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Chapter Text

The house-elf's eyes went glassy. Again.

Hermione watched it happen, the same way it always happened. One moment, Tilly was present, blinking, attentive, her bat-like ears perked forward. The next, something shuttered behind her big eyes, her focus dissolving like mist.

"Hey, Tilly, it's okay. You don't have to answer if you're not comfortable. I'm just curious," Hermione said carefully, worried that she'd send yet another elf into an emotional fit and then have to explain herself again to the overly cautious head of Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Augustus Thicknesse. He was the son of Pius Thicknesse, the old Imperiused minister, so Augustus was determined to restore his family name by being hyper-cautious and, in Hermione's well-formed opinion, paranoid about anything that could destabilize the new Ministry.

When Hermione applied for the job, he'd seemed almost reluctant to have her on the team. She suspected he'd only hired her because she was the so-called "Golden Girl." War heroine, brightest witch of her age, all those titles she'd never asked for. She hated every single one. She'd only ever done what anyone else in her situation would do, or so she believed. Just common sense and a few books she'd read, and of course, the impending doom of the entire world, so really, what choice did she have? She was just there, at the right time and under the right circumstances. She was sick and tired of being treated differently for it, but in this case, it had helped her land her dream job.

After finishing Hogwarts, she'd pursued political sciences at a muggle university in France, then her master's in Charms and Spellcrafting at the Norwegian Magical Institute in Trondheim. When she returned to England, she'd wanted to pursue a career at the Ministry and was always ever only interested in one branch of the government: the Magical Creatures Department.

Her S.P.E.W. days were far from over, despite Ron begging her to let it go. She was determined to find answers to the burning questions she'd had since her youth. Currently, she was happy with the opportunity given to her. Would she like more resources? A boss who took her seriously? Friends who supported her? More time in a day? Yes. But she also knew she just needed one teeny tiny breakthrough and she'd be able to show everyone she was onto something, even after all those years. So she'd work hard and prove everyone wrong, just like she usually did.

Except this was the forty-third elf. Forty-three interviews. Six months of work. Forty-three blank stares. Forty-three dead ends.

Tilly blinked a few times, then refocused her gaze on Hermione and said, "Tilly is so happy to help Miss Hermione, but Tilly forgot the question."

"It's okay, Tilly. We'll talk again soon. I think it's best you head back for now."

"Thank you, Miss Hermione! I's will go back to Master ..." Before she could finish, Hermione said "Oh remember, no names. I have to remain unbiased for the project, I can't know which house you serve, sorry Tilly." "No, no! Tilly is sorry! I remembers for next time, promise! Good bye Ms Hermione!" And with a pop of Apparition, she vanished from the chair.

Hermione let her head fall forward onto her too-small, paper-crammed desk with a dull thunk. Her small office overflowed with parchment and books. She had a running joke with Harry, that one day she'd be buried alive under an avalanche of research materials and no one would find her for weeks. Luckily, Harry stopped by each day for lunch to drag her to the canteen.

"Rough day? Again?"

"Hi, Harry," Hermione mumbled between her hands, hidden beneath her mane of curls that spread across the table like a fuzzy blanket.

"Let's eat. You can tell me all about it." Another grumble came from the mound of hair Hermione was hiding under. "C'mon, Mione. I'll split a Danish with you?"

"Can I have my own?" Hermione muttered without lifting her head.

"Yes, I'll even go pick it up while you sulk at the table."

"Deal!" Hermione jumped out of her chair, straightened her skirt and blouse, and linked arms with Harry. She loved their lunch dates. She vented about her failed attempts to interview house-elves and he bought her Danish pastries.

They settled into their usual table in the Ministry canteen, Harry disappearing briefly to procure their food. When he returned with two Danishes and coffee, Hermione was already pulling out crumpled parchment from her robes.

"Have you thought of finding a different cause? You've been at this for so long without any results. Perhaps it's time to call it and move on?" Harry asked as he slid her coffee across the table.

"You don't understand, Harry. They've not been ABLE to tell me anything. Something is stopping them from answering questions related to leaving their masters or finding other work. I don't know what's causing it," she said as she took a sip of hot coffee, "but I will get to the bottom of it. I just know there's something else to it."

Harry's expression was sympathetic but confused in that way that meant he wanted to understand but couldn't quite grasp why this mattered so much. "Maybe it's just how they're made? Like how owls know to deliver post, or..."

"It's not the same." The words came out sharper than she'd intended. Hermione took a breath, wrapping both hands around her coffee mug. This wasn't Harry's fault. He'd fought beside her, bled beside her, nearly died beside her. "Sorry. I just... Dobby could talk about it. Dobby wanted freedom, desperately. He fought against his own magic to get it."

"Dobby was different," Harry replied quietly.

"Exactly. Why? What made him different?" Hermione leaned forward. "I've interviewed forty-three house-elves. Not one can maintain coherent thought when discussing self-determination. But Dobby could. Winky struggled with freedom, but she could at least conceptualize it."

Harry leaned forward too, and she loved him for it. For trying, even when he didn't really get it. "What's your theory?" She could see his Auror training kicking in, itching to solve a mystery.

"I think it's not natural." Hermione kept her voice low, glancing around the canteen. "I've been compiling evidence for six months. Margin notes in library books, old Ministry records, most of them partially burned or water-damaged. They speak of ancient spells, things that shouldn't exist." She leaned closer. "I think someone did this to them. A long time ago. Like the Ministry, or whatever form of government existed at the time."

"Did what?"

"Bound them. Magically. Not just to families or service, but to the very concept of servitude." She tore small pieces from her Danish, not eating them. "Think about it. They can't accept clothes without permission. They punish themselves for disobeying. They can't even think about freedom without their magic interfering. That's not nature, Harry. That's a curse."

Harry was quiet for a long moment, his green eyes studying her face. Then: "If what you're saying is true, then there must be a counter-curse."

There it was. Why she always found it easier to confide in Harry. No matter what topic she brought to him, even if he wasn't on the same page as her, he would listen and try to understand.

With Ron, the conversation always ended the same way. She could still hear his voice from the last time she'd tried to discuss this with him: "Mione, even to this day, you simply don't understand some things in our world. There isn't always a reason. Some things just are."

Some things just are. As if centuries of enslavement were as natural as rain.

She loved Ron, but she'd never forgive that sentence.

As they ate, Hermione got lost in her thoughts. Talking about her research with Harry reminded her of a piece of parchment she'd pulled from the Archives, from the section of "Most Ancient Spells." She suddenly shot up. "Sorry, Harry, I have... the parchment, it has a... I have to go! Thank you for the Danish, my treat next time!" She ran to the lift that would take her to the cramped little office and, if she was right as she usually was, one step closer to the truth.

She closed the door to her office and took a steadying breath. A frazzled approach wouldn't help. She remembered her father's words when she'd get too excited about something as a child: "A steady head wins the race." Guilt started creeping up her spine, but she quickly pushed it down, not ready to unpack that yet.

Looking through her files, she found the parchment. Written in Old English was the passage she'd nearly overlooked the first time:

...and thus the Binding was wrought in accordance of the Septenary Rite, that no creature born of lesser magicks might rise against those who wield the Elder Art. The architects of this Great Work did inscribe the fullness of their labour in the private collections of their Houses, that the knowledge be preserved among the bloodlines who commissioned it...

She finally had it. The first real clue, and it led her straight to where she might find the rest.

Malfoy Manor.

"Well..." she whispered. "I hope he's still not a pompous git."

She determinedly pulled out some fresh parchment. Draco Malfoy, sole heir of the manor and, from what she'd heard, a social recluse. She didn't know anything about his life or what he did, and she prayed to Merlin and Morgana that he'd grown out of their childhood animosities. Yet she knew that radicalized ideas and prejudice didn't disappear overnight, so she had to approach this cautiously and professionally.

And she was anything but unprofessional.

She picked up her quill and wrote carefully:

Mr. Malfoy,

I am writing to request access to the Malfoy family library for research purposes related to my work at the Ministry of Magic, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

I have reason to believe your collection contains historical documents pertaining to ancient binding magic, specifically, spells enacted during the medieval period that may have affected magical creatures. This research is part of an official Ministry investigation into the origins of certain magical practices.

I understand this is an unusual request, and I would not ask if there were any alternative sources available. I assure you my interest is purely academic and any information I uncover would be handled with appropriate discretion.

I am available to discuss the specifics of my research at your earliest convenience, should you wish to know more before granting access. I would, of course, treat your family's collection with the utmost respect and care.

Please send your response at your convenience.

Respectfully,

Hermione Granger
Junior Researcher, Dept. for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures
Ministry of Magic

She read it over three times, changed two words, then read it again. Finally, she rolled the parchment, sealed it with a Ministry seal, and flung some Floo powder into the small fireplace by her desk.

"Deliver to Malfoy Manor," she said clearly, feeding the letter to the green flames.

It vanished with a soft whoosh.

"There. It's done," she thought, as she immediately wanted to call it back.

There was an almost indiscernible swooping sound as something flew out of Draco's fireplace and onto the soft Persian rug of his office. He carefully put down his favorite ink pen. Something he thought was much superior to writing with a quill and far more sensible, if you asked him. He walked over to see who in the world would be sending him a letter through the Floo network.

"Ah, the Ministry," he muttered, expecting some sort of donation request or another.

Since he'd taken over as master of the manor, people had been incessantly asking for his money for one cause or another. And he obliged, happily and generously. Quietly. It was the least he could do.

As he opened the sealed envelope and read the letter silently, a small smirk curved his lips.

Hermione Granger.

Of course it was.

He'd wondered, sometimes, what had become of her. The Golden Trio was everywhere in the papers for the first year after the war. Then Potter had joined the Aurors, Weasley had gone to work at that joke shop, and Granger had... disappeared. To France, he'd heard. Then Norway.

And now she was back, working at the Ministry.

Still trying to save the world, then.

Interesting.

Draco walked to his desk and pulled out fresh parchment. "Tilly?" he said softly.

"Yes, Master Draco?"

"It's just Draco, remember? Please deliver this to Ms. Granger."

He watched Tilly excitedly clap her small hands before accepting the letter. "Right away, Master Draco," and with a pop, she was gone.

Chapter Text

It was 5:45 am.

Hermione was sitting in her favorite armchair, knees folded up to her chin, staring intently at the letter on her coffee table. Crookshanks was sleeping curled up on the sofa, there was a soft sound of crackling fire and the painfully obvious lack of freshly brewed coffee.

Her morning rituals were sacred. It was the only time of the day when she solely focused on herself. There was so much to do in the world, so much to learn, and so many magical creatures to help. Then, despite finding it difficult to make friends at school, she'd somehow acquired a menagerie of those as well, mostly thanks to a troll and, well, the war.

They needed keeping up with. Letters to those living abroad, weekly pub gatherings for those at home, birthdays, special events, game nights, lunch dates... She was dedicated, loyal, and always productive.

So, mornings were her time, she carved it out and made it work. She would get up at 6am, cuddle Crookshanks before giving him breakfast, do some yoga and then curl up with her favorite book to drink her coffee before getting ready for work.

This time was for fun, relaxation, indulgence. It was a "no work" zone and time. Her mind would flip and switch precisely at 7:30am, as she stepped into the Floo and gave herself over to work, and friends, and the world. Until then it was "me time" and no one, and nothing, disturbed it.

Until this morning.

Sans coffee, still in pajamas, teeth and hair brushing forgotten, she stared and stared at the cursed letter. Bollocks.

She was going to open it, of course she was. She looked over at Crookshanks. Had she fed him yet? She'd get to it in a minute.

"Okay, don't be a moron, it's just a letter. Maybe a rejection, maybe not. You rode a dragon for Circe's sake, you can open a letter!" she quietly gave herself a pep talk.

Yesterday, after lunch with Harry, she'd sent that damned request to Malfoy and he'd replied within a few minutes of receiving it. To top it all off, a house elf delivered it. And not just any elf.

"Miss Hermione! Tilly is back! Tilly has a letter for Miss Hermione! Please, take it."

"Oh, Tilly, um, thank you," Hermione said as she carefully took the letter. Who was sending her house elves with letters? It had only been a few minutes since she sent her letter to Malfoy. Surely not already... she thought as her eyes dropped down to the seal.

Malfoy.

Of course. A reply within minutes. Okay, so that's how it was going to be, she thought as anger steadily rose in her. After yesterday's dead end with Tilly, she'd hoped for one peaceful morning before diving back into the frustration.

She'd sent a perfectly professional request, and he thought it SO ridiculous that he didn't even take the time to reply properly! Her hair, as if suddenly electrified, bounced up and down as she started pacing her small office. Three steps this way, and three back. She crossed her arms over her chest as she fumed, thinking he'd probably jotted down a big fat NO on a parchment before sending Tilly over to rub it in her face even harder, that sniveling little ferret of a man! Ugh! She sat down with a thump and stuffed the letter angrily into a drawer without opening it. "I'll think about that tomorrow," she snapped as she picked up a memo and pretended to read it.

She tried being productive the rest of the day, she really did. But every time she reached for a file or picked up her quill, her eyes drifted to the drawer. By 5pm, she gave up. She pulled the letter out and stuffed it into her beaded bag.

That night, she slept fitfully. Every time she closed her eyes, she imagined his response. Rejections, mostly. Cruel ones. She could practically hear his voice from school: sneering, mocking. She thought of other words too, ones she'd heard plenty of times from his mouth. Ones that had been carved into her skin by his aunt while he stood there, staring.

With a final sigh, she picked it up and slowly opened it. She read the first line. Blinked. Read it again.

Dear Ms. Hermione Granger. Not "Granger." Not "Miss Granger." Hermione.

She shook her head and kept reading.

My home and my library are at your disposal for your research. No tome will be kept from you and I will gladly help with retrieving anything you'd need.

I will visit your office tomorrow morning to discuss a schedule and to establish a Floo connection, if you so please.

With warm regards,
Draco Malfoy

Hermione stared at the parchment. Read it a third time. This wasn't a rejection. Or mockery. This was... "What is this?" she said aloud to her empty flat.

Her eyes widened as she looked over to the grandfather clock she'd kept from her old home, her mother's prized family heirloom. 7:15am. She'd been staring at this letter for hours, and now she would be late!

"Bloody hell!" She sprang up to run to the bathroom, stubbing her toe on the corner of the sofa. "Merlin's saggy left..." she cut herself off as she jumped on one leg while holding her pulsing toe.

Crookshanks simply opened one eye, closed it and rolled back into a doughnut to continue his morning nap.

"Gods, can this day get any worse?" she muttered as she pulled on a pair of jeans. Jeans might not be the most professional attire, but she had no time to reconsider. She put on a periwinkle blouse and tied her hair with a matching ribbon. She stepped into a pair of beige pumps before chucking powder in the grate as she prepared to floo.

The day could get worse, and it would. She'd be a jittery mess the whole day, anticipating the moment Draco bloody "Dear Hermione" Malfoy would prance into her office.

And what was all that no tome will be kept from you and I will gladly help with retrieving anything you'd need about? Who was he, and what had he done to Draco Malfoy?

At exactly 7:30, she stepped through the Floo in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, proud she'd made it on time as she walked briskly to the lifts, determined to have a quick, professional meeting and to keep a level head. To her dismay, she spotted Cormac McLaggen waiting for her, again, and holding the lift door. This day was just a steaming pile of dragon dung, she thought as she politely said, "Good morning, Cormac. Fancy meeting you at the lifts again."

"What can I say, I cherish each serendipitous moment we chance a meeting."

Smugg asshole.

"Yeah, um, nice. Listen, Cormac, I'm in a rush so um..."

As she was about to push past Cormac, who most definitely didn't need to crowd the lift door so much she had to squeeze by him, she heard a familiar voice.

"McLaggen." Draco's voice was cool, measured. "When a woman says she's in a rush, the appropriate response is to step aside, not to crowd her further. I suggest you do so. Now."

Hermione froze and turned. McLaggen mumbled something and shuffled aside, and Hermione found herself meeting Draco Malfoy's gray eyes for the first time in three years.

He looked different. Taller, tired. His posture was straight, his expression unreadable.

"Ms. Granger," he said with a small nod. "I apologize for the early hour. Might we speak in your office?"

Chapter Text

She was slightly embarrassed with the condition of her office as she welcomed Malfoy inside and took a few piles of parchment and a couple of books from the chair so he could sit across from her desk.

"Ahem, sorry, please take a seat, Mr. Malfoy," she said, sitting down across from him. Saying Mr. Malfoy made her cringe, but she had to keep it professional. She couldn't very well call him ferret, git, or worse, Draco!

"So..." He began, reluctantly. "Ms. Granger, I am quite curious about this ancient binding magic you mentioned in your letter to me. Could you tell me more before we arrange a visit to the Manor?"

She was a bit peeved Malfoy started the conversation. However, for a few seconds, all she could do was stare across her desk at the adult version of Malfoy who was just there. Sitting, all polite and collected. Her shock must have been etched on her face so obviously that he did what she should have done and took it upon himself to start the meeting.

After clearing her throat, she began to explain the circumstances for needing his assistance.

"Yes, sorry. So, as I mentioned in my letter, I've been researching house elf servitude for the Ministry. I know that sounds... idealistic, given how S.P.E.W. went at school. But I've found something concrete this time. Evidence that their servitude might not be natural, but rather the result of an ancient curse."

"Every elf I've interviewed becomes cognitively impaired when discussing freedom or choice. It's as if something in their magic prevents them from even conceptualizing it."

She observed as Malfoy jotted down short notes on his personalized and frankly beautiful notepad. "Sorry, is that a pen?" she almost screeched.

"Um, yes, I..." Malfoy looked up from his notepad to Hermione and then back to his pen, looking like he'd been caught sneaking a sugar quill into McGonagall's lessons.

"Oh, well, no matter. What was I saying?" Blushing ever so slightly, she continued. "Oh yes, I found a reference to something called the Septenary Rite in the Archives. An ancient binding spell from the medieval period, commissioned by seven prominent bloodline families. The documentation of such magic would have been kept in private family libraries, and yours is the most comprehensive collection still intact. I need to see the original spell work to prove what was done to them."

She figured there would be no harm done in revealing what she was onto. If he disagreed with her purpose because of his backwards views on muggles and lesser magical beings, then at least she'd know right away and find a different solution. And if he was genuinely interested in helping, well then...

No. That would be impossible. For him, this was certainly all strategic.

In any case, she didn't care about his motivation.. She needed his library, and as long as he played along and didn't call her a mudblood, she'd be willing to work with him. And if he did step out of line, she grinned internally, she'd just sic Crookshanks on him…

"So as I was say... Oh no, oh no, no, no!" Crookshanks.

