nodded, glancing at her purse again before returning his gaze to her. “Where did you go anyways?”

“What?”

“On your holiday?”

“Oh, um. Glasgow,” she lied. He furrowed his eyebrows. 

He took a step closer toward her as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 

“That train didn’t come from Glasgow,” he muttered, glancing at her purse again. 

Hermione tightened her jaw and straightened her back. 

“It’s easier to travel discreetly as muggles with how well known Harry is. We were in Paris. He had never been to the Louvre, and we needed a quiet weekend.”

“I see.” 

“Hermione!” Harry’s voice called out. Draco was standing behind him. His stance was calm but his eyes were alert. Hermione fidgeted with the ring on her left hand as Montogue took a step backward. 

“Hello Harry,” she said, not bothering to defend Montague’s mild kidnapping. The four of them soon were crowding in the small hall, and Draco stepped in line next to her, letting his arm brush against hers as he did so. 

“What the hell was that?” Harry asked. “You can’t just disapperate off of a muggle platform in the middle of the station! I ought to report you for that!” 

Montague shrugged. 

“Anyone out this late won’t think twice. Half of them are drunk, the other half are exhausted, or both.” 

“Shall we?” Draco said, offering his arm politely to Hermione, who gratefully accepted the queue to leave. 

“Yes, let’s.” 

Harry was still seething as the three of them walked to Diagon Alley. 

“Merlin, that guy has some nerve. How can you work with him? He’s relentless!!” He tousled the hair at the back of his head irritably. “‘Unless the other halves didn’t know,’” Harry continued in a sing-song voice. “Merlin. He’s a snake.” 

Draco’s eyes widened, but he didn’t inquire further about the statement. 

“When did you get here?” Hermione asked. That seemed to pull Harry out of his tirade as his head snapped toward Draco. 

“You were here rather fast,” he said. 

Draco shrugged. 

“Just happened to be in Diagon Alley.” 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. He had been waiting for her there. 

The three of them split off as Harry went home. When Hermione and Draco stepped inside the manor, Draco exhaled and gripped her hand in an alarming grasp. 

“What?” She mumbled. 

“You’re lucky Montague found you and no one else,” he muttered as he released her hand and stepped backward one smooth stride. 

“Why?”

Draco tipped his head slightly. 

"Because his interest in you blinds him." 

"What the hell does that mean?"

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know he was a death eater,” he scoffed. 

Suspecting is not knowing. 

“What are you not telling me?” She asked. 

“There have been rumblings about your involvement with goblins. Someone saw you board an international train in Munich earlier today as a muggle, and sent word to watch for you.”

“How?”

Draco grimaced and lifted his covered left forearm. 

“You’re able to send messages?” She asked. "How?"

Draco flinched at the question. 

“The snake,” he replied dryly. 

Hermione tightened her lips and Draco released his arm to his side again, flexing his hand once as he did. 

“Just to watch me?” She asked. 

Draco bowed his head in a slow nod. 

Hermione chewed on her thumb nail. She didn't much like the idea of Montague potentially spying on her at work, but as of right now, she wasn’t sure how to avoid that without resigning. 

“I’ll have to see him again on Monday,” she mumbled. Draco’s pulse skipped a beat, and she flicked her left hand once to shake off the feeling. 

“I’m exhausted and have to talk to Astoria in the morning, I should go to bed,” she mumbled. Draco glanced once toward the steps. When he didn’t reply, Hermione turned to go. She half expected him to follow her, but he waited until she was several strides away before turning to the study. 

Apparently their habit had been disjointed by her leaving for a few days, and Draco was significantly less impulsive when sober. She tossed and turned for nearly an hour before falling asleep alone. 

Chapter Text

February 2, 2014

Hermione gave up on sleep at nearly four in the morning, and wrapped her hair up in a clip at the base of her neck before wrapping in casual house robes and disapperating to the kitchen. 

Draco was standing at the edge of the sink, running cold water over an open wound on his right hand. Blood swirled in the white basin, and Hermione gasped. When she did, Draco looked up, appearing a little grey. 

“You’re up earlier than normal.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she replied quickly before looking back to his hand. 

“It looks worse than it is,” he said flatly. 

“What happened?”

“Cursed blade,” he replied, as though that was a legitimate answer. 

She cautiously stepped toward him and as she did, he grimaced as he quickly used his injured hand to roll down his left sleeve. 

“Stop it!” She scolded and took another step toward him. 

Draco recoiled and took three steps away from her, dripping blood onto the floor as he did so, frantically pulling his now bloodied sleeve down the rest of the way before allowing his shoulders to release and step back to the sink. She could feel his pulse hammering through the ring. Hermione felt the urge to hug him but she was fairly certain he wouldn’t take that well.

“What happened?” She asked again. 

He closed his eyes as his jaw tightened. 

“You don’t want to know,” he muttered as he returned his hand to the sink and silently scourgified the bloodied floor with his other hand. 

“Answer the damn question for once,” she snapped. 

Draco’s nostrils flared as he turned his head in her direction. 

“Two people showed up last night looking for you,” his eyes met hers, waiting for her to react. 

Hermione tasted bile and felt slightly disoriented. 

“What did you do?”

He blinked twice. 

“I handled it.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, annoyed by his evasiveness, then reached out her hand to examine his. He grimaced but didn’t back away from her this time. She pulled his hand out of the running water by his wrist to look at the palm of his hand which pooled thick with blood. 

“How long has it been bleeding like this?” She asked, feeling sick all of a sudden. 

“It’s been wrapped for a few hours to try and reduce the bleeding,” he shrugged. When she looked up at him with concern, he just followed up with:  

“I’ve taken a vial of blood replenishing potion.” 

“You should go to a muggle hospital…” 

He shook his head. 

“Draco if it’s a cursed cut, and it's not responding to charms or potions, you'll need stitches.” 

His mouth twitched at the mention of that. 

“Not yet.” 

“What do you mean not yet?”

“No goes in or out of this place till I’m done,” he growled. His eyes turned icy and his jaw set again. Hermione took one hesitant step backwards, and Draco slammed his eyes shut. 

“You can’t hold me hostage and not tell me what the hell is going on, Malfoy.”

He looked back down to the sink at the mention of his surname before reaching for a piece of cloth he had set aside next to the sink. Carefully, he pressed it to the wound and wrapped it tightly. 

“What aren’t you done with?” She asked and her throat caught nervously as she did. 

Draco looked up at her and for a moment looked stricken before his walls were in place and his expression turned glassy. He stepped around her toward the dungeon stairs, glancing over his shoulder as he rounded the corner to say: 

“Stay upstairs, Granger.” 

Well, that’s not happening.

She made her way to the floo first to see Harry, but the connection was blocked, and it would take her at least an hour to decrypt the arithmancy used to lock it. Next, she tried the front door, which appeared to be warded shut. In fact, every door and window to the manor was warded shut. Her stomach began to turn and bile filled her mouth as her breathing became shallow. 

Without another thought, she crept down to the dungeons, listening for Draco as she descended. It was eerily quiet. When she turned her head around a corner, she found a familiar blonde face with his back leaned against the wall as he sat on the floor. 

“Draco?” 

He stood up alarmingly fast. 

“Get out, Granger.”

“What is—” the words died in her throat as she caught a glimpse of a body on the hall floor behind Draco. There was another near-lifeless body that groaned. 

“Can’t believe you’re fucking a mudblood whore, you fucking cunt,” the man spat. 

Draco looked away from Hermione to calmly step up to the injured man, lean down, and put a hand to his forehead. The man howled in pain for a moment before falling silent as Draco eviscerated his mind. Something that had clearly already happened numerous times already this morning. When Draco let go, the man was gasping for air. 

“Your mudblood is working with goblins,” he spat. Draco smirked and crouched down lower to meet the man’s gaze as he propped himself up against the wall.

“Nothing happens in this house that I don’t know about,” he replied coldly. 

“You’re a disgrace to your family! If I had a name like—”

“But you don’t,” Draco said as he stood up. “You’re an errand boy. Anyone worth a damn doesn’t do someone else’s dirty work.” 

The man scoffed. 

“You don’t just get to leave, Malfoy. You’re part of this, always have been. That mark is a blood oath.” 

Hermione’s stomach turned, but Draco didn’t react. He was still stoney. 

“She's dangerous. Even if she doesn't start a war with the goblins, she'll ally herself with muggles against us. Like we've been warning for years.” 

“Your immediate concern isn’t Granger, Romi. It’s me. Had you looked into past attacks on my house, you never would have come here.” 

Romi didn’t reply, but his face faltered a bit. 

“Oh, I’m sure whoever sent you didn’t bother warning you that no one has made it out of here alive in six years,” Draco shrugged. Hermione winced as Draco reached out for Romi’s mind again for a moment, then more silence. 

“Did you—”

“He’s asleep.” 

“How?”

Draco flicked his eyes in her direction without moving his head. 

“I can do more in people’s heads than just access their thoughts, Granger.” 

Hermione felt slightly sick at the implication that Draco was able to control someone’s consciousness with legilimency. 

“What are you going to do with him?” Draco turned her way and gestured toward the hall. 

“Go, Granger.” 

“Answer the question!” She snapped. 

Draco’s jaw tightened. 

“You know exactly what I’m going to do. I told you months ago. People that come into my house intending to harm my family don’t leave.” 

“You can’t just kill him!” She cried, aghast that he was able to be so callous about it. “Besides, I’m not—” 

He took several rapid paces toward her, and she instinctively backed up, drawing her wand when her back hit the wall. 

“Finish that sentence,” he hissed as he glowered. His mouth twitched.  

“You can’t just kill a man in cold blood, Draco!” She said, voice faltering. 