"Is everything alright?" Draco asked cautiously, probably thinking she'd gone completely barmy.

"Sorry, well, no, never mind... Well, actually," she began, her voice rising an octave or two. At this point, she figured he deserved at least some kind of explanation for her very atypical and frankly unprofessional behavior. "...today didn't start very well for me, um, I didn't have my morning coffee and I think... I think I forgot to feed my cat." She finally admitted, a strong blush now rising up her neck and cheeks. So much for being professional.

"Oh, I see. Could it be that it's the same cat you once had at Hogwarts? What was his name again, Crickshank?" Malfoy tried and failed.

She gaped at him. "It was Crookshanks, and yes. He's a half-kneazle so they live very long lives, if you must know," she snapped, realizing that was probably too harsh.

"Apologies, this is certainly none of your business, so let's get back to the agenda," she quickly added, hoping he didn't notice her initial tone, quietly promising herself that she'd Floo home at lunch to feed Crook and give him an extra treat as an apology.

"No need to apologize. Animals become part of our families, so I understand your distress," he simply said and added, "For me, I can't go without my morning tea, so I completely relate." She noticed a small curve to his lip. Was he... smiling? Was this small talk?

"Forgive me if I am being too forward," he continued, "but my house elf, Tilly, probably wouldn't mind popping in to feed Crookshanks." He enunciated the name very carefully, almost like he was apologizing for making a mistake in the first place.

"Tilly?" He called softly, before she could make up her mind and say no.

Tilly simply popped into existence. Apparition was still one of the magics Hermione admired the most, and she was always in awe of the ease with which the elves Apparated. She always felt like being sick and preferred the Floo.

"Master Draco, what is it that you is needing?" Tilly asked as she bowed deeply.

"It's just Draco, remember?" Malfoy said with a soft smile. "Ms. Granger here is in a bit of a predicament. Would you be so kind as to go by her house and leave out some food for her cat?"

"Oh, of course! Tilly loves to help Ms. Hermione! What is being the address?" Tilly asked excitedly.

Hermione stared with disbelief at this interaction, and before she could stop and think, she mumbled her address to Tilly, who popped out of existence as if it were the easiest thing in the world. She was probably at her house feeding Crookshanks already.

Would you be so kind, and it's just Draco, remember, echoed in her mind as she stared at Malfoy.

He seemed to have noticed and continued "Well, you see, Ms. Granger, after the war I took over the manor. Since then, I've come to a similar conclusion as you, regarding my own house elves. It, ah, became bothersome to be called Master, as I've rarely ever felt like I had any control or mastery of anything, so to speak." He coughed and cleared his throat before continuing.

"So I asked them to call me Draco. They never do. They just ignore my request. I have never issued it as an order, which I suspect would work. However, I have not given a single order to my elves since I was at Hogwarts, so forgive me for not being able to confirm whether this theory that they are under a spell, or a curse, is in fact true by testing it out."

"You can see why I am quite keen on finding out if what we both seem to think is true, so I will offer any assistance you need, and all the resources I can, even beyond the use of the library. So, would..." he paused, looking at Hermione's face. "Would that be agreeable with you, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione realized she was staring at him, again. Eyebrows raised. He was... offering help. Genuinely. She was trying to reconcile this man with the boy who'd sneered at house elves in school. An in depth analysis of Draco Malfoy would have to wait. Right now, she needed an action plan.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy," she said as she composed herself, a vision of professionalism and poise. "If we can agree to work together professionally and with mutual respect, I don't see why I wouldn't accept your generous offer." She pulled a fresh piece of parchment and started scribbling down notes as she spoke. It was all scribbles and nonsense, but it looked like she had it together. Probably. "I would like to start by examining your library and seeing if I can find anything on ancient binding spells, and then we can devise additional steps once we acquire the research material. I would also like to keep to my working hours, as I have a very strict rule about keeping work at work. It, um, otherwise gets very much out of hand. Would you be opposed to starting on Monday, at 7:30 am?" She straightened and looked at him

"Oh, not at all," Malfoy said, looking relieved.

She opened her mouth to start saying her thanks and goodbyes, but he cut her off.

"I would not dare make any presumptions about you, Ms. Granger, but I would like to add that the drawing room is located in a different wing of the Manor than the Library, and that I will be escorting you from the Floo to the library and back."

"I will also take care of my own business in the afternoon, so I can dedicate time to help you retrieve what you need. I hope that is okay with you?"

He spoke calmly, but she couldn't help but feel that he was nervous about mentioning the drawing room, almost as if he feared what it might do to her should she stumble upon it by accident.

Despite not trusting Malfoy just yet, she suspected this was something that genuinely bothered him. She couldn't help but remember staring at him as his aunt tortured her on the floor, watching his eyes glaze over as if he'd left his body behind, not able to participate consciously in what was happening in front of him.

There was nothing to be done, she knew this. His silence saved their lives. His inaction saved their lives. He knew it was Harry, yet he lied, knowing that if anyone figured it out, he would die with them. She pushed the memories of that night and his trial deep down, as this was not the time, nor the place to unpack any of that.

She snapped out of it and said, "Lovely, then I shall see you at the Manor on Monday, at 7:30 am. Please make sure your Floo connection is open." She stood up and added, "Thank you for your time, Mr. Malfoy. It was, a pleasure, and I look forward to our collaboration."

She forced the formalities out and extended her hand, immediately regretting it. Would he want to touch her?

The next moment, his large hand was gently grasping hers, his long fingers wrapping around firmly but not too firmly.

"The pleasure, I assure you, is mine. Until Monday, Ms. Granger."

She blinked in quick succession, watching him leave, then realized she still hadn't put her hand down. She'd just touched Malfoy, and it was pleasant. Normal even. His hands were soft, but the handshake was firm and confident, and they'd just had a normal meeting if you excluded her fit about the pen and her cat. Had she been wrong?

She sat back down at her desk and pulled out fresh parchment. Augustus would need to know about her new schedule. She'd be working remotely on Monday, possibly the whole week, depending on what they found.

Her quill hovered over the parchment. How did she explain this? "I'll be researching at Malfoy Manor with Draco Malfoy, who has mysteriously transformed into a polite human being who writes with pens and doesn't give his house-elves orders"?

No. Keep it simple. Keep it professional.

She wrote the memo quickly, sealed it, and sent it off.

When she returned home that afternoon, Crookshanks was indeed fed and happy, and she resolved to bring Tilly a gift to show her appreciation. She would most certainly avoid knitting her clothes, but a nice bouquet or a homemade pie would probably be alright, she hoped. She also couldn't deny that Draco helped her, just because. Over the years, she'd learned to trust her gut. And her gut was telling her that Draco Bloody Malfoy did a nice thing for you, like it was no big deal. She made one more resolution, on Monday, she would go to the Manor with an open mind.

In a few days, she was seeing Harry, Ginny, and Ron at the Leaky and she would have to tell them what she was up to. How would they react? She could already imagine Ron's reaction, but she had no idea what Harry or Ginny would have to say.

She wanted their support and understanding, but she didn't need it. This is how she always operated. Sometimes, people needed time to catch on to her plans, and sometimes they never did. But when Hermione held a firm belief, she would stick to it no matter what. And if she knew she could do something about an obvious injustice, she couldn't ever let it go. This is how she found her courage years ago, fighting a war that changed their world.

She stopped petting Crookshanks and rubbed at her temples. It was late, she was tired, she needed her bed, and a break.

Friday night couldn't come soon enough.

Chapter Text

They had barely sat down at their usual table with a pint each when Hermione blurted it out.

“So, I’m working with Malfoy. At the Manor. Starting Monday.”

Silence.

“I need his library for research. He’s offered to help and was surprisingly respectful and professional about it.” Her voice pitched higher. “And he said he’d escort me from the Floo and back so I don’t accidentally go to the drawing room. And Tilly fed Crookshanks...”

Ron exploded.

“I can’t believe you, Mione! It’s Draco bloody Malfoy, the enemy! He tried to kill bloody Dumbledore and let a bunch of Death Eaters into the castle, and you’re just going over like it’s no big deal!”

She had figured it was best to rip off the band-aid right away. She wanted their honesty and for them to remember the conversation before the beer kicked in. But Ron was always so impulsive.

“Ron!” she started, but Harry interjected.

“Listen, mate. We were all kids. I’m not saying he’s reformed or that he’s a good person. The way I understand it, this is Hermione’s only option, and he seems to be acting professionally. Dare I say respectfully? So, leave it. She’ll be fine. And, Mione, I can always go with you the first time if you’d like. Say, what’s this about Crookshanks?”

“But he’s a git! You’ll have to go back to the Manor, Mione, and he might be all nice and polite while at the Ministry offices, but what happens when you’re alone?”

“Ron, for goodness…” she started, but Ginny cut her off this time.

“Ron, you’re my brother, but you’re denser than a troll. Hermione fought in the same war as you, you dumbass. She’s more than capable of protecting herself, and do you think he’s really that thick to attack the Golden Girl in his home? How daft are you? He’s trying to rebuild his name, not send his own ass to Azkaban! If anything, he’ll be so nice to her she just might fall for his charms and into his bed.”

She finished with a smirk.

Hermione was staring at her, mouth open, then looked at Ron, who had the same expression on his face. That was when Harry and Ginny lost it and burst out laughing.

While Hermione joined in the laughter, Ron just muttered, “It’s not funny…” and took a sip of his beer.

Wiping the mirth from her eyes, Hermione said to Ginny, “You’ve lost your mind. There is no universe in which I’d fall for that ferret. He’s being nice because he has to, and perhaps he feels guilty. As he should!” She lifted her chin. “So I’ll let him play the part. All I need is the library. I don’t care about him, and I most certainly won’t be falling into his bed.”

Ginny looked at her, raised an eyebrow, and before taking a sip, muttered, “No judgment if you do. He’s really fit. A fit git.”

To this, Ron spat out his beer.

“Ginny, you’ve lost the plot,” Hermione said through laughter as she helped Harry with the Scourgify and drying spells.

After they calmed down and ordered some snacks, Harry shook his head and quietly said to no one in particular, “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what kind of person he’s become.”

He looked up at Hermione. “And I guess it really doesn’t matter as long as you get what you want.” Then he added with a smirk, “Like the books. And... other things.” Ginny high-fived him. They were, Hermione knew, annoyingly well-matched.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. “Et tu, brute? What is this obsession with me shagging Malfoy? Cut it off, you twats!”

“Please, just… I can’t take this anymore. Let’s change the subject,” Ron groaned. “Mione, just... just keep us in the loop so we know you’re safe, and if he does anything, you...”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll let you hex him into oblivion.”

“Right. Yeah. So anyway... um... what else is new? And pleeease let it be something boring,” Ron begged them.

Hermione took another sip of her beer as she observed her friends and listened to the conversation. She preferred wine, but this was tradition. They animatedly commented on the last Quidditch game Ginny played with the Holyhead Harpies and reminisced about their Quidditch days at Hogwarts.

Harry was steadily making his way to Head Auror, and Ron had taken over at the joke shop with George, which was really taking off. They sometimes played at the Burrow when the whole family met for dinner, but otherwise the boys lived vicariously through Ginny, who was absolutely amazing on a broom, as she’d always been.

Hermione never much cared for Quidditch, but she loved her friend and supported her by going to every game she played at home. She was proud of all of them and how each had found their own path yet stayed true to each other. Harry and Ginny were now engaged, and Ron had started dating Susan Bones. And Hermione... well, she wasn’t there yet, not romantically or professionally.

She played the slow game. She would eventually help pass one law, then another, until she slowly but surely changed the wizarding world for the better. And perhaps one day she’d get close to a seat in the Wizengamot, or maybe become Minister for Magic. It was important to dream, but she’d always relied more on hard work. And if the right person came along, they’d have to work hard right alongside her. That was why she and Ron never worked out. He wanted a family and a slow, cozy life, and she didn’t. At least not yet. First, she’d work hard and prove she was right.

Only this time, she had to rely on Malfoy to do it. Merlin help her.

“Enough about the game. Tell us how Malfoy fed your pussy cat, Hermione.” Ginny winked from across the table.

Hermione covered her face with her hands and groaned with frustration.

Apparition was out of the question as they all drank too much, so they Flooed from the Leaky.

Hermione stepped out of the small fireplace and immediately felt at peace. Her flat was small but cozy, tucked away on a quiet street in Muggle London. She’d chosen it specifically for its proximity to both the Ministry and an excellent bookshop she frequented on weekends.

The main room served as both a living area and a personal library. Bookshelves lined every available wall, stuffed with a mix of magical texts and Muggle classics. Her favorite armchair, worn and comfortable, sat by the window with a small side table perpetually holding a cup of coffee. Crookshanks claimed the sofa as his domain, a soft blue thing she’d bought secondhand.

The kitchen was barely big enough to turn around in, but she didn’t cook much anyway. A kettle, a French press, and an ever-present tin of biscuits were all she really needed.

Her bedroom was simple. A bed, a wardrobe, and more books stacked on the nightstand. The only truly personal touches were a framed photo of her, Harry, and Ron from Hogwarts, and the grandfather clock in the corner of the living room. Her mother’s clock, the one she’d kept from her childhood home before... well, before.

The flat was organized chaos. Parchment and research notes covered nearly every surface, but she knew exactly where everything was. It wasn’t messy, exactly. It was lived-in. It was hers. And most importantly, it was quiet. After years of war and chaos and sleeping in tents, she’d craved quiet above all else.

But there was one piece of parchment that hadn’t been there that morning. As she climbed out of the fireplace, she felt something crunch under her foot. A letter.

She knew it was from him without even looking at the seal.

Ms. Granger,

As requested, the Floo connection will be open Monday at 7:30 a.m. Please use Malfoy Manor, East Parlor to arrive. I will meet you there.

I’ve pulled several texts I believe may be relevant to your research and placed them in the main library. If these prove useful, we can expand the search to the family archives.

I look forward to our collaboration.
Draco Malfoy

P.S. Tilly reports that Crookshanks was quite pleased with his dinner.

She read the letter twice, her eyes going back to the P.S.

“Hm...”

A professional invitation, with a personal touch. Quite unnecessary, but thoughtful. His gentle reminder to his elf, It’s just Draco, remember?, echoed in her mind. He almost seemed sad when he’d said it, she recalled. He had seemed genuinely concerned about the drawing room, practically nervous to mention it.

She still had nightmares.

Maybe he had them too.

Hermione shook her head. She should stop thinking about him, she was tipsy and analyzing every tiny interaction, and trying to make sense of him now wouldn't get her anywhere. She needed more data for that, but right now she needed sleep and a sober-up potion.

She placed the letter on the coffee table and got ready for bed. She’d be polite and professional on Monday morning. In and out. No casual chats, no small talk, no sharing personal matters. None of that, thank you very much.

That was right. She was there to work, she thought as she drifted off to sleep...

And dreamt of libraries and gray eyes.

Chapter Text

It was 7:25 am, she noted as she looked at the fireplace.

Too early.

She turned away and went to the sofa to give Crookshanks a scratch and a cuddle before leaving him for the day. He was getting old, she assumed, because he was more and more inclined to nap in front of the fireplace and occasionally relocate to stare at the passersby from the windowsill on which she had placed a fuzzy woolen blanket so he'd be warm. He purred and pushed back into her hand, enjoying the head scratches, then put his head down again and went back to sleep. She loved him so much it hurt. She couldn't imagine a life without him. It was a long way away, she hoped, but there would come a morning when she'd have no one to say goodbye to before going to work.

Stop it, he's right there for goodness' sake, she thought as her eyes started watering. She sighed and took some Floo powder, then chucked it into the fireplace.

"Here goes nothing," she said quietly as she stepped through.

The fireplace she stepped out of was far grander than her own modest grate, all ornate marble and polished brass. She found herself in a room that was easily as large as her entire flat. The East Parlor. High ceilings stretched above her, adorned with intricate molding. Large windows let in streams of morning light that caught on the crystal chandelier overhead. The furniture was all deep greens and rich mahogany, pristine and clearly expensive. Quite beautiful, she could admit, even if it was much too much.

She was met by Tilly, who squealed, "Welcome, Ms. Granger!" and started dusting the ash off her.

"Hi Tilly! Thank you for helping, I think it's okay now," Hermione said as she helped brush the last soot spots from her sensible work robes, plain charcoal gray, practical, nothing special. Then she looked up and froze.

Malfoy was leaning casually against the doorframe, looking for all the world like he'd stepped out of some posh Muggle magazine. He wore a crisp white button-down shirt tucked into dark gray trousers that were held up by a black leather belt. His sleeves were rolled up to mid-forearm, revealing pale, surprisingly toned forearms. Black leather loafers, polished to a shine. His platinum hair was perfectly styled, not a strand out of place.

He looked effortlessly elegant. Comfortable in his own home.

Hermione glanced down at her practical work robes and sensible flats.

Tilly had offered tea and cake, and just as she was about to politely decline, he walked over with his hands still in his pockets and said, "Good morning, Ms. Granger, and welcome."

"Good morning, Malfoy, thank you for greeting me."

"My pleasure," he smiled and added "Granger." She realized she'd forgone the formalities and had fallen into their old school ways of calling each other by their last names. Better that than...

He took his hands out of his pockets and gestured to the armchairs.

She didn't want to seem rude by rushing him, so she took a seat and said, remembering Tilly's offer, "Tea would be great, thank you."

"Oh, Tilly! I almost forgot! I made you some cookies as thanks for feeding Crookshanks the other day." She put her hand in the small beaded bag she always carried with her. She saw his eyes widen as her hand disappeared almost to her shoulder into the beaded bag as she was trying to reach the tin of cookies.

"Please, take them." She finally pulled them out and saw Malfoy simply cock his head as he was observing her. "They're, um, mint and chocolate chip, my favorite. I hope you like them!"

Tilly's eyes watered, and she bowed deeply before saying, "Tilly will take them, Tilly is honored! Thank you, Ms. Granger, you are so kind. Tilly will go make tea now," she said through her tears as she wiped her eyes. Then she was gone with a pop.

"Sorry for being so informal, would you prefer Mr. Malfoy?" she turned and looked at him seriously, as if it wasn't her who just botched the whole thing. He was sitting, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped before him.

"Actually, I'd be glad to let go of the formalities." He looked up at her, his fingers intertwining as if he was nervous to hear what she'd say. "We've known each other for a long time, despite the circumstances, so... Um, I would prefer Draco, however, given our past, I can imagine letting go of old habits, or beliefs, would be, well... In any case, I don't expect anything."