“Say I let him go, then what?”

“You still have stopped him from whatever he was here to do, without murdering someone.”

“Possibly. Or, he goes back and tells everyone he knows about potential weaknesses he sees in my wards, as someone who made it through them.”

“You can tell the ministry!” 

“Why do you think I started doing it this way, Granger?? You think the ministry gives a damn about attacks on a death eater’s home?”

“He’s defenseless!” 

“Fine, I’ll give him his wand back if he wants a fight. It won’t make a difference.” 

Her blood pressure was increasing steadily. Being alone in the dungeons with Draco felt precarious for the first time in months. 

“What’s the blood oath you took?” She asked, glancing at his left arm. 

Draco was occluding so severely that she couldn’t tell if the question impacted him at first, but she felt his heart stop through her ring before rapidly thumping again in either distress or anger.

“Your blood status isn’t a concern here,” he said slowly, as though trying to control his voice. 

“If it wasn’t a vow about mudbloods, then what was it?”

“A poorly worded vow of loyalty to the Dark Lord. Seeing as none of us dropped dead the moment he did, and considering Severus’ actions, it was fraught with loopholes.”

She glared at him, wand still drawn. Draco’s was still neatly tucked in his holster. 

“You’re afraid of me,” he said flatly. 

“No, I’m not,” she replied, heart hammering. 

“I agreed to tell you if I accidentally saw something in your mind,” he said before breaking eye contact to glance at Romi. 

“Go upstairs, Granger.” 

“I can’t leave you to kill a defenseless man.” 

“You’re starting a war, Granger. You’ll need to develop the stomach for violence to endure it. Go.”

Hermione bit her lip. She didn’t exactly want Romi to be able to leave, especially if Draco was right and the ministry wouldn’t arrest him for this. But Draco’s clinical attitude was disconcerting. 

Romi groaned on the floor again, and Draco stepped up, pulling a vial out of his coat pocket and crouching down to Romi again as he did. 

“You can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he said flatly. 

“Thought you wanted to be a hero now, Malfoy. You’ll really kill me while I’m injured and defeated?” He gestured to himself dramatically, and Hermione noticed that his leg was bleeding heavily from a hex. He would probably bleed out soon. 

“You showed up ready to kill my wife. You lost at your own game. The poison is painless. Dueling me again won’t be.” He moved the vial closer to Romi’s face. 

Romi reached for the bottle, but as he touched it, he managed to silently summon his wand from Draco’s pocket, and flung a hex toward Hermione. Fire grazed her shoulder as she attempted to dodge the hex and threw back her own. His side opened up with burning boils as he screamed and began to aim at Draco. Before he could, Draco had violently thrown himself back into Romi’s mind as he touched his forehead. A few seconds later, Romi’s eyes glazed over and his body went limp as he collapsed dead. 

“What was that?” Hermione asked, feeling lightheaded as her arm began to feel sticky and warm. “Voldemort never did anything like that.”

“He didn’t appreciate muggle medical literature on the power of the mind over the rest of the body,” he replied dryly, still facing Romi before slowly returning to his feet. 

“So, you’ve done this before?” She asked, horrified. 

“No, that was a first. You mentioned muggle medical techniques in comparison to healers a while back, and it piqued my interest.”

Hermione felt lightheaded and took one step backwards, still clutching her wand as he turned toward her. His eyes widened and he took several rapid strides toward her, making her flinch as she backed into the wall again. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Granger,” he said as he drew his wand and hovered it over her injured shoulder. The stinging mellowed a moment later, and Draco returned the wand to his holster as his jaw tightened. 

“I don’t know what you’ll do at this point,” she snapped in a low tone. Grey eyes flickered back up to hers, and even though he was occluding, she thought she saw a glimmer of something as she felt his heart rate increase. 

The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she resisted the urge to avert her eyes again. 

“Go upstairs,” he hissed before turning back toward Romi and the other attacker’s corpses. 

“What are you going to do with them?”

“Do you really want to know?” He asked over his shoulder. Hermione hesitated before taking a step backwards toward the hall. She shook her head once and retreated up the stairs. Once she cleared the stairs into the kitchen, she started trembling and reached for a window to open it up for some air. Still locked. 

Her breathing became shallow as she suddenly felt claustrophobic. No matter how much air she tried to take in, it wasn’t enough, and her mind started to feel foggy as her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Draco apparated a few strides away from her, wand at his side and jaw tight. 

Hermione knocked over a stool with a clumsy step backwards upon seeing him. She pulled at the ring on her left hand, flinging it to the floor with a clatter as it dawned on her that he felt her panic. Then disapperated to her room with an abrupt Crack!

She collapsed against the wall behind the door and began to hyperventilate, her skin started to vibrate and there was a knock on the door. 

“Granger? Can I come in?”

“Go away!” She barked through a strangled breath. 

Something about the encounter set her off, but she had a hard time placing what it was. The dead bodies in this house specifically? The coppery smell of blood? The fight? 