"I, um..." she scrunched up her eyebrows. She wasn't sure she could call him Draco. That was a lot to ask, and they were supposed to have a strictly professional relationship. But so far the day was not going according to her "in and out, no casual chats, no small talk, or sharing personal matters" scenario, so she was not sure what to even say. But before she could make up her mind and form a coherent thought, he interrupted.

"Can I just? I would like to say something else, something long overdue if you would allow me to..."

She looked at him as he looked back at his hands. What was he going to say? Was he not able to work with her? Was the game over? Could he not pretend any longer?

No. She didn't think so. He looked tortured and nervous, not like someone about to break her down with insults. But he did look like someone who was about to break down.

She did promise to come here with an open mind, so she took a deep breath and simply said "Okay, go on" as she placed her hands on her lap and gave him her full attention.

Draco looked at her, with her back straight, her hands softly folded in her lap, her eyebrows slightly lifted, and her eyes boring into his with such intensity he had to look down at his hands again.

This was Hermione, as he knew her from school. Ready to listen so intently she wouldn't miss a thing. Terrifying.

He also wasn't sure if she wouldn't just get up the second he was done with his speech and leave. But he had no choice. If she chose to leave, at least the fireplace was near.

He didn't sleep all night, tossing and turning the words over in his mind to make this speech perfect, to make her at least not hate him anymore. He hated himself enough.

Ever since Harry and Hermione testified at the trial for him and his mother, he knew that this day would come. That he would have to face her and Harry at some point.

They were acquitted, completely free. Her words, although sharp and factual, echoed in his mind to this day.

Draco Malfoy recognized Harry Potter immediately when we were brought to the Manor. I saw it in his face. He knew. And he lied to his family.

He said he wasn't sure. That Harry's face was too damaged to identify. This was false. We had been in the same classes for six years.

His lie prevented Voldemort from being summoned. His lie gave us time. His lie saved our lives.

I will not testify to his character. I will not claim he acted heroically. When his aunt tortured me on the floor of his home, he stood there and did nothing. He watched. He was silent.

But his silence also saved us. Any attempt to intervene would have resulted in his immediate death and ours shortly after.

The fact is: we are alive because he lied. The fact is: he chose our lives over his family's approval. Whether that was courage or cowardice, I cannot say. But it was a choice. And it mattered.

He knew her words by heart, even after only hearing them once.

After the trial, he promised himself that he would do everything in his power to repair what he broke, or at least try. As soon as he inherited his father's fortune, there wasn't a charity that Narcissa and he weren't donating to, magical or Muggle. He kept to himself, unlike his mother. But his name still held power, so when letters came with checks, he simply signed them.

And when he received her letter last week, asking him to help with her cause, he was elated. He finally had the chance to support her, whatever the cause may be, and to do it in the eye of the public, instead of from the shadows of his home. To repay her, in some way.

He wasn't ready to step into society again, not even close. But for her, he would. She had saved him, in more ways than she knew. But before he could help her, he needed her to know. He wanted her to feel safe around him.

She was so twitchy around him as if she was constantly expecting him to hex or insult her. After that scene at the lift where he told off McLaggen for being a sleazy piece of dragon dung, she simply said "I can handle him myself" and didn't speak a word more until they reached her office.

He could live with her hate, but he wanted her to know she was safe. He would never let harm befall her again.

He sent Tilly to help with Crookshanks because he couldn't stand the fact that she must have been so nervous, or scared, or anxious to meet him that she forgot to feed her cat. He had to do something. He hoped that showed her he wasn't a monster, not anymore.

What he was, was a coward. He should have said something to her a long time ago, and he hoped she would listen and accept his apology. He hoped she would stay, work, and let him help. He wished she would not look at him as she was looking at him now, expecting the worst. Although how could she not when that was all she ever got from him? He had this one chance, and he would make every word count.

"I am, so deeply, deeply sorry..." He began. "For all I've said and done to you in our youth, and not just to you, to a lot of people, really. But especially you." He hung his head down again and shook it slightly.

Looking up again, he said, "I know you might not believe me or trust me when I say this, and you don't have to, nor do I expect your understanding or forgiveness. I want you to know that I regret my actions, my words, my old beliefs, every waking moment I have. I especially regret my... inaction... when you were here, tortured in my home. You were so brave, so brave."

"And I was a coward. I still am. I could have done this a long time ago, I should have."

He paused, ever so briefly, before continuing.

"I already knew, a long time ago, even if I had still pretended not to understand or believe, that all, if not most of what came out of my father's mouth about blood purity was bullshit. You were smarter than any of us, and more talented. It was so obvious. I was a bully, and I am so sorry, I was jealous, and a terrible person. There is no excuse.

In our sixth year, I noticed you looking at me differently, like you knew what I was going through. I begged Merlin and Morgana for you or Potter to figure out what I was doing so you could stop me. Kill me if you had to. But the horrors persisted, and I felt trapped in so many ways.

By the end, all I wished for was death, either mine or Voldemort's. I just wanted it to end one way or another, because living with that monster under my roof was hell. I am not saying this for your pity, and I don't want you to feel sorry for me. I deserved to live in that hell. It's just a fact. I remember wishing every night that Potter and you were somewhere out there, figuring it out, finding a way to end it. And you were, you actually were!

I never imagined you'd turn up here, and then you did, and I never felt fear as strongly as I felt it then. If I lied and they found out, we were all dead. But if I didn't, then you'd be dead, and so would be the last hope for it all to end.

So I lied, I resigned myself to the chance of death, and threw the proverbial coin hoping they'd believe me. And they did. You survived torture, you somehow survived all those horrors, while I just stood there and watched. You said so yourself at the trial.

I can never do enough, Hermione, never. I will spend my life atoning for my sins. I will donate my entire wealth and die a pauper if I must, and even then it will not be enough. It will never be enough.

I am a coward, and I am begging you to understand that my motivation is to truly help you. You have my undivided attention, all my resources, my time, my days, my nights, my respect and utter admiration, whatever you need.

Let me support this cause, truly support it, and please know you are safe here. I will never utter another word to you in disrespect because all I have for you is admiration and gratitude.

It will be my life's greatest privilege and honor to be able to help you with this cause. And if you let me, I will not fail you."

And just then, Tilly popped into existence with tea and cake.

Draco didn't know what to do with himself. He just sat there and stared at her as she blinked rapidly. Her eyes glossy as if she were about to burst into tears or start screaming at him in rage, he wasn't sure.

She tried composing herself and said "Oh, thank you, Tilly, um, perfect timing."

Tilly was enamored. He saw the way she looked at Hermione and hoped she would one day have at least a fragment of that respect for him. He had been horrible to her growing up, and he wanted to repay for those sins as well.

Perhaps the timing was perfect, he thought. Perhaps having something to do with her hands allowed her time to think, compose herself before she spoke. He was ready for destruction. He was ready to be torn apart, and he would take his punishment gladly.

"Okay, Draco," she said and paused. "Let's work together."

No forgiveness, no beratement, just a simple invitation.

He wasn't stupid. He saw what this was. Calling him Draco was almost as if she said, "You get one chance, the second you blow it, it's over."

He was going to have to work to earn her trust and perhaps one day, her forgiveness, although that was probably asking for too much. He would settle for her letting him help her. That was all he really wanted.

"Okay, um, thank you, yes, well. Let's get to it. I'll show you to the library. We can, um, take the tea with us."

He got up, completely flustered, and offered to take her tea. Before he could take her cup, she simply levitated it beside her as they walked out of the East Parlor and toward the library. For a second, he forgot they had magic and didn't need to carry anything, ever.

They walked in silence.

"Here we are," he said, standing in front of the massive ornate door. Dark wood, nearly black with age, carved with intricate serpents and vines that seemed to shift in the candlelight. The handles were polished silver, shaped like coiled snakes.

He had to push it open with both arms, leaning his weight into it. The hinges groaned in protest, a deep, echoing sound that filled the corridor. As the doors swung inward, he heard a sharp gasp behind him.

He turned to look at her.

Hermione stood frozen in the doorway, one hand pressed to her lips, eyes wide as saucers, trying to take it all in.

The library was massive. Impossibly so. The ceiling soared at least three stories high, disappearing into shadow despite the floating orbs of light scattered throughout the space. Clearly magically extended, the walls stretched far beyond what the Manor's exterior would allow.

Bookshelves lined every wall, floor to ceiling, stuffed with leather-bound tomes, some so old their spines had faded to illegibility. Rolling ladders were attached to brass railings, ready to reach the highest shelves. The center of the room held long wooden tables, their surfaces worn smooth by centuries of use, surrounded by high-backed chairs with green velvet cushions.

Arched windows on one side let in streams of morning light, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air. The smell of old parchment, leather, and ink filled the space. Magic hummed in the air, the particular presence of very old, very powerful books.

Sections were clearly organized, brass plaques marking each: "Medieval Charms." "Ancient Runes - Nordic." "Bloodline Magics." "Creature Studies."

In the far corner, a spiraling staircase led to a second level, and a third beyond that.

He watched her take a tentative step toward the door, her head tilting back to see the full height of the room. Her hand had dropped from her mouth, but her expression remained one of pure wonder.

"Is it, um, safe for me to enter?" she asked, still standing beyond the door.

Wait, what did she mean? Oh... the realization hit him.

"Yes, it's perfectly safe. I had the entire manor checked by curse breakers as soon as I inherited it. There isn't a single tome in the library that can cause harm to you, or anything in the manor, for that matter. You are safe here." With me, he wanted to add.

She took a tentative step into the library and said, "May I just look around for a bit?"

"Of course, take your time. I'll arrange the texts I told you about in preparation. If you'd like a specific title, just call for it and it will float down to you. To put it back, simply let it go and say 'go back.'"

Her eyes went wide and her mouth split into a wide smile, then she clapped her hands and excitedly said "How wonderful! What if I need a specific topic, genre, or theme? Can I get a selection based on keywords alone?" she asked with apprehension. She didn't want to be disappointed, he realized.

"Oh yes, you can just ask the bookshelf to provide you with books on any topic. Just make sure to tell it the number of books to send your way, otherwise it sends them all," he huffed and smiled when he saw her expression, mouth open. "I have a feeling I'll have to drag you to the table to do your own research," he risked a small joke.

"You know, you just might. I never saw anything like this before. Well, I did a long time ago. My favorite Disney princess, Belle, was gifted a library much like this one by a terrible beast. He was human, of course, but there was a spell. Never mind. It's just that I am in awe because it's like a dream!" She exclaimed, walking over to the books.

He didn't think she ever said so many words to him, ever. He found he liked it.

"Well, I'll go ask it for some titles and some topics we might need. Just to test it out... It is terribly convenient, isn't it?" She said, holding her chin and looking contemplative. He barely heard her. She was almost muttering, "So clever to have the library be almost sentient. Otherwise, you'd just spend days wandering it looking for a particular book. Imagine..." she laughed, to herself? "Going up and down the ladders just to find the book was on the first level! It must be a really difficult spell..." She was talking to herself, he realized. Adorable.

Then she turned around to look at him and almost yelled, "You simply must tell me about this spell one day, I want to charm my books to do the same!"

Still a swot. He held back a laugh.

"Um, sure." He had no idea how it worked or what spell it was. It was always like that. He'd have to figure something out.

She came up to one stack and said "I need books on the following topics: magical creatures, binding spells for servitude or books about servitude of magical beings and books on compulsory magic. Bring me five books in total, please."

She turned to him again, a smile plastered on her face "How was that?"

"See for yourself," he replied and motioned up with his eyes.

Five books floated down to her, and gently hovered while piling themselves neatly on top of each other.

"Huh," he walked over to her and said, "they never did that for me. Must have been the 'please' you added." He smiled and looked at her. She tilted her chin and looked up at him, her hazel eyes pierced his, and for a moment he forgot where he was, lost in the brief connection. Then she took them and said "Well, let's see what she brought us!"

"She?"

"Yes, your library is most definitely a she. Look at this level of organization, no man could ever achieve that," she smirked.

She was funny, and he learned he liked that too.

They put the books down on the table. The titles were:

Servitude and Subjugation: A Comprehensive History of Magical Binding Rituals by Cornelius Alhambra (1247)
The Septenary Arts: Multi-Caster Spell Work in Medieval Britain by The Consortium of Seven (date unknown, possibly 1000-1200 AD)
The Primordial Binding: Establishing Eternal Servitude Through Blood and Rune (author unknown, pre-1000 AD)
Compulsory Magic: The Art of Removing Will by Marius Blackwood (1134)
Binding Magics of the Elder Age: Theory and Practice by Morpheus Gaunt (1176)

"Wow, it's really good," Hermione concluded. "Let's see, you start with this one, and I'll take this one." She handed him The Septenary Arts while she took Servitude and Subjugation.

Straight to work then, he thought.

They spent the next four hours reading books, taking notes, comparing findings, and discussing possible theories. Well, she discussed, he listened and nodded, completely in awe of her mind. At noon, Hermione's stomach growled so violently she turned red from embarrassment. He wanted to laugh, but bit his cheek.

"Sorry, I get really lost in my work, and I only stop near starvation. I didn't realize that you might have a more rational approach. Are you hungry too? We should probably stop for today. What do you think? I'll head home for lunch, then I'll go through my notes. Would tomorrow at 7:30am work for you? I feel there's a book here with all the answers, we just need to figure out what to ask for," she stabbed the table with her index finger, as if making a point or a promise. He was sure she'd find it in a matter of days.

She explained her theories then asked him questions she didn't need an answer to. She talked. A lot. He liked that too, but he realized that apart from occasionally pointing something out, or answering her question, he mostly kept quiet. He was afraid to break whatever fragile thing this was. But that was rude. His mother would be mortified. He had to try.

"Excellent plan, I look forward to your return. Perhaps tomorrow, we can plan for lunch, and we can compare notes afterwards, together?" he risked it. He didn't want to push her to stay for lunch today, since she had already made up her mind, and he didn't want to scare her away. He did enough of that this morning.

"Oh, okay, yes, let's plan for it." She seemed a bit nervous about the proposal, but she didn't look disgusted with the idea of joining him for a meal, so he'd take that as a win.

He walked her to the East Parlor, and said "Thank you for hearing me out today, Hermione. May I call you Hermione?" realizing that he'd never asked her if she was comfortable with him using her given name.

She looked down at her hands and said "It's strange, I admit, but I don't mind." She looked up at him, looking straight into his eyes. "You may call me Hermione. I'll see you tomorrow!" and just like that, the green flames swallowed her and she was gone.

Did she just... run away?

She did not mention anything about what he had said that morning, nor did she comment on it at all during their time in the library. He wondered what she thought about it all, and if she'd even come back tomorrow.

He hoped she would.

But right now, he was on a mission. Something was bugging him since morning, but he was afraid to ask, as it seemed like it was supposed to be common knowledge. He never heard of Princess Belle of Disney, or a spell on her beast, and he didn't want to seem ignorant in front of Hermione if she brought her up again.

First lunch, and then he'd go find out who this princess was.

Chapter Text

I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

She walked into her office, thinking of the morning she'd just had. It was just as cramped as she'd left it. She immediately missed the space and comfort of Malfoy's library, even though she'd practically run away before things could get more awkward than they already were. She noticed a few additional memos on her desk, the nonsensical notes she'd made during her meeting with Malfoy, and two sad-looking houseplants on the bookshelf behind her. The plants definitely needed water, sunshine, and, of course, someone who cared.

Oops.

She made a mental note never to invite Neville to her office as she watered the plants and proceeded to conjure a small glowing orb with the Solaris spell. It hovered gently above them, providing a much-needed opportunity for photosynthesis. She could almost hear them sigh in relief.

She sat behind her desk and picked up the memos in hopes of distracting herself from what was evidently at the forefront of her mind and was not subsiding. What in the name of Beedle the Bard happened there this morning?

She glanced at her wristwatch. It was almost time for Harry to arrive, make a remark about her office, and drag her out for lunch. She couldn't wait to see her friend. She needed to let everything out and have someone give her some much-needed perspective.

Predictably, Harry swooped in and said, "Am I interrupting? Oh, look, you remembered you had plants! Are you trying to toughen them up?" He smirked.

"Ha. Ha."

"It seems you're hoping they'd build character, learn to live in scarcity just to appreciate you more when you finally give them some attention? Neville better never come around," Harry quipped.

She raised one eyebrow and pointed to the plants. "I am their benevolent master, and even conjured them a damn sun. They'd better be grateful."

Harry chuckled and said, "C'mon, the canteen is serving two pies today, shepherd's and apple. Let's get both!"

Hermione sat down at their usual table while Harry brought them lunch and coffee. The canteen was not as busy as usual, which was perfect given what she wanted to discuss.

"So, I can see you're dying to tell me how it was. Was everything okay? Was he acting like a troll? How mad should I be?"

"Actually, everything was so fine that I ran away once I realized it was lunchtime."

Harry had just finished taking a bite and said through a mouthful of pie, "Whatddya mean?"

"Well," she pushed her food around her plate, then looked up and said, "It was nice. He was nice. I liked being there and working with him." She put down her fork and placed both hands beside her plate, looking at Harry intensely. "Harry, he apologized, and did a fantastic job at it too, if I may say so. And what did I say? Nothing." She took up her fork again and pointed it at Harry. "He calls me Hermione, and wants me to call him Draco, like we're friends!" She raised her voice a bit, then looked around and cast a nonverbal Muffliato. Better to be safe than sorry.

"Oh, wow. Was he honest? I think I need a bit more context. How did this apology go? 'My sincerest apologies for being a git, let's be friends, tea?'" Harry mimicked Draco's cool and measured tone, but looked at her seriously, pie abandoned.

She knew he was making light of the situation because she was obviously in a state, but she could tell he was concerned and needed to know what had truly happened. So, she told him.

"He was honest, Harry. He was so honest that I said 'okay, Draco, let's work together.' I never addressed the apology. I never said that I accepted it, or that I would think about it, or that I forgave him. I needed time to think, so I agreed to be on more familiar terms and work together. At the end, when he thanked me for listening to his very long, heartbreaking, and incredibly dark apology, I basically ran away. Well, first I agreed he could call me Hermione, so I guess we're also friends now!" She dramatically crossed her arms.

"Okay, but what did he apologize for, exactly? He obviously had a lot to say, since you're all in a tizzy about it," Harry asked, brows scrunching, ever the investigator.

"Okay, so, I basically heard a confession and an apology. He apologized to me personally, first of all. For the way he treated me at school, for his views, and for his inaction during... well, the torture." She pushed her plate away, appetite lost. Harry had also stopped eating.

"He also told me a lot about what was going on in his mind as he was slowly indoctrinated into the Death Eaters, as well as that he'd known for a long time that all that blood purity talk was nonsense. It was all he knew for the longest time, and then even when he didn't believe it anymore, he had to keep it up. It was self-preservation." She looked down at her hands.

"He calls himself a coward, and he's basically vowed to do everything in his power to somehow repay the world, atone for his sins. He said some really worrying stuff, Harry." She looked up again. "Like, that he hoped we'd find him out in sixth year and end him so he wouldn't succeed. End his life, Harry. That was difficult to hear. He pretty much spent the seventh year hoping we'd find a way to kill Voldemort, or that Voldemort would kill him so it would be over." Her eyes watered. "He said he deserved the hell he was in."

"Bloody hell, Hermione..." Harry replied in shock.

"Right? I thought so too." She shook her head before continuing. "I couldn't help but feel sorry for him, then I felt guilty for feeling sorry for him! So you see how I got myself into a tizzy, as you say."

She sniffed and said, "I think what struck me the most was his remorse about how he did nothing when Bellatrix was torturing me. He said he decided to lie, hoping we'd escape, I guess, and that he resigned himself to death if they'd found out he was lying. I am not sure what to do with all that. He seems to have really changed... He said I saved him, in more than one way. I believed him, and I honestly want to forgive him," she wiped her nose with the paper napkin Harry passed to her, "but I'm scared that would mean I'm somehow betraying everything and everyone who fought and died in the war. That people would hate me for it!" The last words came through a sob.

She was fully crying now, her thoughts and feelings finally catching up with her. "We worked well together. I gave it a real chance like I'd promised myself. I enjoyed it, Harry," she said through tears. "He is smart and capable, and he was really helping. I got so much further in my research than I could ever have done on my own. And I feel awful about being happy about it, like I've broken some sacred rule, and I am scared I betrayed everyone. I can basically hear Ron's disapproval and disgust. What am I going to do?" She put her hands on her face and sobbed.

Harry changed seats, sat beside her, and hugged her tightly.

He let her cry.

"I'm glad he apologized," he said softly. "If the apology was as you say it was, it seems he's done a lot of soul searching, and he feels really deep remorse for his actions, or inactions, and beliefs. I'm sure it will make it easier for you to work together, knowing he's not harboring hate or disgust anymore, and I know I won't worry anymore about you being there."

She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him as he said, "Hermione, you are the most forgiving person I know. If you accept his apology and say he's a changed man, no one will question it. We didn't fight in this war just to get rid of Voldemort and keep everything else as it was. We fought, suffered, and died so the world would change for the better. And isn't this exactly what should be happening? That people would change how they think, how they act, what they believe?"

He took her hands in his. "Malfoy's apology is a testament to you, and to our victory. Accept his apology, or don't. But don't let your fears stop you from doing what you believe is right. I will handle Ron. He's a bit daft, but he'll come around." He patted her knee.

"I trust your judgment, and if you forgive him, I also forgive him. It's that easy. If you jump, I jump. We're always in it together, Hermione." Harry smiled.

Godric, she loved Harry so much.

She couldn't help herself. She started crying again and hugged him fiercely as a weight lifted from her. She knew he would understand, and that he would say all the right things. Having Harry on her side meant the world to her. She felt heard, seen, and most importantly, understood. Accepted for who she was, unapologetically.

Freedom. That was what they fought for. Freedom to be who you are. To exist. Freedom to change your mind, to learn, to forgive.

She pulled back from Harry's hug and wiped her eyes.

She'd already forgiven him, she realized.

Now she just had to tell him that.

Chapter Text

After deciding she would tell Malfoy she accepted his apology, she finally felt in sync again.

Balance was restored!

She was motivated to continue her research and had found that sorting her emotions helped bring back her focus on the things that mattered the most.

Despite her resolve, it was still uncomfortable breaching that subject, so she took a deep, steadying breath before stepping in and calling out the East Parlor of the Manor.

Malfoy and Tilly greeted her with tea and biscuits.

Today, Malfoy was wearing a black turtleneck that hugged his torso, gray loose pants with a black belt, and black loafers. He was wearing a distinctly Muggle wrist watch, she noticed.

... and he really was fit.
Damn you, Ginny!

She knew she didn’t need to dress up, but she decided that she needed the comfort and confidence of her favorite autumn outfit, so she made an effort.

She wore a fitted, long-sleeve turtleneck sweater in a warm chocolate brown color, high-waisted, tailored trousers with a checkered pattern in dark navy with thin beige and green lines, a black belt and black lace-up ankle boots.

To accessorize, she wore her “emotional support necklace,” which was her mother’s wedding band on a thin golden chain, and a drop of her favorite perfume.

“Hi Mal.. I mean, Draco. Hi Tilly, lovely to see you,” she smiled at Tilly as she dusted herself off.

“Welcome back, Hermione.” Draco inclined his head, and she noticed that his eyes swept over her. “Would you like to have some tea before we start?”

“Sure, I’d love to.”

After they sat down, Draco poured her a cup and handed it to her as Tilly exclaimed, “Tilly brings scones and lemon and lime jam for Ms. Hermione!”. She bowed and disappeared with a pop.

She has a knack for disappearing and appearing at just the right times, Hermione thought.

“You look lovely. Autumn colors suit you. Is that an engagement ring?” Draco said, sounding surprised.

“Oh gosh, this old thing!” she said, flustered after the compliment. “No, it’s, I’m not, no. Um, it was my mother’s,” she gently touched it, looked away, and then cleared her throat. She hoped he wouldn’t ask further questions.

“Right, um. Well, no point in delaying this conversation any further,” she said as she squared her shoulders.

He looked at her, scrunching his eyebrows in worry.

“I apologize for leaving so abruptly yesterday,” she looked him straight in the eyes and found him gazing back intensely.

“After your apology in the morning, I felt I needed time to process it all, but I apologize if it seemed I was indifferent or uninterested. To be honest, I was shocked and a bit stunned, so I hope you understand.” She put her hands on her knees to ground herself.

“So, what I’m really trying to say here, Draco, is that I accept your apology, and I forgive you,” she finished and exhaled.

She looked at his face, his eyes widened, then dropped as he looked at the floor. “I, I do not deserve your forgiveness, Hermione.” he looked at her, gaze piercing and unwavering. “I simply wanted you to know the truth. It’s not necessary,” he said softly.

“Well,” she huffed and straightened her back, “with all due respect, it’s not something you can decline. I made up my mind, and you’ll find that I rarely, if ever, change it when I am set on something. I started S.P.E.W. in 4th year, and I am still at it, so you do the math.” She lifted her chin defiantly, trying to bring a bit of levity to the situation.

His eyebrows raised, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lip. He opened his mouth to say something, but she raised her hand to stop him before he could decline her apology again. The nerve of this man!

“We were children, we all had an impossible task set in front of us, on one side or the other, by adults who should have known better. I am a forgiving person.”

Albeit, I find it difficult to forgive myself for some things, she thought as she fumbled with the wedding band around her neck.

“And I forgive you and mean it.”

“I want to move forward with my life, and I want us to use the opportunity we were given to live the rest of our lives in peace and to be able to change, learn, and grow. Your apology showed me that you have, so I forgive you.”

She took a breath, “You are not that person anymore, and now that it’s settled, we can move on and work together without having to walk on eggshells around each other for the duration of this project. So, friends? Or at least, colleagues?” she extended her hand for a handshake.

He took her hand, gently, and shook it. “Alright, friends,” he met her gaze with a quiet, lopsided grin.

She felt a flutter in the pit of her stomach and let go of his hand, turning this way and that, hoping to see Tilly pop up. This would be the perfect moment. What is keeping her?

Draco sat back, and said, “Before we begin, there is one thing I did want to ask you about before we started but it has nothing to do with the project. I don’t want to waste your time, of course…” he looked at her expectantly. She was intrigued and appreciated the change in the subject.

“Oh, no, please, go ahead. We’re waiting for Tilly anyway,” she crossed her legs and put her hands on her lap.

“You mentioned a princess last time. A witch, I assume, as her lover or partner was bespelled. I must say, I was quite surprised with myself for not knowing who this princess was. As you can imagine, I had extensive tutoring in world history and had never come across her name or this beast of hers. Who was this, Belle of Disney you mentioned, if you don’t mind me asking?” I’ve not had any luck with my…” he didn’t finish the sentence as he saw her clasping her hand over her mouth and starting to giggle.

—

The giggle turned to a full-blown laugh.

“I am so sorry! Belle of Disney!” she exclaimed.

He wasn’t sure what was so funny, but her laugh was… well it was something he wanted to hear again, he realized. Maybe next time he can coax it out of her, on purpose.

“Oh, please forgive me, you’re not ignorant. Belle is just a character in a popular Muggle animated movie called ‘Beauty and the Beast’. Disney is an animation company, and we call their movies ‘Disney movies’.” She was wiping a tear from her eye as she said this.

“Oh, I see.” He sat back and crossed his legs. “Please don’t apologize for laughing, you have my explicit permission to laugh at me all you want when I spew nonsense.” He added with a grin.

He looked at her as she collected herself, her fingers once again fumbling with that gold band. Was this an important heirloom?

He took the opportunity to continue the conversation.

“I’d never heard of animated movies before. I’m intrigued. Would you show me once? I mean, if it’s not too much trouble,” he asked, tentatively. He hated not knowing things, and while he felt he was quite familiar with many Muggle things nowadays, Disney definitely wasn’t one of them.

And he wanted an excuse to be around her.

“Oh, ok, I don’t think we can watch it here, probably too much magic for a telly to work, but I can show it to you at my place, sometime, if you’d like?” Hermione asked carefully.

Her place. He’d like that very much, actually.

“I’d like that very much, actually.” Draco grinned broadly, finding it difficult to hide his emotions.

Hermione’s eyes widened, and he wished he could hear her thoughts. Not in a creepy way, he chided himself. She looked like she wasn’t sure he’d say yes, or maybe even hoped he wouldn’t. Was she just being polite? He would leave it to her to bring it up again, he decided.

“Tilly brought scones!” A pop of apparition interrupted them, and the scent of freshly baked scones filled the room.

“Wonderful, it smells delicious. Thank you, Tilly! Care to join us?” Hermione asked.

Draco looked over at Tilly, whose eyes went so wide they seemed to have doubled in size. She adored Hermione. He quickly said, “Tilly, it would be our honor if you’d join us, please stay if you’d like”.

“Yes, oh yes, thank you, Master Draco!,” she said, and clapped her little hands.

He wished she were free, so she could tell him what she thought and how she really felt. He never knew if her excitement and joy were truly her own emotions or if they were a byproduct of the subjugation spell.

He loved Tilly, and he wanted her to keep working for him, but on her own terms. He really wanted, no. Needed Hermione to succeed. Tilly deserved to be free. They all did.

Tilly proceeded to serve everyone tea, a scone with the lemon and lime jam, and then started telling them about how she came up with the idea for the recipe after making margaritas for Ms. Cissa. Hermione laughed as she took a bite, then moaned, saying, “Tilly, this jam is incredible!”

Draco laughed softly, thinking of what his mother would say to this new development and a margarita-flavored jam she inspired. She would have needed her salts, he was certain.

Afterwards, they moved on into the Library to continue their research. Hermione sat down with determination and pulled the book 'Servitude and Subjugation' closer. She placed her quill and parchment next to her, then pushed the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows, and started flipping to the page she had left off last time. He sat next to her, and observed her as he slowly opened his book, prepared parchment, and his favorite pen. He noticed how she tucked her hair back gently, and then at some point had tucked in a quill behind her ear when she wasn’t using it for notes.

She was beautiful, there was no denying it.

Slow down, Draco. She’s barely friends with you, and here you are leering at her like an idiot.

Draco decided he would be the best research partner and vowed to stop having inappropriate thoughts or getting distracted again during their collaboration.

It worked for a while. They exchanged notes, discussed possible theories, ran cross-comparisons between the reference texts... But then she'd cross her legs in those checkered pants that hugged her too perfectly.

Or she’d suddenly reach over the table, and he had to do everything in his power not to glance at her as she leaned over.

Her tight turtleneck sweater hugged her curves in just the right way, and her hair softly framed her face.

When she’d lean over close to him to grab a new piece of parchment, he noticed she smelled like a rose garden with a hint of jasmine.

Merlin, save him.

They worked through lunch, Hermione adamantly refusing Tilly’s offers to prepare something for them. They nibbled on the leftover scones until the plate was empty, and finished the last dregs of tea before they called it a day.

He offered for her to stay for dinner, but she politely declined, saying she had plans with friends and that she’d see him tomorrow morning.

She’s probably determined to keep their relationship as professional as possible, despite the offer of friendship. That was fine, he was fine with that.

He walked her to the Floo, like he promised he would.

Tilly looked up at him as the fire went out and said, “Tomorrow, I’ll make your favorite curry for lunch so Ms. Hermione will have to stay.” And with that, she apparated away, back to her duties.

What did she mean by “She’d have to stay”? It’s not like Draco was deeply disappointed she never stayed passed their appointed time. He enjoyed the time they had, and it was enough.

That’s a lie, he thought bitterly.

He enjoyed her company quite a bit. But more than anything, she was probably the only person besides his closest friends and mother who didn’t regard him as a monster, a former-not-so-former Death Eater, war criminal, and whatever else people thought about him.

It was a nice change, so yes, he begrudgingly admitted something that was apparently obvious to Tilly this whole time. He wanted her to stay, and he hoped next time, she would.

—

On Wednesday, Tilly made a curry and put a bowl under Hermione’s nose as soon as she stepped out of the Floo, insisting she stay for lunch.

Hermione’s mouth watered, but she said she had made plans with Harry already. Liar. She wasn’t ready for lunch, that was for friend-friends, and they were still just work-friends. Right?

What would they even talk about?

After seeing the defeated look on Tilly’s face, she quickly added that it smelled delicious, so she would definitely stay next time Tilly made it.

Tilly snapped her fingers, making the bowl disappear, and added, “Perfect, Tilly will make it again tomorrow, and Ms. Hermione can make plans with other friends for other days.” Then she bowed, said goodbye, and disappeared.

I guess I’m having lunch with Malfoy, tomorrow.

After a quick cuppa, they got up and walked over to the Library. Researching with Malfoy was going amazingly well, she had to admit, but they still hadn’t found anything of great importance. She hoped that they'd find something soon, she felt they were getting close.

They already confirmed there was definitely a very old spell performed, so there was no doubt anymore that the creatures were magically bound. It was hinted at or vaguely referenced a few times here and there, but they had no clue what it actually was or how it was done.

They also found that it was performed during the Druidic times, which complicated things, just a smidge. Muggle historians believed druids left no written records and passed on their knowledge only through memory and ritual.

But wizards knew better, and so did Hermione.

Druids were members of the ancient Celtic priestly class of wizards and were known for hiding their records so well that even wizards had a hard time deciphering them. But it wasn’t impossible if they had access to the texts.

Hermione suddenly closed the massive tome she was reading with a snap, startling Draco, and declared, “We need to look for original druid texts, not just references to them.”

“No problem, we have an extensive collection. I am sure we can find something.” Draco closed his book with a lot more grace, got up, and started walking to the stacks.

“I really don’t know if we’ll find much, you do realize they went into hiding after the wars?” She followed him. “They probably hid most of their texts, I’ve only ever stumbled upon references or translations in my research, and that’s all we could find here as well,” she told Draco, but he seemed unfazed.

“Don’t give up hope just yet, Hermione. Even I don’t know the extent of the collection in this Library. Let’s see what we can find,” he said her name now and then, as if testing how it felt. She liked the way he said it, she realized, didn’t mind it one bit, actually.

“I hope you’re right," she said, quickening her step. "I’ve never even seen an original druidic text, and to be honest, I don’t know what I’d do with it if I did,” she huffed.

When she finally caught up with him, she said, “I studied ancient runes at school, but I am not nearly well-versed as I’d like to be,” she admitted sheepishly. She couldn’t be good at everything, after all. Even if she wished she could.

Malfoy turned his head slightly, but she could still see him biting his lip, fighting a smile, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

British wizards and witches widely considered Druids as their ancient ancestors. They were thought to have been wiped out by Muggles in the Gallic Wars of 58–51 BCE, but the truth was that they just went into hiding.

This was considered a pivotal moment in wizarding history that actually paved the way to the establishment of the International Statute of Secrecy much later in time. She remembered writing an essay about in History of Magic. As a matter of fact, Binns gave her top marks.

Despite Draco’s optimism, Hermione worried that even if there were records, they’d probably be in hidden vaults or secret locations, not in libraries. She hoped she was wrong.

They walked up to the stacks where the most ancient tomes were kept. The air was stuffier here and smelled a bit like vanilla, a telltale sign of the breakdown of lignin in the paper. She absolutely loved it.

Draco started instructing his library to pull the most ancient druidic texts it had, specifically written in runes and with references to binding spells. He asked for ten tomes only, worried they’d be overwhelmed if the Library sent everything their way.

Ten tomes floated down, to Hermione’s delight and relief.

“Wonderful!" She stacked them all on the table near them, looking over at the titles as she spoke. "I was hoping that the druids entrusted their own society to look after their records. I was scared they’d hidden them in caves and vaults and that we’d have to go on an expedition to retrieve them. This is incredible and terribly convenient. I bet there’s even more!” she said excitedly, looking back at the stacks.

“It never ceases to amaze me how much you enjoy this.” Draco looked over at her, “I bet your favorite gifts are books, am I right?” Draco teased while picking up a tome to look at its title. “Also, I wouldn’t be opposed to an expedition with you if it comes to that. We do make a great team”, he put the tome down and a flicker of amusement played at the edges of his mouth. He started walking back, levitating the books to their work table.

Hermione looked at him as he walked away, rooted to the spot for a split second. He wasn't wrong. “We do, actually,” she confirmed, then bolted after him, excited to dig into the texts.

“But let’s hope we can contain our research to the comforts of your library, I’ve had a lifetime worth of expeditions, thank you very much,” she added, plopping down in her chair, thinking of her hunt for the Horcruxes.

Although travelling with Malfoy would probably be a lot more comfortable than slumming it with Ron and Harry in a small tent, foraging for food, and evading snatchers.

For the next hour, they buried themselves in the texts, looking for the spell that would unravel it all.

Draco was an amazing study partner, she contemplated. Focused, asked excellent questions, and took detailed and succinct notes. He was knowledgeable and often added little annotations and made connections she didn’t think of. It pleased her, and annoyed her at the same time.