It didn’t matter because she was in a blind panic, waiting out the feverish adrenaline washing over her as she dug her nails into her skin.

Another knock at the door, Hermione wasn’t sure how much later. 

“I said go away!” Hermione barked. 

“Hermione, I’m coming in.” 

Astoria?

The door opened just enough for Astoria to limp through. Hermione was only able to register fragmented movements as her vision struggled to focus. 

Astoria knelt in front of Hermione and held out a vial. Hermione shook her head violently. Her hand was suddenly gripped surprisingly tightly by a cold hand as the vial touched her lip. 

Hermione sputtered and choked in surprise as the liquid spilled into her mouth, interrupting her strangled breathing. As she coughed, some of it fell out of her mouth and onto her knees, but enough of it made it down that the effects of the calming drought took over. Warmth flooded her as her body relaxed. 

Astoria gripped Hermione’s other hand tightly and sat in front of her saying nothing until Hermione spoke up. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she mumbled, avoiding eye contact with her friend. 

“Consider it payment for all the times you’ve seen me in worse condition,” Astoria smiled kindly, and Hermione noticed that she appeared to be in better health than she had been in weeks. Her cheeks were pink again, and her blonde hair was neatly pinned up. 

“How did you get here?” Hermione asked as her voice cracked. 

“Draco,” Astoria replied, as though the answer was easy. 

“But he turned off the floo.” Hermione sputtered. 

“It does turn back on,” she replied with a teasing smile. 

Hermione retreated back inside her thoughts. 

“Someone broke in?” Astoria said flatly. 

“How would you know?”

Astoria shrugged. 

“Draco doesn’t lock access in or out for any other reason. Especially the floo since the ministry monitors that. I showed him a way to manually shut it down without alerting them.” 

“You knew about this??” Hermione asked with a hint of venom in her voice. 

“Of course,” Astoria replied. “You didn’t?”

“He mentioned it a few months ago in passing, but it’s hard to know when he’s serious. Also it’s entirely different to see it.” 

“True,” she nodded once and adjusted to a cross legged position. Hermione chewed on her thumb nail while Astoria waited for her to say something. 

“You don’t seem bothered by it,” Hermione grumbled. 

“Why would it bother me?”

“He apparently casually murders people in the basement, Astoria,” she snapped. 

“It’s not like it’s a hobby. He doesn’t like it. Those people are sent here to kill him and people he loves,” she shrugged. 

“There are other ways to handle things like that.”

“Like?”

“Handing them over to the ministry for one.” 

Astoria made a ‘pff’ sound.

“He did that the first few times, and they were released and came right back. One of them almost killed Narcissa. They released poisoned air into her corridor.”

Hermione bit her lip. 

“He’s worried about you,” Astoria said. 

Hermione scoffed. 

“I’m getting really tired of you refusing to believe that he’s a decent person,” Astoria snapped. Her tone was icier than usual. “He showed up at the flat and dragged me here, handed me a calming drought with hardly an explanation, and told me I had to come in here to check on you!” 

She released Hermione’s hands to use her own to gesture before crossing her arms. 

“Why?” Hermione asked. 

Astoria rolled her eyes as she made a hissing sound as she stood up. 

“Just once, I wish you wouldn’t assume the worst in him when something unexpected happens. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“I have your heartstrings,” Hermione mumbled. 

“I said tomorrow,” Astoria snapped. “The wands can wait.”

“Where are you going?” Hermione asked. 

“Draco,” Astoria snapped before disapperating.

It was late in the afternoon when Hermione heard a crashing sound next door. She scuttled to the door to Draco’s room and pushed the portrait open to lean in. It was strange to be there during the day.

“Draco?” She whispered. Under the doorway of the bathroom, she could see light poking through and hear water running. 

She tentatively stepped up to the door to knock. 

“Draco, are you alright?”

“Fine, Granger.” 

Hermione squinted, he didn’t sound fine, and his room smelled strongly of cinnamon. Something set him off and he was drinking again. She reached for the door handle and pushed the door open, and when she did, she saw blood in the sink. Draco startled. 

“You still haven’t—your hand!” she scolded through a stammer. The crashing sound was obviously a bottle that he had thrown on the tile, as the bathroom glittered with broken shards of glass. 

“What do you care? Get out,” he growled. 

“You need stitches. I can take you to—”

“No!” He barked. 

“Why haven’t you been to hospital yet?” She asked with a tinge of alarm in her voice. He looked pale. 

Grey eyes met hers, and he was so drunk he was struggling to occlude. His glassy expression flickered with exhaustion and anguish. 

“Where’s the blood replenishing potion?” She asked.

“There’s more on the desk,” he replied dryly. She rushed out of the room and ran to the desk on the far side of the room, littered with paperwork and books. There were two vials sitting there, and Hermione grasped both before rushing back to the bathroom. 