We could have studied like this in Hogwarts, had it not been for blood purity and all that nonsense, she thought sadly.

She wouldn’t have had to check his essays, she was sure. Or do his homework, or let him copy her notes, or make fun of her “light reading” choices. They would have been proper partners.

She was distracted, she realized. It was hard work reading these texts with her limited proficiency in runes, so her mind and eyes, wandered some.

She sighed, looking over at Draco, her tome forgotten.

She noted how his hair gently fell over his forehead, how he kept a perfect posture as he read the tome, and how he held his pen while taking notes. He had beautiful hands, she realized, and handwriting, too. He was a lefty, his writing was all loopy, and with such small letters. How peculiar.

He grew into a handsome man, no denying it. He was no longer that snarky, pointy, and scowling little boy. He was actually quite nice now that he wasn’t a git anymore. He was funny, charming, and kind. She was enjoying herself, she realized, as they worked together, and she looked forward to each new day at the Manor.

Who would have thought?

She also may have been enjoying the view a bit too much for her own comfort.

Maybe lunch wouldn’t be such a bad idea, she’d have an opportunity to collect more data for her in-depth analysis of the makings of Draco Malfoy, and dispel the mystery around him, she concluded, trying to snap out of dreamland.

Just then, his eyes snapped to hers as if she’d summoned him with her inappropriate thoughts of his beautiful handwriting. Christ, she really was such a swot.

To her relief, he just said, “Look at this," and pushed a very old book to her, the text written completely in runes. "I think this is the spell, but I can’t be sure. What do you think?”

What does she think? She thinks he’s a terrible actor.

She took one glance at it and knew he was, in fact, very sure, because it was not just a spell. It was THE spell.

Compared to him, she was terrible at runes, but she was good enough to know what they just found. She just needed to confirm it. He probably didn’t want the most important discovery of her research to be credited to him, so he pretended not to fully understand it, for her sake.

She took a closer look. The spell’s name was Vinculum Primordiale that would roughly translate to something like 'Primary Bond'. This specific runic combination was mentioned in multiple texts they had already researched, and it seemed to have all the workings of a subjugation spell. This was it. She was sure. And this tome, this must be the master text.

They found it.

“Draco, this.. THIS IS IT!” realization hit her. She jumped from the chair and put her palms on the table, then turned, looking at him wide-eyed. “We can free them, we can do it!” she could feel tears swelling in her eyes as she threw her arms around him and hugged him briefly but tightly around his neck. She wanted to scream with joy, her intuition was right, she was right! She would be able to stop this enslavement once and for all!

She let go of him just as he gently placed his arms around her, carefully returning the hug.

Had she crossed a line?

“Sorry, I got excited,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “I, um, well, I used to do this kind of thing a lot with Harry and Ron, research, I mean, and then when we found something important, well, it's important to celebrate. Um, sorry, I shouldn't have jumped you like that,” she was babbling like a fool.

“Not at all, I, um.. It was fine, I didn’t mind.” he glanced up. There was the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks.

Oh.

“Right,” she snapped them both out of it, her mind already racing with all the possibilities. “Let’s have a look, then, shall we?”

They closed the space between them, pulled the text close, and stared at it, their gaze burning through it, looking for more information to confirm what they already knew.

“It looks like this book has the instructions for casting and the ingredients for the original spell." he said, pointing at a line of runic symbols. "Nothing about a counter spell, unfortunately.” Draco said. "Yet," Hermione added gleefully.

“Hm, it will take us some time to decipher this, especially for me,” she added, pushing herself away from the text, feeling the excitement ebb away.

She knew the real work was only just starting.

“I’ll work on the translation. I am quite proficient in runes.” He immediately pulled out a fresh piece of parchment from the nearby pile and began translating.

“I’ve noticed,” her lips quirked in amusement as she met his eyes.

Draco translated the longer passages while Hermione focused on the list of ingredients.

As she was putting the list together, she realized something very quickly, her stomach dropping. Some ingredients were rare, some forbidden or strictly controlled, and some were difficult to get, to say the least. If she translated it correctly, certain ingredients were supposed to be harvested in a specific way, at a specific time and location. On Samhain. In Norway. For example.

“Um, Draco?”

“Yes?”, he looked up at her.

“Could you check my translation of the ingredients? It’s not complex, I don’t think, but I want to be sure, because if I translated wrong, then. Well, here, just take a look.” She pushed the parchment into his hands.

He looked between the tome and her translation, then concluded, “You didn’t make a mistake. But I can see that while we can get certain ingredients here in Britain, I even have one in my stocks," he said pointing to the powdered moonstone from the first frost. "and we can get the others with permission from the Ministry, there are a few that require us to travel to the location. It’s quite ritualistic, too,” he looked up at her now, “Norway, ha? Is that why you wanted me to double-check? You were afraid you’d misinterpreted it?” he asked, his lips quirking.

“Well, yes, ok? I thought the expedition talk was only a joke, but it looks like…” she sighed, he waited.

“It looks like I do need to go on a road trip.” Hermione exhaled.

“You mean we need to go.” Draco countered and nudged her gently with his shoulder.

She blinked. He’d really go with her?

“Would you really like to tag along?” she tested. “I wouldn’t object. The ritual seems to be quite complex,” she said hopefully, then, feeling embarrassed, she quickly added, waving her hands as if to dismiss the ridiculous proposal, “but I can go by myself, of course, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you any further!”

Hermione lied.

She very much wanted to inconvenience him. She didn’t want to do this by herself at ALL, and the Ministry wouldn’t pay for an assistant. Her boss didn't even like her! It would be a nightmare to organize, and she realized with quite a shock, she feels comfortable with Malfoy and wouldn't mind one bit if he'd want to accompany her.

“I told you I wouldn’t be opposed to an expedition,” he added smugly.

“So, when do we leave?” he looked at her, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Chapter Text

"Mione, you're joking! You're not really going on a trip with Draco bloody Malfoy! Have you gone mad?!"

Ron yelled the last question, earning a few sideways glances from the patrons of the Leaky, a shocked "Ron!" from Ginny, and a disappointed "Mate, we've been through this already..." from Harry.

Seated at their favorite table, Butterbeers in hand, Harry, Ginny, and Ron had just finished listening to Hermione excitedly update them on everything that had happened the past week. How Malfoy had genuinely apologized, how research was going extremely well, what they had found, and what her next steps were. Mainly, that she was going on a road trip. To Norway. With Malfoy.

As she spoke, she made it a point to weave in details that made it clear how he'd changed, that they were working very well together, and even becoming friends. She'd planned it that way purposefully, because she anticipated this reaction from Ron despite having a similar conversation last week. She was sure he was not over it. She knew him too well.

She was hoping that if she elaborated well as she gave the update, the blow would be softened. However, the opposite happened. The moment she mentioned the apology and how she accepted it, even offered a hand in friendship, Ron's face started contorting and changing color, and it only got worse from there.

"Ron, have you not listened to anything I've been saying...?"

"Hermione, no, I can't believe you! You honestly think I'll sit back and support this? You've really gone mad. What's next, you'll fall in love and get married like Ginny said? Where's the 'All I need is the library, I don't care about him' gone?" he said in a mocking voice. "I thought this was just work, and now you're becoming all chummy! I don't care what project you're working on. It's not worth it. This is ridiculous, you're not going!"

"Ron!" both Ginny and Harry yelled at him, but it was not necessary.

Hermione suddenly stood up, slamming her palms on the table, leaning over slightly as she stared at Ron, her hair somehow seeming to expand around her as if electrified.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, HOW DARE YOU? In which world do you think that YOU or ANYONE else, for that matter, gets to say what I will or will not do with MY life, MY work, and who I will or will not befriend?!"

Game.

"Let me remind you that you were FOUL to me before the troll incident, and had it not brought us together over the threat of imminent death, ask yourself, would you ever have really considered being my friend?!"

Set.

"I have ALWAYS supported you, and if you EVER doubt me again when you should know by now that I do not make promises, give my forgiveness, or make my mind up about something lightly, you will find yourself with one less friend. And I MEAN it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to go home before you have a chance to say something else you'll regret. I strongly advise you, Ronald, to think HARD about what your next words to me shall be."

Match.

"Sorry, Ginny, Harry, let's have lunch soon, yeah?" She gave Ron one more terrifying glare before she turned and walked away.

The Leaky was dead silent for a split second longer, then it returned to its usual murmur as she disappeared through the Floo.

One patron, in particular, enjoyed this dramatic exchange very much, as he waited for his friends to join him.

Divine intervention had positioned him near the Golden Trio plus the Queen of Quidditch herself on this fateful night, and he just happened to have overheard each word.

Not on purpose, no.

But the content was too good to miss, so after a fleeting feeling of guilt for listening in, or no guilt if he was being honest with himself, he simply leaned into it.

He smirked into his drink, thinking of how his dear friend Draco had failed to mention to him (of all people!) that he'd been working with the Golden Girl herself. Befriending her, even!

Well, this simply won't do. Draco had some explaining to do, and soon.

The tea had gone cold.

An infusion of chamomile and lavender, with just the right amount of honey, sat completely forgotten.

She brewed it to calm herself after exploding at Ron. He deserved it. She didn't regret one word.

He was her friend. Her best friend, and it hurt that she felt he didn't know her at all.

After the war and the kiss in the dungeons, they went on a few dates but quickly realized that they were better as friends. It was always a mutual feeling, and so she wasn't sure where this was coming from. It wasn't jealousy, she was certain.

They both had other partners, and he never reacted poorly when she spoke about a boyfriend. He was supportive, a bit overprotective maybe, but supportive as a friend should be. She would never cross that line with Draco anyway, so where this was coming from, she had no idea!

She also had no time for it either.

She had more pressing matters to spend her precious energy on. Ron can sort himself out.

So, there she was again. Sitting in her favorite armchair, knees folded up to her chin, staring intently at another piece of paper on the coffee table. This time it wasn't a letter.

It was the list.

She'd already resolved that freeing the elves would take work, time, and effort. She recently added "road trip" and "unlikely assistant" to that, and was now staring at the final addition, which was the "list of difficult-to-procure ingredients for an almost impossible-to-cast spell".

She glanced out the window to see the soft light of the street lamp illuminate a few falling leaves. It was already September. It was her birthday soon, and Samhain was around the corner too.

She heard a soft meow and felt the tip of Crookshanks' tail brush her bare toes as they were just over the edge of her chair.

"Awww... are you hungry, Crooky?"

Yes. Starving. You've been sitting there, thinking, for two hours straight. Feed me, woman!

"Meooooooooooooow," he confirmed loudly.

That sounded like he was annoyed, she thought, as she got up to fetch his food from the bottom cupboard in her small kitchen. Probably with reason, she did forget to feed him, again.

"Sorry, Crooky, it's just this list..." She shook her head as she placed his food in a bowl and down on the pawprint-themed serving mat below the kitchen window. Tacky, but cute, Ginny had once said.

Sometimes she wondered if she'd like to be able to hear his thoughts, but then he'd meow like that, and she thought it better to keep some things a mystery.

"I was really hoping it would be a bit easier, or at least faster. The longer this takes, the longer the elves stay enslaved." She told him as she scratched his ears while he munched away, making greedy little noises. Gosh, the poor thing was starving. I really need to set a timer.

"And then, there's so much planning and organizing to do." She leaned with her back to the counter, pressing her palms on the edges, continuing to talk to the cat. It was quite normal to talk to your pets like they were people. Right? Everyone does this... surely?

"I've been racking my brain with what to start with, but I guess I could work on multiple ingredients at the same time." She pushed herself up in one smooth move and sat on the counter. She loved sitting on kitchen counters. She used to do it all the time as a kid, watching her mother prepare food. She also did some of her best thinking seated on a kitchen counter. She practically thought up her entire Master's in Charms and Spellcrafting whilst sitting on one.

She took a biscuit from the tin next to her, mulling over it all. Where to begin?

She took a bite, "So I was thinking..." she said to the cat again, chewing on the dry biscuit.

She really needed to go to the grocery store.

"If I try to get some of the ingredients right away, I could focus on organizing the travel arrangements for Norway, and the UK trip is just a day or two max..."

She took her wand out from her hair, which caused it to cascade down her shoulders (she'd been using it as a hairpin, allowing her to move about her home without her wand strap and without her hair in the way) and called the list to her with a quick Accio.

She read it again, even though she knew it by heart after staring at it for hours. It had seven ingredients on it, along with the means of obtaining them if there was a required ritual. The Essence of Primrose Flowers was local and plentiful. The only issue was that it had to be harvested during the spring equinox.

Another delay, great.

Draco already mentioned he had the Powdered Moonstone from the First Frost.

One down, six to go.

"I guess I can send an owl to Charlie. I hope he can help with the Dragon Heartstring. I don't know where else to procure that." She said, Hagrid popping into her mind for a brief, very, very brief moment. She took another bite, shaking the thoughts of Hagrid and dragons. Charlie, it is.

"And I guess I can ask for a meeting with Augustus to inquire about the Phoenix Tears," she said through a mouthful. This biscuit was really hard to swallow.

She looked at the rest of the list again. Moonsilver was not rare, prohibited, or difficult to acquire. It was just really, really, really expensive. It was actually just metal, but it could hold magical imprints when spun correctly, and that was something only a few people in the world knew how to do.

Ugh. Another thing she'd have to ask for in her meeting with Augustus. Maybe even beg for.

Then, there was the Water from the De Syv Søstrene or The Seven Sisters waterfall in Norway.

Going to Norway was easy. She studied there, she had friends there, and she knew where the Seven Sisters were, too. It was the water itself that was the issue, and the fact that it was accessible only during Samhain, which was soon. Meaning, she couldn't mess it up. Otherwise, she had to wait for next Samhain, and that would delay her project even more.

She was really glad Draco was eager to come along. He was quite capable, and most importantly, he was invested. This mattered to him. She could see the way he looked at Tilly sometimes, the sadness in his eyes, the gentleness of his voice when he asked her to bring something. Never an order, always a request.

The tricky thing with this water was that it would lose any magical properties if the intentions for it weren't pure. You could do everything right, but if you bottled it with impure intentions, it was just water from a pretty waterfall.

Finally, there was the trickiest and most unethical ingredient of them all, in Hermione's opinion.

This was the main reason she'd been staring at the list. The binding was created using house-elf blood, so the only logical conclusion is that she'd need it again to reverse it.

"Crooky, how am I going to get house-elf blood, and willingly given at that!" She jumped down and threw the rest of the biscuit away. Then emptied the whole tin in the rubbish, vowing silently to go get proper food tomorrow morning.

And as if all this wasn't enough, there was also the problem with the spell itself.

So far, they had only found the complete spell to cast it, not reverse it. There were some hints of reversal in the tomes they spent hours reading over the week, but nothing conclusive. They'd have to look into that first thing, maybe discuss it during their fated lunch on Monday, she mused.

With a sigh, she levitated her cold, untouched tea to the sink. She'd clean up in the morning. It was time for bed.

Turning off the lights, she called, "Crooky, come, it's bedtime!"

Crookshanks, finally fed, happily led the way to the bedroom.

Chapter Text

“INTERVENTION!”

Theo screamed as he stepped out of the Floo at the Manor, holding a bottle of Ogden’s Firewhiskey and a pizza box.

Draco was having a cup of tea, translating some paragraphs for Hermione when Theo barged in, screaming his head off.

With one eyebrow raised, he asked, “What in the name of Beedle’s balding balls are you doing here, Theo?” He wasn’t shocked by Theo’s theatrical entrance. This was, in his humble opinion, one of the more subtle ones anyway.

What he didn’t understand was why he was here in the middle of the night, with pizza and whiskey. They had arranged to meet on Saturday at Theo’s home with the other two usual suspects, Pansy and Blaise.

“My dear boy, you are in dire need of a friendship intervention. A frevention, I dare say.”

“Wha…”

“Nope, I told you I’d hex you if you said frevention again,” Pansy said as she and Blaise stepped out of the Floo.

Bloody hell.

“Well, it’s about time! Where have you two been?” Theo asked, putting his hands on his hips.

“Calm your tits, Theo. We were at the same bar with you a minute ago,” Blaise added.

“What on earth are you all doing in my study right now? Theo, you’d better have a fantastic fucking explanation, or I am erasing all your signatures from my wards,” Draco threatened.

“Don’t be like that, Draco, you wound me.” He placed a hand on his heart and pouted.

“We, your best friends,” he said pointedly, “grew concerned about your mental health after overhearing a most dramatic exchange at the Leaky, and we thought it best to hold an impromptu Intervention so you could explain yourself and your apparent memory loss.”

Theo sauntered over to his desk, leaning on the edge.

“You’ve been obliviated, or you’ve been keeping secrets, my dear Draco.” He wiggled his index finger at him.

“Blaise, get him away from me or I’ll Avada him right now.” Draco peered over at Blaise, who was gently dusting soot off Pansy’s ass.

“No, mate. Pansy and I went to get drinks with Theo, and after he told us what he heard, we decided this time we were following his lead. Probably not our smartest idea, but we’re curious and couldn’t wait till tomorrow,” Blaise deadpanned.

Great. He was no help at all, and if he wasn’t on Draco’s side, Pansy wouldn’t be either.

Right after the war ended, Pansy and Blaise went abroad to pursue a future somewhere they wouldn’t be known for their parents’ and their own horrible choices.

Just before the Aurors could apprehend them, Pansy’s parents ran away, leaving her their estate in Britain. They took enough money to live out their lives in peace, far, far away, and were now somewhere in Polynesia. Pansy didn’t mind. They only ever loved each other, so they can rot in the sun for all I care, she’d say as she spent their fortune as she wished.

She took their incredible wealth, now hers, studied fashion, and returned to London with an offer that Witch Weekly couldn’t refuse. Today, she was their chief editor and majority stockholder.

Blaise’s mother had died a few years ago, also leaving him with a substantial amount of gold. She died a widow. Surprise, surprise. Her latest husband (no one could remember which number) met his mysterious demise just a few weeks before she went on her yearly solo ski trip. Go figure.

She died in a very average, boring kind of accident. Blaise thought it quite poetic. He barely knew her, apart from occasionally being spoiled with clothes, trinkets, toys, and travel. He was raised by his house-elf Gerty, and hadn’t shed a single tear during his mother’s funeral.

Blaise took all the gold she’d acquired through her many marriages and turned a profit by growing grapes around Europe and turning them into fine wizarding wine.

Pansy and Blaise met a year ago in Paris, at an event they both attended out of boredom. They rekindled their friendship and started their romance pretty much the same night, and since then, where one went, the other followed.

Theo had stayed in London. He always said it was to keep an eye on Draco and Cissa, as he called her. But the truth was, Theo had no ambitions besides enjoying his life, unapologetically so.

After living through hell with his father, who was in Azkaban for life, he was just happy to be free. He spent his days breaking curses at Nott Manor and his nights drinking and partying with wizards and Muggles alike.

He had no interest in settling down, marrying, procuring an heir, or continuing any traditions that might connect him to the Nott name. He was a free spirit and the glue that held their group together. “Freedom is never guaranteed, my dear friend. How are you enjoying yours?” he’d ask Draco every Saturday, and Draco never had an answer for him.

“One day, you’ll be able to answer me, my fierce Dragon,” he’d tease.

Theo was Draco’s oldest friend, and the four of them together were best of friends. He felt incredibly guilty for letting so much time pass before they reunited properly. He should have written more, visited more. But since they’d all been in London for the past year, there wasn’t a weekend without a gathering of the Slytherins at Nott Manor.

It seemed Theo had decided to move it up a day and was now grinning at Draco expectantly.

“What are you waiting for, Theo?” Draco drawled.

“You’re playing with the strings of my feeble heart! Can’t you see how cruel you are?” Theo theatrically spun toward Blaise and Pansy. “He thinks us fools!”

“Draco, darling, let me translate,” Pansy offered, sitting down and summoning a glass for the whiskey. “Theo, pass that pizza around. I’m starving,” she ordered. As Theo magicked three slices toward each of them, she continued, “We’re here to drink and listen to you offer an excuse for keeping secrets from us...your friends, your confidants. Am I right, Theo?” Theo just nodded vigorously.

“Theo is right. You had every chance to tell us last Saturday, and yet, we find out you’ve been working with the Golden Girl at the Leaky. The Leaky, Draco.” She gave him a look.

“She gave Ronald Bilius Weasley,” Theo said mockingly, “a very stern talking to. I quite like her.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Draco.

“Yeah, mate. What gives? Spill it,” Blaise offered.

“Yes, listen to our most eloquent of friends, Draco. Spill,” Theo joked.

Theo sat down in front of Draco and propped his head up with both hands, staring at him, eyelashes fluttering comically.

“Well, I...” Draco started, realizing he did, in fact, keep this to himself.

He wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t ashamed. He was actually quite proud of himself. It was going spectacularly well, actually.

Hermione and he were excellent research partners, and it seemed she was more and more comfortable around him, enough that she’d invited him to join her on the expedition to Norway. Why did he keep it from his best friends?

“We don’t mind, you stupid git,” Pansy said with an eye roll. “Tell me you didn’t keep it from us, fearing what we’d say?”

“You wound us, Draco! Say it isn’t so! After all, we are reformed snakes. Still snakes, though, but we lost our bite, our poison. We’re, as Muggles would say, danger noodles no more,” Theo added, looking at Blaise, who gave him a curt nod of agreement.

“Okay, yes, I might have been a bit careful mentioning it, but not because I thought you’d fall into your old ways. Our old ways,” he corrected himself.

“I simply didn’t know how it would develop, so I just wanted to be sure what I’d tell you would be, you know, good news instead of another failure.” Draco shrugged and realized this was the real truth behind keeping his little secret.

He wanted to be able to tell his friends that he had successfully befriended Hermione Granger, of all people, and was helping her with an incredibly difficult and important cause.

“Mate, we’re here for you in the good and in the bad. Now, pour the whiskey and tell us all about it,” Blaise demanded.

“Here, here!” Theo rejoiced, holding his glass up, waiting for his turn as Draco levitated the bottle, poured the whiskey, and told them all about it.

She knocked on the door, politely but firmly.

The name plaque made her cringe. It was so big you’d think Augustus Thicknesse was the Minister for Magic, not just the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

“Come in,” he said, adding with a sallow smile once she opened the door, “Oh yes, Ms. Granger, always a pleasure. Please, sit.”

Bless him for trying, she thought. He always tried sounding like he respected and liked her, but he just couldn’t get his tone and face to match his words.

After a restful weekend, a lovely lunch with Ginny and Harry, and extensive practice of her speech, she felt ready. He’d learn to respect her sooner or later. She didn’t need him to like her. Right now, she needed him to listen to reason and do his part as head of the department.

“Thank you, Mr. Thicknesse.”

“Tell me, Ms. Granger, what is so pressing that you needed to see me first thing on Monday morning?” he inquired with a raised eyebrow, fidgeting with the quill in his hand, anxious to get this over with.

A steady head wins the race. She took a breath.

“Right, so, as you’re aware, I’ve been studying the binding magic of the house-elves as part of my research for the department, and thus far I have had nothing significant to report to you, but…”

“I am aware,” he interrupted, leaning back even further in his chair.

“I always thought it was a lost cause, and frankly, I’m surprised you’ve kept at it so long. Are you here to inform me you’re changing directions? That can be arranged. There are surely more fruitful projects for a junior researcher like yourself,” he added, smiling victoriously.

Shit.

“Ah, no. Actually, I asked for this meeting to inform you that I have finally been able to confirm my long-held belief that there was a spell performed which enslaved the house-elves. I am quite pleased to say that my research hasn’t been in vain after all. The knowledge had just been lost to us, as it was quite well hidden in the ancient Druidic texts. Luckily, Mr. Malfoy has quite a collection, and we were able to find the spell and all the ingredients for it, so…”

“Ah, interesting.” Augustus fidgeted. This conversation was clearly not going as he imagined; she shared the sentiment.

Hermione’s mood soured. She bit her tongue to avoid commenting on his remark and continued with her speech. She would remain professional. He just needed to hear it all. That was it.

“Yes, well, ahem, I have a couple of theories that I am still working on.”

“For example, I am unsure whether the druids were commissioned to perform this spell by the ancient families or if the druids were their direct ancestors, which would explain why we can find the texts in their libraries, or if the pure-blood families simply maintained the rite. This remains unknown for now, but what I do have is the actual spell and all the ingredients for it, which is why I am here today.”

She saw him opening his mouth, and before he could derail the conversation, she said, “You see, there are several ingredients that will need the Ministry’s support. Your support, actually,” she said with a placating smile. She hated these games she had to play.

She passed him a piece of paper as she continued explaining. “To attempt the spell reversal, we’ll need all the ingredients, and one of them, as you can see, is Phoenix Tears. They are classified as a controlled substance, as you are no doubt aware, so I’ll need your signature on these application forms to be able to get it.” She passed him the filled-in application form. He glared at her as he took it, then his eyes fell onto the paper.

“Secondly,” she fell back into the smooth wording she prepared, feeling a bit more grounded now that she had hard facts to show him, “I’ll need funding for Moonsilver. It’s incredibly expensive but well within the Ministry’s budget for a project of this importance. I’ve included cost estimates and supplier information. Here you go.” She handed him another document.

His eyes widened ever so slightly with each new paper he’d been handed.

“Finally, and this is probably most important, I’ll need your support in convincing seven pure-blood families to support us with the spell reversal when the time comes.”

At this, his head snapped up, so she quickly continued, raising her hands. “Before you ask, I’ve already prepared to address any concerns you might have about what happens after the binding is broken. Here, I drafted preliminary legislation for you to review.” She handed him a thick bundle titled The House-Elf Emancipation and Reparations Act.

His eyes were now so wide they looked like they’d pop out any second. She offered a brief explanation, hoping it would calm him: “Um, it mandates that families who currently employ house-elves must offer them continued employment at fair wages, with the option to remain in their current positions or seek work elsewhere.”

“It is only fair that the families who perpetuated this enslavement, albeit potentially unknowingly, be asked to support the elves in their transition to a life without binding subjugation. I’m sure you agree, Mr. Thicknesse. And with your influence and support, we can start working on a timeline for the spell reversal and the implementation of The House-Elf Emancipation and Reparations Act.”

There, her closing statement. A bit of sucking up never hurt anyone. She hated herself for it, but she was going to do whatever it takes for the elves.

She put her hands on her lap and squared her shoulders as he sifted through the paperwork, seemingly more collected now. There was no way he’d refuse her. She’d prepared for it all. She’d done a lot of his work for him, really, so all he needed to do was use his influence and give his signature. Easy-peasy!

He leaned slightly forward and nonchalantly tossed the papers on his desk. “Excellent work, as always,” he said with a bitter smile.

Yes! Thank Merlin and Morgana!

Then he steepled his fingers and gave her a “you poor thing, let me explain how things actually work” smile.

Wait.

“Despite your thorough work, the Ministry will surely receive concerns from several prominent families about the, um, economic and social implications of suddenly freeing their house-elves.”

“But they’re not theirs…” she said disbelievingly. What was happening?

“Let me finish, Ms. Granger.”

“Your research is sound, no doubt about it. I knew who I was hiring,” he said with a huff, almost as if he’d had no choice in the matter. “However, I can’t simply stamp it all and tell you to go ahead. That would be unethical, and we must follow the proper channels. I’m sure you agree.”

“Yes, of course, that’s why I...” she said hopefully, pointing to the papers.

He raised a hand to silence her. “In fact, the Ministry will have to conduct a comprehensive impact study before proceeding, to ensure a smooth transition that protects both elves and wizarding families,” he inclined his head, tone condescending.

“That will take time, of course, and despite your eagerness and the, whatever you called it, act,” he said, waving his hand dismissively over the bundle of papers that was essentially a perfect piece of legislation, “I will not risk rushing the process, which could take anywhere from” he tilted his head from left to right in contemplation, “three to five years?” His eyes met hers. He looked at her with a tight-lipped smile.

“So you see, while I will certainly keep your little applications and lists for review, I will not be able to give you an answer today.”

“Uh, I...”

“Thank you for coming, Ms. Granger. A pleasure, like always.” He started stacking the papers, then opened a drawer and pushed them inside, slamming it shut.

He got up and started pointing to the door. “I will review it all in due time and get back to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, that will be all for today.”

He was already at the door, holding it open for her.

She was still sitting in stunned silence, unsure what had just happened.

She got up slowly, walking as if in a haze. “But I… we… wait!” she tried as she turned back to face him.

“As I said, I will take it from here. Goodbye now, and do let me know what new project you’ll be starting on next,” and he shut the door in her face.

What the actual fuck.

She. Was. Fuming.

Hermione had once again done all the work. She found the spell, identified the solution, and planned for the aftermath.

He was a slimy, sleazy, cowardly piece of dragon dung!!!! She just KNEW he was pretending to care about house-elf welfare while actually protecting the families who benefited from their enslavement. The “impact study” was just a stalling tactic.

A really good one, she had to admit.

She wasn’t going to make things easy for him, so after getting the door slammed in her face, she immediately decided to file a formal objection. Or several!

She stomped toward the Floo, wishing she could forge his signature and keep him in a jar while she sorted it all out. But she was an adult now, and she had to play by the rules. His rules. Well, she’d find a loophole, go in front of the Wizengamot if need be, but she’d free the elves if it was the last thing she did!

She threw the green powder into one of the fireplaces in the lobby and shouted, “Malfoy!” As she spun through the green flames, enraged and bewildered with what had just happened, she realized she had never said “Manor.”

Oops.

Chapter Text

"Omph!" was the sound she heard Draco make as air left his lungs. Hermione was practically shot out of a fireplace he was standing by and straight into his unsuspecting arms.

He caught her, holding her by her waist as she coughed out soot.

She felt disoriented and dizzy; she’d never been thrown around as much using the floo before.

"Oh, Draco, sorry I…" she said, looking up, her hands on his chest.

His bare chest.

"Oh goodness!" she blushed, straightening up, quickly covering her face with her hands. His hands were still on her waist, holding her steady. "You’re! You’re!" She was going to say, "You’re naked," but he interrupted her.

"Hey, it’s ok, Hermione, are you alright?"

She peered at him through her fingers, and then she realized she was standing in his BEDROOM.

The man was wet, almost naked, a white towel around his hips. He had just left the bath, probably on his way to the dresser. He was looking her over, as if to check she was in one piece.

Once he was convinced she was, he let go of her and gripped his towel, probably afraid it would slip.

Good! She was glad. She had a perfectly good idea what naked Malfoy looked like now. The rest of him could stay a mystery, thank you very much!

"How did you end up here?" he asked, worry creasing his brow.

She turned her back to him, "I, well, first of all, I am SO sorry!"

"I know I said I’d come in later, but I just had the meeting and, well, I said Malfoy in the Floo and not Manor, and," she shrugged her shoulders. "I guess it threw me through the nearest fireplace to you. So here I am".

She heard his soft laugh as he said, "Right, give me a minute and I’ll join you. I just, um, need to dress."

"Right, yes! I’ll wait in the parlor," she bolted towards the door, without a backward glance.

As she slammed the door, she realized she had no idea where to go. Then she heard him asking Tilly to help Ms. Hermione "so she doesn’t get lost".

She sighed. What a mess.

She sat waiting, fumbling with the ring on her necklace, her knee bouncing up and down.

They were barely friends, and friends didn’t see each other naked! Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She saw Ginny and the other girls naked plenty of times as they shared a dorm and a bathroom.

And Harry and Ron had no problem strutting about in that godforsaken tent with nothing but boxer briefs. After a while, she stopped wearing bras around them, too. But they were her closest friends, and they were in strenuous circumstances!

She had no desire to know what Malfoy looked like half-naked, not now or ever.

But there she was, with the undeniable knowledge that under those crisp shirts he had a chiseled chest. And abs. She was pretty sure she didn’t own those muscles at all.

She was also divested of the mystery of what his bare legs looked like. Suffice to say, it was obvious he played Quidditch in his youth; maybe he still did.

He looked, well… incredible. Fit. Like a bloody model. Should she tell Ginny? No. The teasing would never end.

Hermione now had the image of him in a towel engraved in her mind. Not to mention the memory of his skin under the palms of her hands, and the feel of his grip as he held her around the waist. With hands to which his very toned arms were attached. Obviously.

This was a disaster.

"Hi again," Draco walked into the parlour, fully clothed.

He sat beside her, a small blush creeping up his neck. "Sorry, I was, um, unprepared to greet you. You said you were coming in at 9 because of the meeting, so I had a lie-in and well.."a smile tugging at his lips.

"No! Please don’t apologize, it’s all my fault! I am so embarrassed," she put her hands over her face again.

He gently took her by the wrists and pulled her hands down, waiting for her to meet his gaze.

"Hermione, it’s ok. I was, well, a bit indecent," he huffed a laugh, "but it’s not a big deal. No harm done, I promise." he let her hands go. "It could have been worse, you could have toppled over my mother," he smirked.

"Dear Godric, that would have been much worse!" She tucked her hair behind her ear, still feeling awkward.

"Now, tell me what happened, what got you so worked up?"

His calm, steady tone was like a lifeline. She grabbed onto it, using it to pull herself out of the whirlpool of her embarrassment.

She took a breath and decided that if he was over it, she would also be over it.

Right? Right.

"Well, as embarrassing as this was, I am actually glad to see you. Especially now that you’re dressed," she pointed out.

"I am really sorry I barged in like that, but you have no idea how angry I was."

"Tell me," Draco leaned back on the dark green sofa, one arm propped on the back of it.

She shuffled to sit sideways, looking at Draco.
Thinking about the meeting made all her emotions rise up again, anger and frustration swelling in her to the point of bursting.

"Well," she began with a huff, "he’s stalling me and effectively stopping my project, saying he will handle it."

"Oh? That’s, um, inconvenient for us," Draco sat up straighter, eyebrow raised.

"Inconvenient?! It’s a bloody disaster! There would be a need for a comprehensive impact study," she said, mimicking his condescending tone.

She suddenly stood up, starting to pace in front of the sofa, her curls bouncing with each step.

"Essentially, I am free to start other projects while he reviews my research, our research," she turned to Draco as she corrected herself, "can you believe that? Pretty much told me to move on!" She continued pacing.

"And you know that he won’t be doing ANY reviewing, he will let it sit in that stupid drawer, and he’ll make stupid excuses to tell me off when I come asking about it." Her voice was steadily rising.

"And you know what?" She turned toward him again, eyes narrowing, finger pointing. "I bet he’s doing it all to protect the pure blood families. I just know it. I sincerely doubt he wants the elves freed. He said, believe it or not, that he thought I’d fail in my research, was practically expecting it that bloody ferret!" Now her hands flew up, her rage was palpable, Draco’s abs all but forgotten.

He stood up and walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him, meeting his calm gaze.

"Hey, I’ll help. I don’t know if you’re aware, but we Malfoys are quite good at cutting through red tape" he puffed his chest, then deflated as he said, "unfortunately."

"Hah, that’s true. But how?" she looked up at him, fidgeting with her necklace.

"I still have strong connections, and my mother and I donate an exorbitant amount of money to various ministry causes. I bet we can expedite the study, and we will get back on track. I promise."

His hand fell beside him, and she almost missed its steadying effect. She had Malfoy in her corner; he’d promised as much when they started. She wasn’t alone, and she trusted him.

She really did trust him, she realized.

Ron would have a proper fit if he knew, she entertained herself with the thought.

Yes, they could still do this.

"Ok, let’s try it your way first. I’d hate to have to trap him in a jar," she put her hands on her hips.

"What?" he blinked.

"Never mind," Hermione waved a hand, "Should we head to the Library? We can continue plotting there," she gave him a conspiratorial wink.

Draco needed a second to recover from Hermione winking at him before he followed her to the Library.

As they walked, she told him of all the forms she had given Augustus, which were now forgotten in his drawer, and all the formal complaints she was planning on submitting. He had no idea what was coming for him.

While she talked, he realized he was dangerously distracted, half listening to her as he kept revisiting the feeling of her small hands on his chest. Of the curve of her hips beneath his palms when he caught her.

If he were being honest with himself, he might have held on for just a bit longer than necessary.

He was in trouble.

She kept telling him about her theories behind her boss’s dismissiveness, how she thought he was a coward and hyper-cautious because he was determined to restore his family name.

She was probably right, as usual.

But all he could think of was how he touched her shoulder after she started pacing the parlor, frustration radiating off her because of that spineless wrackspurt. It was a friendly, comforting touch, he told himself. But then he felt her shudder underneath his hand, and all he wanted to do was pull her in for … for what?

He didn’t know. No. He did know. He just refused to acknowledge it.

The lines were blurring.

Fuck.

He didn’t know how and when it started, but he felt as if there was an unescapable magnetic pull towards her, and he could no longer deny the attraction. She was the Sun, and he was a planet caught helplessly in her gravity, doomed to orbit as long as she allowed him to.