“Take one and follow me,” she said, handing him both the vial and a washcloth to hold down on the wound. 

Draco refused to look at her as he walked behind her toward the floo where they emerged in Diagon Alley. When they landed, he leaned on her in an unstable fashion, apparently struggling to stay standing as they made their way to muggle London and she flagged down a cab, requesting the nearest hospital. Once seated in the vehicle, he leaned his head against the window. 

Getting into the hospital was a blur. Hermione said something to a nurse at the front about Draco being drunk and cutting himself on some broken glass, and needing stitches, and in a few minutes they were making their way to a patient room. 

In an hour or so, his stitches were done. He occluded heavily through the entire process. Then Hermione silently altered the staff’s memories as they maneuvered back into the hall toward the lobby, allowing them to leave freely with minimal questions. 

The trip back to the manor was silent. Some of the liquor had worn off, and Draco now appeared slightly hung over. 

“Why didn’t you go earlier?” She asked him again when they stepped in the door. 

Draco stared off ahead, looking unnervingly fatigued. She wondered when he last slept. 

“Draco?”

“I don’t know enough about muggles.” 

“It’s not like they’ll try to kill you in a hospital,” she scoffed. Her words made him grimace. 

“Didn’t know how,” he said flatly before disapperating, presumably to his room. 

Hermione meanwhile felt guilt surge through her. Of course he didn’t know how to go about getting patched up at a muggle hospital. Astoria’s scolding of her earlier stung more. 

She gave herself a few minutes to collect herself, then appeared in Draco’s room. He was in the chair by the window, book in hand, and a full drink in the other. As though their recent ritual never existed. 

“I’m sorry,” she said as she landed. 

His eyes flickered to hers over the book he was reading, then snapped it shut. 

“Will this day never end?” he snarled. 

“It didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t know how to maneuver a muggle hospital,” she said with a shrug. 

“For fuck’s sake, I don’t care about that,” he said with an eye roll before draining his glass and pouring another. 

“You’re drinking again,” she said flatly. 

“You still have a working set of eyes. Noted.” 

She waited a few moments before continuing. 

“I’m sorry for my reaction earlier. I don’t know what set me off, just—”

The sound of glass shattering interrupted her. Draco had thrown his glass and pressed the bridge of his nose into his thumb and index finger as though suffering a migraine. 

“If you have a shred of compassion left just stop talking, Granger.” 

Her throat caught a little as she choked out,

“Why?”

“Because you’re apologizing to me after I scared the living hell out of you, and I can’t take it. The memory of it all is sufficient.” 

Hermione chewed on her thumb nail. 

“I adjusted the charms again on the rings,” he muttered as he reached inside his coat pocket for hers and reached out to hand it to her. His head was still distinctly facing the wall away from her as he did so. 

“You didn’t need to do that…” She said, feeling annoyed with his assumption. 

“It served its purpose,” he said, still holding out the ring which she hadn’t taken yet. 

“Not really. I have to see Montague again tomorrow.” 

Draco’s hand twitched as he held the ring, and he withdrew it as his jaw clenched. 

“It wasn’t bad,” she said. 

It was nice sometimes.

His mouth twitched. 

“Will they send anyone else?” She asked. 

“Probably not here. They likely don’t know anything, just suspicion and rumors. I couldn’t find anything of substance in his head.” 

Hermione grimaced. 

“Interrogation with legilimency is…”

“Effective.”

“I was going to say disturbing. But yes, I suppose that, too.”

He didn’t reply. After a few moments of silence, she found herself rambling again. 

“If your aunt was supposedly so good, I’m surprised she didn’t use it when questioning me,” she shrugged. She didn’t necessarily want to talk about Bellatrix, but considering Draco’s familiarity with the events and her subsequent nightmares at this point, it didn’t have the same weight as discussing it with anyone else. 

Draco’s eyes flickered to hers and his jaw tightened. 

“She tried,” 

“I’m not an occlumens,” Hermione corrected, shaking her head. 

“I lied when you asked me if I’ve ever performed legilimency on you,” he said before dropping his gaze again and taking a long drink. Her breathing became shallow as she considered what he was telling her. 

“You, I mean, what did—”

“Hard for two people to be in your head at once,” he said flatly. 

“But I don’t remember—”

“No, I imagine you don’t,” he said flatly. His face was blank as he sipped his drink. 

Hermione felt lightheaded and reached out for the desk chair to sit down. 

The two of them sat in silence for several minutes as Draco continued to drink. 

“Just get it over with,” he groaned. 

“What?”

“I don’t know, whatever lecture you’re brewing.” 

She blinked. What she had actually been stewing on was all these months he had insisted he did nothing to help her, when in fact, he might be the reason her sanity was still intact. Everyone else subjected to Bellatrix’s torture for as long as she was lost their minds; all these years most people declared it a stroke of luck that she didn’t. 

“Thank you,” she said flatly. 

His head snapped in her direction and his eyebrows bounced up. 