Was it when she pulled out a tin of cookies for Tilly from that definitely illegally extended handbag?
Or when she laughed at his ignorance of animated movies?
Or how she always looked at his very Muggle pen with a question on her lips she’d never dare ask?

Or was it the freedom with which she was friendly and affectionate with him, even after everything he put her through?

She spoke to him freely and unburdened by the past. She truly meant it when she forgave him, he realized. To her, it was in the past, and it would stay there. They were starting over.

For him, it was a test.

She was undeniably herself around him, more and more so, while he felt he was always walking a tight rope, worried he’d say the wrong thing and ruin it all.

That hug was seared into his skin, as a reminder of what he’d done to her in the past, and of how he had been given the chance to redeem himself in the present.

She was beautiful, yes, but more importantly, she was incredibly smart, kind, forgiving, driven, ambitious, funny… He had no lack of adjectives for her, but what he liked the most was the awe with which she observed the world, and the passion with which she fought for what she believed in.

Would she ever fight for him like that? He guessed she already did, even when all she knew was his cruelty.

He was quite painfully aware she could never feel anything like that for him, so he had to try to shove those pesky feelings down, lest he suffer heartache.

They were friends, and they would remain so. He was grateful for it. It was more than he ever could have asked for.

Although he was quite sure, if he truly allowed himself to fall into her orbit, he would most certainly never find his way out.

"Draco? Draco? Did you get lost in your thoughts?" She looked over at him, questioningly.

"Sorry," he winced, "I was just thinking of all the different things I should put in motion to move our project forward. Forgive me, I got distracted and missed the last thing you said," he lied.

"Oh, you looked really spaced out. Well, don’t worry so much, we’ll hash out the details together. I was just saying that I was worried about how we’ll get the pureblood families on our side."

"Hm, I might have a proposal," this time, he winked at her, her eyes widening slightly.

His resolve was pathetic, but he could have sworn he saw a slight blush rise in her cheeks as they walked into the Library.

He really was in trouble.

The next few hours flew by, and their research and plotting had to be put on hold for the lunch date Tilly had planned and organized a week ago.

It was Monday after all, and Hermione kept her promises.

They tidied their parchment and quills, and made their way to the sun room where Tilly had said she’d be serving lunch.

It was a sunny September day, with the telltale crispness of early autumn in the air, but warm enough to indulge in lunch outdoors. Or as outdoors as Tilly allowed.
She had opened the door of the sunroom, letting in the breeze and the earthy aroma of fallen leaves as they walked over to the small table.

"This is my mother’s favorite room," he said quietly.

"It’s beautiful," she said, and it was the truth.

Warm light filtered through tall, paned windows, softened by gauzy curtains that fluttered at the faintest breeze. The marble floor had been mostly covered with woven rugs in muted greens and creams, their patterns slightly worn from use. It was a warm and cozy room, in such contrast with the sharpness of the Manor.

Draco, ever the gentleman, pulled out Hermione’s chair and then took a seat across from her.

He poured her a glass of wine, courtesy of Tilly; apparently, they had no say or choice in anything today.

As she took a sip, she observed him. He looked far away, she concluded. Distracted and solemn somehow. He was fine in the morning, but ever since they made it to the Library, he’d seemed off. Was he worried about the project?

"So, Tilly probably wouldn’t mind a little bit of ‘shop-talk’ during lunch, would she? I was curious to hear what you meant by having an idea about the pureblood families?" she offered.

During their hours of research in the library, they compiled all the evidence they had so far, made a plan of action for their bureaucratic battle with the Ministry, and studied the ritual of harvesting the water from the Singing Falls.

All they needed for Norway, at this point, was accommodation and a portkey. They truly were a dream team. She offered to ask her friends to help, but he was adamant he’d take care of the travel arrangements.

It was quite productive, if a bit too clinical.

She could tell he was tiptoing around her, and she wished he’d stop. A few times, she’d noticed he had a retort ready, something funny probably, but he’d always stop. Like he was censoring himself for her sake.

She wasn’t going to break if he joked with her. Did he think she was stuck up? She was certainly known for being particular about things, that much was true, but she wasn’t stuck up. She guessed she’d have to prove it to him somehow.

"Oh well," he lifted his gaze, a corner of his mouth curling upward.

"I figured we could get some of our people together. Between the two of us, we can surely scrounge up seven willing pureblood participants. We’d have to do it under false pretenses, of course…

"...because how else would they agree to be in the same room?" she finished his sentence, biting back a smile.

"Precisely", he narrowed his eyes. "Then we can corner them and guilt them into agreeing," he finished with a sly grin.

"Brilliant!" she said excitedly, and saw his face light up at the compliment.

"So, what do you propose, oh clever one?" She raised an eyebrow and steepled her fingers.

"A party, of course," he lifted his chin smugly.

"A party?" A giggle escaped her. "How do you propose we invite them all to the same party?"

"Well," he leaned forward, "your birthday is coming up soon, and I meet my friends every Saturday at Nott Manor. I’ll simply propose a change of venue, and you’ll come up with some clever idea why you want to celebrate your birthday here, at the Manor."

Bold. She loved it.

"I love it! Hey, how do you know my birthday is coming up?"

"I have my resources," he quipped, but she playfully kicked his foot under the table, so he quickly added, "Ouch ok, ok, I just saw the pile of presents you got each September 19th at school. And since I was carefully observing my most formidable competition at all times, I, um, remembered it," he said, somewhat sheepishly.

He remembered it, huh.

"Well, that’s a swell plan. I can make it happen, no problem," she gave him a small smile. Harry would help, she knew.

Suddenly, Tilly appeared with a pop, practically vibrating with excitement, levitating two steaming bowls ahead of her.

"Tilly made Master Draco's favorite! Chicken korma with saffron rice and fresh naan!" she announced proudly, setting the bowls down. The curry was a beautiful golden color, creamy and fragrant, with tender pieces of chicken nestled in a sauce that shimmered with ghee. Hermione’s mouth watered, "It smells incredible, Tilly, thank you so much."

"My pleasure, Ms. Hermione. Now, please eats, and no more work talk, Master Draco." she looked at him sternly before disapparating.

"Hm, she’s terribly strict," Hermione said through a mouthful, rolling her eyes back with a moan. So tasty.

"Yes, now imagine when my mother instructed her that I am under no circumstances allowed any fun until I finish my homework," he took a bite.

Wiping the corner of his mouth, he added, "I always ran to the gardens, trying to hide from her. I liked climbing trees when I was a child."

Draco leaned back as he reminisced. "She’d give me a head start, let me believe I actually succeeded in hiding from her. She’d give me a good half hour of freedom, and I’d be sitting there, eating apples, giggling, thinking I won, when she’d suddenly pop up and drag me back…" He smiled, but then his gaze turned somber.

"When I was a teenager, I was terrible to her. I don’t know if she’ll forgive me once she’s free." he was looking down at his plate, his hand over the fork he abandoned.

"Oh" she leaned forward, putting her hand over his. "She will, I am sure. She saw your whole life, and most importantly, she sees you know. She’ll understand, and forgive." Hermione offered.

"Like you did," he turned his palm up, gently taking Hermione’s hand as he looked at her beneath his lashes.

"Yes, like I did," she confirmed, squeezing his hand gently, feeling heat rise in her cheeks.

"Thank you, I am quite undeserving but grateful, I hope you know that." he said, picking up his fork again, letting her hand go.

She pulled her hand back, taking a glass instead, needing to fill the sudden emptiness. "I know," she said, taking a sip. She only wished he’d stop doubting it as much.

"Right. Back to the party. Any specific themes you’d like for your birthday?" Draco asked, changing the subject swiftly, albeit not very gracefully.

She raised an eyebrow, "I am not opposed to a costumed party, actually."

"A masked ball?" he tilted his head, "Really?"

She could hear the disbelief in his voice and see the cogs turning in his head, suddenly planning for a ball, so she quickly corrected the situation before she had to go buy a dress.

"No, you posh prat! A costumed party, like dressing up as your favorite book character, for example."

That was a pretty great idea, she thought to herself.

"In fact, I’d actually quite like that," she tapped her chin with her index finger. "What do you think?"

Draco smiled at her, "Very you, however, are you sure Weaselby and Potter can read?" he deadpanned.

Her mouth dropped.

"Draco Malfoy, you know full well they can both read," she said as the damn broke and she started laughing.

"I am but a concerned friend," his lips quirked, "I have seen them at school, you know. So I feel my fear that they might not have a costume ready is very valid."

"Perhaps you’ll have to lend them a book or two first. Babbity Rabity is quite a light read. I might have a few copies," he continued with a smirk.

She threw naan bread at him, "You stop that!" she laughed as he caught the bread, taking a bite from it. "They will manage," she offered, then added, "Probably," and burst out laughing.

He joined her with a full-bodied laugh that made her feel like she finally saw a glimpse into his true self. She would love to hear it again, she mused.

"Well, then, Hermione," he put his napkin down then walked to her side of the table, offering his arm to her. "I think we have ourselves a party to plan."

She got up, linked her arm through his, and turned her chin up to face him.

"Lead the way," she said with a small, knowing smile, the kind that promised trouble.

Draco smirked down at her, eyes glinting with mischief. "Careful, now. Malfoys take party planning very seriously."

"Oh, I’m counting on it," she replied, matching his tone, as they walked back to the Library.

Chapter Text

She found them in the kitchen.

Harry stood at the stove, his back to her, wielding a wooden spoon like a wand as he stirred a pot that bubbled furiously. A smudge of flour was on his cheek.

Ginny was perched on the counter beside him, eating an apple and using a lazy charm to send carrot peels floating neatly into a bin.

The wireless was on in the background, playing a Celestina Warbeck ballad that Ginny was humming along to while Harry mumbled something about "thickening the sauce more".

"Hi, you two, am I early?" Hermione greeted.

"Hermione!" Ginny jumped down and ran to hug her tightly. Hermione gave her the bottle of wine she brought and walked over to Harry, giving him a peck on the cheek while he stirred the sauce. "It smells good, Harry."

"Oh, thanks, I made homemade pasta, can you believe it?" he pointed to the pot with drained, sticky pasta. "Organic flour and all."

"I can see that," Hermione looked quizzically at Ginny, who mouthed "Don't say a word!". They both bit back their laughter.

Harry was stirring the sauce when he declared, "I am practicing for my upcoming role of, um, husband..." he looked over at Ginny, who was opening the bottle of wine, "Um, you sure about that Gin?"

"Yeah, I'll pour it for Hermione, don't be such a stiff!"

Hermione's eyes widened as she looked between them, the pieces clicking into place with dizzying speed. The rejected wine, the homemade pasta, Harry's uncharacteristic domestic fervor...

"Oh my god! You're pregnant!" Hermione blurted.

Harry and Ginny froze. Ginny looked at Harry with a "how in the world" look, then they both turned to Hermione.

"Well? Am I right?!" Hermione screeched at them.

"YES!!!!" Ginny launched herself at Hermione.

"Oh my goodness!! Congratulations!" Hermione and Ginny proceeded to scream, hug, jump up and down while holding hands, and finally started crying.

"Harry, you're going to have a family," Hermione ran over, grabbed him, and sobbed into his shoulder. She gave him the tightest hug she could give, tears staining his jumper.

"Yeah, we felt ready, so we just stopped being careful, we didn't know it would happen right away," he squeezed her back. "Don't know how we'll break it to Molly, she's all busy planning the wedding."

"Nonsense, she'll be thrilled!" Hermione waved him off.

"It's not that, since we got pregnant before the wedding, we figured we'd just go down to the Ministry one day and make it official without all the faff," Ginny explained. "I never really wanted anything big, it's all mum".

"Oh, no, no, no! She won't like that at ALL" Hermione shook her head.

"Exactly, I feel like facing old Voldy again might be easier than breaking that news to her."

Hermione laughed, then stilled. "Harry, am I the first to find out?"

"Yeah, you are! It's early days and, well, let's sit down and eat. We'll explain," Harry smiled at her and led them to the dining table.

After the emotions calmed down a bit and wine was poured to congratulate the happy couple (to Harry and Hermione only! Ginny had apple juice in her wine glass), Harry started serving the pasta and sauce, the Muggle way. She also sometimes forgot to use magic, and she loved that Harry did too.

He put the pot back on the stove and joined them at the table. Leaning forward, he reached out for her hand. "Listen, Hermione. You're family to me, you're family to Ginny, so really the reason we're telling you first is, well..." he looked at Ginny, inclining his head.

"We would like you to be our maid of honor at the wedding, well, my maid of honor, but also" Ginny took Harry's hand before looking back at her, "our baby's godmother. What do you say?"

Hermione gasped, covering her mouth with both hands.

"Oh, Ginny, I'd be honored! Are you sure, godmother?" she looked at Harry, who nodded, "I've never held a baby before," she had a slightly panicked look in her eyes at the thought. "I don't know what to say, but yes, yes, to both!" tears welling in her eyes. She jumped up and went to hug them both. "I am so happy for you, you have no idea!"

"Thank you, Mi." Harry said, patting her arm.

"You know, Ron, he'll be my best mate, I hope that will be alright with you?" he gave her a knowing look as she sat down again.

"We want to have our wedding on the 1st of Jan so we can celebrate our anniversary as the clock strikes midnight," Ginny added. "By then you two might.. Well, time heals all wounds and all that, huh?" she offered.

"A New Year's Day wedding, that's wonderful! And don't worry about me and Ron, I will be perfectly civil around him even if things don't settle before that," she looked down at her hands.

"I admit I would like to reconcile with him. He's a huge part of my life, but I can't let him walk over me like that," she looked up at them, hoping they'd understand, "but it's on him, he needs to take the next step."

"Hey, of course. You told him as much at the bar! You're going to be there for us, and all we can hope for is that Ron being there won't bother you. That's all. I just wanted to let you know. And if you don't mind me saying, he's been really miserable about the whole thing." Harry said.

"But we're not letting him have it easy, Mi!" Ginny jumped in. "Oh no, he knows full well that he is on thin ice with us. We told him to get it together and apologize," she looked at Harry, "we're thinking he's gathering his courage. Mum heard him practicing one day at the Burrow. She flooed me right away with the news," Ginny huffed a laugh.

Hermione shook her head. Molly was scary when she got mad. Ron wouldn't have had it easy.

"I think you'll be getting a Floo call soon," Harry added.

"Thank you, both. We'll see what happens, I guess," she shrugged.

With that out of the way, dinner progressed with high spirits and talk of baby names and renovations of Grimmauld Place. She was so happy for them. Both of them knew loss, terrible loss, so to welcome a new life and start their own family meant everything to them. And she felt incredibly proud and honored to be part of it.

"But enough about us," Harry suddenly said, "We have nine months,"

"Eight," Ginny corrected.

"Right, eight months to talk about the baby and then their whole life after that. What's new with you?"

"Yeah, Mi, how's our very fit Mr. Malfoy doing?" Ginny winked.

"Not this again.." Hermione sighed, cheeks heating as she suddenly remembered his arms around her waist.

Shaking her head, she said, "As you know, we've made huge progress."

She briefly told them about the spell again and how they'd already planned their trip to Norway. This earned her a 'look' from Ginny, followed by an eyebrow wiggle and an "Ooooooh".

"Stop it Gin! We're just friends!"

They listened attentively when she moved on to tell them about the meeting with Augustus. She could see they were displeased to hear what had happened but quite glad Draco offered to help.

"He really is the perfect person to help you in this project. He can probably get them to do anything he wants with all the galleons he pours into the Ministry," Harry snorted.

They were sympathetic and said they would do anything they could to help.

"Well, now that you mention it. I am actually organizing a small get-together at the Manor. We plan on inviting you and a couple of other people, purebloods obviously, to ask who'd be interested in performing the counterspell with us. I would really like your help with that, actually."

"Of course, you have our full support!" Harry exclaimed. "What do you need us to do?"

"Well, because we need to get a bunch of purebloods that would probably never interact otherwise in one room without them getting suspicious, I need you to be very convincing about my friendship with Malfoy."

"But, you are friends," Ginny said, "Right?"

"Or more", Harry muttered into his wine.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!"

"Ok, ok, sorry, I am just joking, don't conjure any canaries, please!"

She gave him a 'try it again and see' look, then continued, "So, the story is that Malfoy and I have become unlikely friends through our work, and he's hosting a costume party for my birthday. It's...well, true, as you know, which is what makes it believable. I just need you two to help sell it because, well, no one has actually seen us interact. And, when I present my case, I need you to have my back."

"Hey, if you say your friends, then you're friends. You don't have to prove it to anyone. We'll do whatever we have to, Mi. Remember, you jump, I jump." Harry smiled at her.

"Oh, don't you worry Mi, I got this covered," Ginny said with a sly grin.

Hermione's hand came through the Floo first, waving a piece of parchment at Draco, followed by her loud proclamation, "I made a list!"

I guess we're skipping tea and biscuits.

"Of course you did", Draco smirked. "Tell me."

"So Harry and Ginny," she started reading it to Draco, "but Ginny might not be able to do anything, she's pregnant."

Huh, well done, Potter.

"Also, it will have to be Charlie, not Ron. Ron hasn't said sorry yet, so he's not invited," she added matter-of-factly.

Still not speaking to him, then.

"Then, Neville and Luna, you know he's been madly in love with her for ages? Maybe they hook up!" she added with glee. "Then I guess Pansy, Blaise, and Theo on your side, and well, me, but I can't cast it, obviously."

She took a few steps around the parlor. "So, technically we have enough for the Septenary Rite with," she said as she began counting on her fingers, "Ginny, Charlie, Neville, Luna, Pansy, Blaise, and Theo," she stopped to look at him, "and then I figured you could be the spare since you're also a pureblood."

His jaw tightened, "Can't say I'm happy to confirm that, but yes, I am."

"So what do you think? I don't think we need anyone else. I mean, we could invite more people, but I'd rather keep this between our close friends, people we can trust to keep this to themselves. I'm not sure that we want this out in the public, just yet."

"No, I agree. I was considering the same people, and actually, my mother, if you'll agree," he said casually. "I just figured you'd like to invite Ron. You said he needed to apologize," Draco's brow knitted together "Why?" I know what happened, but I hope you'll want to tell me yourself.

"Your mother? Um, sure, I guess if Ginny won't be casting, we need someone else." She cleared her throat. "Right, well, about Ron. I'm not very proud of it, but I did scream at him at the Leaky. He crossed a line," she sighed.