“Don’t thank me for that.” 

“Why?”

He stared at her in horror. 

“I’m… I’m tired,” she sighed. 

Draco blinked twice, and his jaw tightened. 

“I didn’t sleep well last night. But if you’d rather I leave, I’ll leave,” she said quietly. 

“No,” he replied, still occluding heavily. 

They both stayed still, neither willing to make the first move. Hermione extended an open palm. 

“Just fix the ring,” she said. Draco hesitantly reached out the hand that had been clutching it, and dropped it into her palm before withdrawing his wand. The metal was still warm from how long he held it. When he was done returning the rings’ original charms, she slipped it back on her left hand and felt his now familiar pulse, but it was faster than normal. 

She then reached for his hand, and he narrowed his eyes at her. 

“If you don’t come to bed I’m leaving,” she snapped. 

That seemed to do the trick. He stood up immediately, and she released his hand as he did, taking note of him flexing it when she let go as though to release tension. 

She averted her gaze as she crawled into bed in her robes, not daring to leave the room for sleeping clothes and risking a change in the air between them. She quickly pulled the covers over her head as he settled, but instead of hearing pages rustling, the lights went out. Draco shuffled so close behind her that she could feel his warm breath on her neck, and the cloud of cinnamon around him. 

When his hand tentatively touched the ends of her hair, she shifted closer to him, which appeared to be all the positive reinforcement he needed. He laced a hand into her hair at the base of her neck and shuddered, and his breathing became steady shortly after. 

Hermione on the other hand, took quite a bit longer to fall asleep. His possessive grip on her made her skin vibrate, particularly since she could still feel his breath on her neck. It was made exponentially worse when his other hand wrapped around her at some point and brushed his knuckles to her jaw as he slept. 

Not now.  

An eternity later, she fell asleep. 

Chapter Text

February 3, 2014

“So, lunch today?” Montague asked as he loomed over her desk. Hermione glanced at his covered left forearm, and he pretended not to notice. 

“Tomorrow might be better,” she said briskly as she dipped her quill in ink. 

“I’m thinking today. You’ve evaded me dozens of times by now. I don’t trust you.” He was trying to be lighthearted, but Hermione could sense his irritation. 

Unable to think of another excuse, she nodded. 

“Fine. Leaky at two,” she said before waving him off. He nodded once as he thrummed his fingers on the edge of her desk before vanishing again. 

When two o’clock rolled around, Hermione looked around briefly, seeking a reasonable excuse to stay. But there wasn’t one. Her pulse quickened when Montague appeared in front of her. 

“Ready?” He said, gesturing for the floo.

Hermione nodded. 

“One moment.”

She leaned over and scratched a quick note on a piece of parchment. 

Out for a lunch meeting. 

-H. Granger

Montague was reading over her shoulder. 

“Is that what this is? A meeting?”

Hermione met his gaze steadily as her pulse quickened in her ears. 

“Is it not? You had questions about my volunteer work. Unless you had other implications?” 

Montage’s jaw tightened as he reached for her hand. 

“Let’s be off then!” He said brightly, dashing an arrogant smile. 

When they arrived at Leaky, Montage secured a corner table and gestured for her to sit. Once she did, he obnoxiously chose the seat directly next to her. 

Develop some tact, you blithering idiot. 

Hermione nodded briskly before pulling a handful of notes from her bag and adjusting her chair so that it was a bit further from him. 

“As you know, I’ve had a number of lawsuits against the ministry for elf welfare. What else would you like to know?” 

“What were you doing in France?” He asked, playing along. 

“They are about ten years ahead of us on that front. Their elves still aren’t technically allowed to be general citizens either. But their quality of life is significantly better than the standards in Britain.”

“Why were you traveling as a muggle?”

Hermione shrugged. 

“People tend to get nervous when they know it’s me coming to talk about potential trouble. My reputation at this point is great for leaning on the ministry, not so great when trying to subtly make contact with people.”

Montage interrogated her for an eternity. Though Hermione could tell that he wasn’t particularly interested in the work itself. He did obnoxiously use their seating arrangement as an excuse to ‘accidentally’ brush her leg a few times, and pretend that she had something in her braid so that he could remove it for her. 

A familiar face with silver hair peered into the leaky, and Hermione exhaled without meaning to before waving enthusiastically. 

“Draco! This way!” She waved, doing her best to play the role of an idiot in love. 

His eyes snapped to hers as soon as he heard her voice, and when his eyes landed on Montague, his back straightened and his appearance became glassy. 

Montague stiffened. 

Good. 

Draco calmly walked over and Hermione used the opportunity to jump up from her seat, practically having to crawl over Montague to get out from where he barricaded her. She politely apologized as she did. As soon as Draco was within arm’s reach, she clasped a hand in his and was met with a grip so tight she almost yelped. 

Just to make a point for Montague, she touched the side of Draco’s neck and leaned up to kiss him briefly as a greeting. He stiffened at her touch, but didn’t pull back. 

“What are you doing out?” She asked. 

“Yes. What are you doing out? Don’t see you around much,” Montague said flatly. 

Draco shrugged casually. 

“Needed to pick up more silver and toadstools, and figured I’d stop by your office before going home. But you were already out for lunch,” he replied, looking only at her. 

“We were in the middle of a meeting,” Montague said, implying that Draco ought to leave. 

“Oh, we’ve been talking for nearly half an hour. There’s really not much left to tell,” she replied. “Sit!” She said to Draco, opting to sit opposite Montague this time. 

After a few moments of stiff silence, Montague spoke up. 

“So, was it just for the moral, Malfoy?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sorry, most of us are having a hard time swallowing you dating her.”

Draco tipped his head. 

“My understanding was that you understood the appeal perfectly well.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose at suddenly being discussed as though she wasn’t in the room. 

“I’m right here,” she grumbled, sipping her drink as she did. 

“She and I work together. Have for years. And we’ve dated,” Montague said. Hermione swallowed the urge to scoff at the generous definition of ‘dated.’ 

“You don’t have our history, and if I remember correctly, you were never a fan of hers,” Montague continued. 

Draco’s eyebrows raised slightly, though he was still occluding so heavily that Hermione couldn’t begin to guess whether or not he was confused, angry, or just annoyed with Montague’s behavior.

“We all know it had to have been for moral. Makes you look good.”

Draco’s hand twitched, but no other indication that the words affected him. 

“So what if that's true? Old families have always been pragmatic with their pairings. You know as well as I. The new era has just changed the game. Granger doesn’t have a historical name, but she does have status and public likability.

Montague pursed his lips. 

"Well, considering this is purely pragmatic, I'm sure you won't mind that we resume our lunch," Montague said suggestively, turning back to Hermione, who scowled back at him. 

Draco's heart rate flickered erratically. When he didn't move, Montague glared at Draco again. 

"Is there a problem?" He asked stiffly before turning to Hermione again. "How was your getaway with Potter?"

“Harry and I were traveling for work!” Hermione snapped, irritated by the assumption that they were in cahoots with one another. 

Montague narrowed his eyes. 

“Sure,” he said snidely. 

“Oh, look at the time!” Hermione said briskly in an attempt to cut off the remainder of this conversation. “Draco, I don’t believe you’ve had a chance to meet Francie.”

Hermione was fairly certain she heard another grumble about Harry, coward, and maybe something about sharing? Neither man had moved, and when Hermione glanced at Montague, he suddenly appeared white. When she looked back at Draco, his head tipped slightly again, and his mouth turned up just a bit before he stood up and offered his hand to her. 

“Let’s get you back to work, love,” he said with a charming smile that was so unlike him that it was unsettling.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Hermione,” Montague said as she stood up. 

Not returning to work today, I see. 

“A privilege to be sure,” Draco said flatly before guiding her outside. She let go of his hand when they were out of sight, and he tucked his into his pockets when she did. 

“What was that?” She asked. 

Draco looked up at her. 

“We had a conversation,” he replied. 

“So, you got into his head?”

“Do you have a problem with it?” He asked, slightly irritably. 

“No,” she said, remembering the horror on Montague’s face and smiling to herself. “What’d you tell him?”

Draco blinked twice, and just looked at her, as though he couldn’t decide whether or not to confess. 

“He needed a reminder.”

“Of?”

“What I do,” he said with a shrug. 

He didn’t mean potions. 

They stepped inside.

Astoria opened the box carefully, examining each heartstring one at a time. 

“Will they work?” Hermione asked. 

She nodded lightly. 

“One of them is questionable. But the rest will work for sure.”

Hermione pretended to not notice Astoria glance between her and Draco, and suddenly wondered if the two of them had talked today. 

Draco was sipping his regular firewhiskey again, and didn’t so much as look up when Percy emerged from the floo a moment later. 

“What did I miss?” He asked cheerily. 

“Nine good heartstrings,” Hermione replied. 

Percy turned to Draco. 

“Any idea who sent the goons?”

Draco stiffened at the question, and Hermione snorted. 

“What??” Astoria snapped icily at Hermione.  

“You both are just stunningly casual about the murder in the basement,” Hermione grumbled as she reached into her bag for a notepad and pencil. 

Draco was distinctly quiet. 

“Why do you think I suggested this arrangement?” Percy asked with a dramatic gesture. “Want to know how much ministry protection you’re going to get once more of your nefarious work becomes public information?” 

He held up his hand in a zero shape. 

“Zero! That’s how much!” He hissed.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. 

“Whatever,” she said, trying to blow off the subject as she turned her face to Astoria, who was completely immersed in a notebook and making adjustments to her arithmancy equations to account for one of the heartstrings she had pulled from the box. Next to her was a nine inch stick of cherry. 

“What about the ministry?” Hermione asked, bracing for the answer. 

“Goblin steel artifacts now have to be inspected before any sale. A few families have been hunting their escaped elves trying to bring them back, and the ministry is refusing to stop them. Talk of Gringotts audits is back on the table already. And Goblins aren’t allowed in Diagon after banking hours anymore.”

“Bloody hell,” Hermione swore. 

“The moment they find out about the wands, they will retaliate. There’s no question,” Percy said before turning to Astoria. “They know that, right?”

Astoria nodded slowly. 

“How many of them know about the plan to arm them with wands?”

“I’m not sure…” Astoria confessed. 

“That’s a problem. If too many goblins know, there’s no way we can keep it contained.”

“Maybe,” Hermione said. “They guard their metalworking though pretty strictly, and whatever their religion is. Based on that, it might be fine.”

The air was tense, and Percy poured a drink before sitting in the chair next to Draco since Hermione and Astoria shared the sofa. 

“Alright, when are the two of you going to shag and get it over with?” 

“Percy!!” Hermione cried, her face flooding with heat due to embarrassment and anger. 

Draco paled slightly, but didn’t otherwise react. 

“What?? You’re both insufferable and at this point you’re arguing about fucking nonsense.”

Hermione pursed her lips with indignation. 

“It’s not what we agreed to, and it’s none of your business!” She barked, unsure what else to say. Maybe if he made a pass at her when sober, she’d consider the possibility.  

Draco’s mouth twitched.

“You’re quiet,” Percy muttered, adding a splash of firewhiskey to Draco’s glass. 

“Indeed.” 

“Thoughts?” 

“Nothing to add,” Draco said flatly. 

“See?” Hermione snapped. Though suddenly she was reminded of Draco’s apology after New Year’s when he confessed to being interested in her. Did that count? It felt like it didn’t count. 

“Must be exhausting to be either of you,” Percy muttered with an eye roll. 

Astoria looked pained as she glanced between Draco and Hermione again, and Draco was refusing to look at her. 

Yep. They’ve talked. 

For the remainder of the night, the four of them discussed pleasantries, games, and light gossip until it was time to leave. Astoria pulled Draco aside at one point, and Hermione swore she heard her own name, and saw Draco shrug and shake his head. 

When the two of them left, the study was stiff and quiet. Draco was occluding and completely checked out mentally as he sipped his firewhiskey silently, and Hermione chewed on her thumb nail for only a few seconds before standing up abruptly and disapperating to the kitchen. 

She vowed to get back at Percy for that, and wondered when the silence would go back to normal with Draco because that was unbearable. 

When she landed, Narcissa was sitting at the table, staring absentmindedly with a cup of cold tea in front of her. Hermione considered disapperating again, unsure what to do with the old woman. Draco had demanded that she return to the safety of the manor’s wards after the other night, but Narcissa was unhappy about it. 

“Have you eaten?” Hermione asked. 

Narcissa ever so slightly turned her head from left to right with an almost imperceptible head shake. 

Hermione sighed, poured herself a glass of wine, then reached for a handful of raspberries and sat down across from Narcissa in silence. Her white hair was still neatly combed and pinned back, and her robes were neatly pressed, and she occluded so heavily that it was hard to tell that Narcissa had any emotion inside whatsoever. If Hermione wasn’t generally used to her presence and demeanor at this point, she may not have noticed anything was different. After about thirty minutes of silence and thoughts only, Hermione reached out for one of Narcissa’s hand that was resting near her cup, and covered it with hers. 

White eyelashes fluttered closed, and Hermione felt Narcissa’s hand twitch underneath hers, but didn’t pull back. 

Another fifteen minutes or so passed when Narcissa finally spoke up. 

“You don’t talk like everyone else does,” she said flatly. 

Hermione shrugged. 

“There’s nothing I could say to help.” 

Narcissa’s lips tightened. 

“I suppose.” 

After another long silence, Narcissa spoke again. 

“I hated him too, sometimes.” 

Hermione nearly dropped her jaw, but she made sure to not move a muscle. 

“When Draco took the dark mark, he was so proud,” her eyes glazed over. Hermione grimaced without meaning to, but Narcissa didn’t acknowledge it. 

“Traditionally you had to prove yourself before getting it,” she whispered. “Lucius didn’t understand Draco wasn’t given the mark before he succeeded with his task because of faith in the Malfoy name… I… I knew something was wrong, and he wouldn’t listen.” 

Hermione nodded. 

“I think Draco was always intended to be bait, to get Dumbledore to kill a student,” she said.

Narcissa’s eyes met Hermione’s, and she seemed to relent her occlumency, showing an ocean of grief. 

“If Draco had been more aggressive, would he have?” She whispered. 

Hermione felt herself stiffen without meaning to, and she opened her mouth to reply but the words were stuck for a moment before falling out. 

“I don’t know,” she confessed. 

“They were both wretched,” Narcissa hissed as she looked away from Hermione again.

“Who?”