"He hasn't been very supportive of my coming here or working with you. I think he's still hung up on the old school rivalry, and you know, the stuff you did in the past," she tensed. "But what bothered me the most was that he didn't trust me."

"What didn't he trust you with?" Draco prodded.

"Well, I told them about Norway and that we'd be going together, and he didn't trust my judgement about, um, well - you. You know... I explained how you've changed and that we're friends now," she shifted.

"I like to think so," he said, giving her a soft smile.

"Right," she perked up slightly as if glad he'd confirmed it.

What else should I do to prove myself to you, little witch? I'll gladly do it.

"Anyway, he kept spewing nonsense and then said that I'm not going, as if he could just make decisions about MY life!"

"Has he met you?" he chuckled.

"Funny you say that," her lips quirked, "I actually told him if he doubts me ever again, he will have one less friend, and I meant it."

He must be shitting his pants. "How did he take that?"

"Oh, I have no idea," she huffed. "I didn't allow him to speak. I left and told him to think hard on what his next words to me were going to be. Now I'm waiting for him. It's his turn," she put her chin up.

Draco couldn't help but feel like she somehow chose him over Ron. That gave him all kinds of warm feelings. He knew that her blow-up at Ron had nothing to do with him personally, but he liked to imagine it did.

He felt proud that she truly considered him a friend, and he would never be as stupid as Weaselby to jeopardize that. How Ron could ever doubt her about anything was beyond him. But, then again, critical thinking skills were always beyond his reach, Draco thought smugly.

"You. Are. Scary. Remind me never to get on your bad side," he smiled.

"You already were, yet here we are." Hermione shrugged as she walked towards the door.

'Maybe he was right,' he said, walking up to hold it open for her. 'Maybe you should be careful around me, who knows what devious plans I have for you,' he said as he looked down at her.

"I think I can handle you, don't you think?" She looked up at him and grinned. His stomach dropped. Were they flirting?

She suddenly blinked, as if she had just had the same thought.

"Right, um, let's go to the library and plan the rest of your evil costume party."

"Oh, by the way, who will the devious Draco Malfoy deem worthy of emulating? I'm assuming someone terribly dramatic and brooding. Heathcliff? Mr. Darcy himself?" she teased him.

"Sherlock Holmes," he smirked. "Surprised?" he asked after seeing her eyes widen.

"No!" she blanched. "Ok, yes, but pleasantly! I just didn't expect you to choose a Muggle book character," she said, then looked him up and down, "But it's a perfect choice for you."

"I'm glad you think so," he inclined his head. "What about you?"

"Oh, you'll have to wait and see," she looked over her shoulder as she started toward the library.

"It's the middle of the week, midday, might I add. Some of us have jobs, Draco," Pansy drawled.

"Hello to you too," Draco chuckled, "Please, sit, I'll explain in a minute, just waiting for Blaise and Theo."

"Now I'm concerned."

"Draco, my boy!" Theo walked in, both arms wide open, smiling broadly. "What a pleasure to see you so soon. Pansy, you look positively thrilled to be here," he winked, she scowled at him, he blew her a kiss. "Where's Blaise?"

"Here." Blaise sauntered in.

"Your words are poetry, Blaise. Please speak less, lest you seduce me right here on Draco's antique rug, and he'll be simply furious about the scuff marks."

"Right, let's get to it," Draco said, ignoring Theo's theatrics.

"Straight to business, my interest is piqued and my balls are titillated. Let's hear it!"

"Gross" Pansy wrinkled her nose at Theo. Blaise chuckled, then placed a kiss on her cheek.

"I'd like our next social gathering to be here, at the Manor. And, I'd like you to meet Granger. She'll be the guest of honor. Objections?"

Theo's grin couldn't get bigger if he tried. "Draco, darling, you're making my little dreams come true! Ever since she stomped Ron into the ground at the Leaky, I've been dying to meet her. I even went book shopping, hoping I'd run into her."

"Theo, that's pathetic. Draco, if that is what you want, we'll be there." Pansy stated, looking at her nails, feigning disinterest.

He loved Pansy. Their brief school romance only solidified that they were better as friends. He knew her well enough to know that behind the hard exterior and walls she put up, she had a soft and gooey middle and a fierce loyalty to her closest friends. She loved Theo like a brother and nursed him back to life at Hogwarts after he'd come back bruised and broken, courtesy of his father. She would do anything for any of them. Her sting had no poison.

"Yeah, mate. Anything you want us to bring? I can supply the wine," Blaise offered.

Blaise, a man of action. Pansy was the light of his life, and unlike his mother, he was monogamous to a fault. She was his first and only love, and he had loved her since they were children; she caught up to him in Paris, and the rest is history.

Now for the hard part.

"That would be great, thanks mate. There's one more thing. There will be a dress code. Once I tell you, you will agree without questions asked," he looked over at them seriously.

"Further intrigue! I am in, whatever it is." Theo beamed. Pansy just rolled her eyes.

"Excellent. You need to emulate a favorite book character with a few choice details. That's all."

Pansy eyes widened in horror "Excus…"

"No questions!" he raised a hand, a smile dancing on his lips. "I need you to do this and I need you to trust me."

She pressed her lips into a tight line, "Fine."

"What time do you expect us?" Blaise asked.

"Are you going to be a dragon? Or Merlin to her Morgana?" Theo wiggled his eyebrows at him.

"Neither, I will be Sherlock Holmes."

Silence.

"He's a muggle detective, it's a series." Blank stares. "Never mind, I'll see you all on Saturday at 18:30."

Pansy said her goodbyes as she muttered something about not having enough time to design and make a bloody costume for two people. Blaise waved to Draco, then walked with Pansy to the Floo, his hand on her lower back supporting her quiet rant with an occasional "Mhm, right you are, love".

The green light of the Floo flashed brightly, and then there was only Theo. He lingered back a moment, propping one arm up by his elbow, scratching his chin with his thumb and index finger.

"I have... a theory."

"Goodie." Draco rolled his eyes.

"You're trying to impress this witch. You, my friend, have a crush." Theo clapped his hands.

Bloody hell.

"Nope. We're friends, that's all. Trust me, there is nothing there." Draco turned towards his desk, averting his gaze from Theo's piercing stare.

He couldn't lie to Theo, Theo knew him too well. He was already lying to himself and needed Theo to back off.

"Hm, you're a terrible liar, Draco, always have been. I'll play along, for now."

Then he walked over, patted him on the shoulder, blew him a kiss and stepped through the Floo.

Draco was left standing there, gripped by anxiety. How would his closest friends, his chosen family, accept Hermione? And would she accept them?

He didn't doubt they'd help with the spell, especially if he asked them to, but being in the same room with a bunch of Gryffindors might be too much.

Salazar, save me.

Hermione stepped in front of the mirror for a final costume check.

She wore a sleek, navy blue dress from the 60’s that hit just at her knees, tailored to perfection. A thin brown belt cinched her waist, and the dress flared around her courtesy of a very pretty petticoat. She had a lightweight trench coat draped over her arm and simple, stylish pumps.

To really sell it, she wore a single strand of pearls at her neck and carried a vintage torch instead of her wand. Her famous, unruly curls were pulled back into a soft, elegant twist at the back of her head, with a sleek headband keeping every strand perfectly in place. A few curls had escaped to frame her face, but even they seemed to behave.

She didn’t look like she was in costume. She looked like she’d just walked out of the pages of her favorite childhood book. She had read and owned all of them—all 175 novels.

This party was a fantastic idea. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner?

“Bye, Crookshanks!” she kissed his forehead as she grabbed her beaded bag. She had made sure to give him dinner and a lot of cuddles before getting ready. She never liked leaving him alone for too long, but today they had spent all day lounging and cuddling as she indulged herself and re-read the first book in the series, her favorite, The Secret of the Old Clock.

She smoothed her dress one more time, then turned on her heel and walked to her fireplace.

“Malfoy Manor, East Parlor,” she said with a grin.

As Hermione stepped out of the Floo, she was met by Sherlock Holmes himself.

Draco pulled off the look a little too well.

She was quite sure she’d need surgery to reattach her jaw to her face as she stared at him.

He wore an oversized trenchcoat over a well-fitted suit vest and trousers, a crisp white shirt, and a neatly knotted cravat. He even had the iconic deerstalker hat that sat perfectly atop his blond hair, and he held a curved pipe between his fingers, a wisp of sweet-smelling, non-magical smoke curling from it. He’d completed the look with a magnifying glass tucked into his pocket.

Smoking hot, was the word that invaded Hermione’s mind, no matter how hard she fought it off.

“Wow, you polish up nicely. It’s such a great likeness, even the magnifying glass,” she pointed at it. “Well done, I am quite impressed,” she gave him a little clap.

He bowed in thanks and watched her walk up to him.
As she walked over, she smoothed her dress again, feeling a bit nervous about how she looked and what he’d think.

What does it matter what he thinks?

“You look,” his words seemed to have caught in his throat. “Beautiful. As always, if I may say. And, happy birthday," he gave her a small kiss on the cheek.

“Oh, thank you,” she looked down at her dress to hide her blush, before looking at him again. “Can you guess my character?”

“Sorry, I’ve only begun reading Muggle literature late in life, so besides the characters from Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, and Tolkien, my knowledge is sadly limited. I’d venture and say that you’re also some kind of investigator, considering the torch?”

“You read Tolkien? Oh, I need to pick your brain one day about all the Muggle books you’ve read. We could even form a book club to read the rest of my ‘muggle must-reads’ list,” she smiled at him expectantly.

“I’d love that, but,” he inclined his head, “I’d rather not wait for the book club to discover your character,” he winked at her.

She discovered that she loved and hated when he winked at her. Her winks were for fun, she thought. But she felt his were heavy with hidden messages she did not dare decipher.

“I got carried away again, didn’t I?” she chuckled.

“You’re right, actually. I am Nancy Drew, a character from my favorite book series. She’s a teenage amateur detective, and I always fancied being like her when I grew up. She was smart, independent, and courageous, and helped people by solving mysteries.”

“Hm, that makes complete sense. You are also smart, independent, and courageous, and you helped solve loads of mysteries.”

“You flatter me too much, Draco,” she blushed.

He offered his arm, and she took it. They walked in silence for a while, making their way to the ballroom.

“What is your favorite book in the series, if I may ask?” he broke the silence.

“Easy, the first book. It’s called The Secret of the Old Clock. I was 8 when I read it. Maybe this won’t come as a surprise, but I was bored with the books recommended by my teacher so I went to the local library and discovered the series while browsing the section for the older kids.”

“After the first book, I was so taken by Nancy that I read all the published novels in a year. That was around eighty-five books at the time, if I’m not mistaken. I finished all 175 just last year,” she saw Draco’s eyes widen as she looked over at him.

“The librarian actually pulled my parents in for a talk one day,” she continued and laughed at the memory, “She was concerned I needed to go out and play with friends. I mean, I did that too, don’t get me wrong. But between the few friends I had and being bullied for my hair, or teeth, or just because things happened around me that no one could explain, I preferred my own company and reading.”

Draco stopped. He turned to face her, not allowing their hands to unlink.

“It must have been difficult having accidental magic, and no one to explain to you what was happening. I know I apologized, but I am truly sorry I added to your grief in our youth. Especially when you finally came to the one place where things would start to make sense.”

“Oh, well, thank you, Draco, and you’re right, you really don’t have to apologize anymore. In fact, I forbid it from now on,” she proclaimed. “And you’re also right that it wasn’t easy. My parents were quite proud when we got the letter, and things finally slotted into place for me. But the past is in the past. Nancy wouldn’t dwell on it too much, and neither do I,” she patted his hand and pulled him along toward the ballroom.

Her mood dampened a bit, thinking about her parents and how they were so proud and excited after Dumbledore visited them to explain it all. These memories were always difficult to revisit.

“What do your parents think about your career now? They must be quite proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”

Was he a mind reader?

“I, uh, I don’t really talk to them anymore,” her voice was barely a whisper.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s ok. It will probably come up one way or another, so might as well tell you now.” She stopped and turned toward him.

“Here goes,” she took a breath to steady herself, and then said, ”I obliviated my parents before we left to hunt for Horcruxes. They live in Australia under false names, and they don’t remember ever having a daughter. I tried reversing the spell, but it’s impossible. I even had help from St. Mungo’s, but there’s nothing to be done. So…”

Before she could finish, Draco embraced her tightly and waited until her body caught up and she put her arms around him. Her eyes watered, the hug communicating to her more than any words could. It was unexpected, coming from him, but welcome.

She squeezed him back and said, “It’s ok, I have my found family,” then she thought for a second before saying, “and now I have you, too.”

She did have him, she realized. She couldn’t really imagine going back to acquaintances or just co-workers anymore, despite the short time they spent together. She probably added him to her “list” pretty much as soon as he apologized.

It didn’t take much for Hermione to make space for people in her heart, and once people settled in there, it was almost impossible for her to let them out. Even Ron, the idiot he was, was still there, wedged in deeply enough that she’d let him get away with murder, as long as he found his way back.

“I am so sorry, Hermione,” he whispered into her hair. “I have no words to express the admiration I have for you. You are the bravest, kindest person I’ve ever met, and why you consider me worthy to be your friend is beyond me.” he slowly let go, but held her gently by her shoulders. “But make no mistake, I will never take it for granted. Thank you for sharing that with me.”

She wiped a tear running down her cheek and said, “Thank you, Draco.”

“I’m sorry I made you cry. On your birthday, I’m such an idiot.”

“Nonsense, I made myself cry. You’re a good friend, Draco Malfoy, now take me to that ballroom before I get even more sentimental and ruin my makeup.”

“As you wish, Ms. Drew. We'd better get this party started, anyway.” he offered his hand again, and she took it.

“Pink would agree”

“Who’s Pink?”

“Tsk, tsk, I can’t let you embarrass yourself like this anymore. We’re also starting a music and a movie club,” she grinned at him. “I’ll make the agenda.”

“I’m surprised you don’t already have one,” he smiled as he opened the door for her.

“Oh, I do. Had it for ages,” she waved a hand. “I just didn’t want to scare you off, that’s all,” she said as she walked in.

She heard his laughter behind her as she took in the ballroom.

“Malfoys really do take party planning seriously,” she observed. She was frozen solid at the door, and only moved when she felt his steady hand on her lower back, gently guiding her in.

“Told you so,” he smirked.

Chapter Text

“This is utterly too much!” She twirled around to look at him as she put her hands on her hips.

“You’ll have to explain that to Tilly. She designed it all, and that was after I told her to keep it simple,” his lip curled.

“Malfoy, the bar is the size of my entire apartment,” she pointed into the room behind her, one hand still on her hip.

“Well, Blaise sent his wine and Theo sent spirits, so I had to put them somewhere,” Draco shrugged his shoulders.

“So you did plan some of it at least,” she raised an eyebrow.

“Some of it,” he winked and walked past her. “Come on, let’s get you your birthday drink.”

She walked behind him towards the bar, slowly, taking it all in.

The ballroom should have been overwhelmingly spacious, yet it was cleverly divided with large, elegant folding screens that made the space feel more intimate.

There was obviously a giant chandelier in the middle, but it shone in a muted sort of way, allowing the room to be illuminated with soft light from small orbs that were levitating near the seating areas.

There were several areas to sit in. She could see a couple of plush, deep-seated sofas and loveseats in emerald green. Of course. Then, a few clustered armchairs in burgundy and a couple of small, round, marble-topped tables with elegant chairs around them. The space was filled with vases, flowers, small tables, and cushions, creating an intimate and cozy atmosphere.

But the most eye-catching feature was not the lighting or furniture.

No. It was the floating books.

The entire room was full of books of all sizes that were gently flapping around, soundlessly bobbing up and down. She stared in awe.

Perhaps if she reached out for one… she put her hand up towards a book and it slowly floated to her as if she summoned it, gently settling into her hand. She was holding ‘Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries’. It was a Muggle book, despite the title. She had the whole set at home - she adored Fawcett’s writing.

How would she put it back? Maybe… She let it go in mid-air, the book gently opened and flapped away, bopping up and down smoothly. Wow.

It was one of those moments when magic was simply just that - magical. It was a thing of inexplicable beauty, and it continued to bewilder her to this day. Her eyes glassy, she continued to the bar slowly, allowing herself time to admire the books in their gentle dance across the room. She saw a mix of titles, fiction and non-fiction, magical and Muggle. A perfect blend of two worlds, her two worlds. Her throat squeezed.

The bar, she noted, was of deep mahogany brown and seemed to mix drinks on request.

Draco was giving it instructions for a bespoke birthday cocktail as she approached him. Bottles floated around, preparing her drink as she nudged Draco.

“Clever trick,” she tilted her head toward the books. He was leaning on the bar, with both arms on the top, smoking his pipe and smiling devilishly. “You’re looking quite pleased with yourself tonight, aren’t you?”

“What can I say, I am a genius. I figured out the Library spell, and tweaked it for this special occasion.” He puffed his pipe.

“The bar is mixing my drink, Draco, there is no bartender.”

“You’re quite the detective if I may say so,” he chuckled. “House-elves would sort of defeat the purpose, don’t you think?” he handed her a Martini glass with minty colored liquid that had a thin layer of creamy foam on top. “It’s called The Page Turner, you’ll love it, I’m certain.”

The Page Turner, huh.

“I didn’t mean it like that. The sentient bar actually proves our point beautifully. It’s just all so, so…” she sighed as she accepted the drink. “You really shouldn’t have gone through all this trouble. I have a bespoke cocktail for Circe’s sake,” she gestured to the glass with her free hand, “the main event isn’t me, remember?”

“You’re always the main event, Hermione,” he blurted as he picked up his own drink, an old-fashioned.

Her stomach dropped at his words. It seemed like he had just said the first thing that popped into his head, then she noticed his eyes widen ever so slightly, which all but confirmed it.

“It’s incredible, don’t get me wrong. I am just not used to… you know...” she was at a loss for words.

“Being spoiled?” he asked as he turned to face her, leaning on one elbow.

“I guess you’re right. No one has ever done anything like this for me, so thank you,” she raised her glass to him, and they softly toasted with their drinks. Then she took a sip.

Mint, with a hint of chocolate, creamy yet fresh.

No, he didn’t.

She looked up at him, eyes wide.

“Was I right? Do you like it?” he looked at her eagerly, as if he was waiting for this moment.

“Yes, I love it. But you knew I would, didn’t you?” Her voice was but a whisper as she dropped her gaze.

The air around them suddenly felt charged, the pressure building slowly, purposefully, coursing around them as if trying to push them together. She saw his hand flex for a moment, then pull back, as if he was fighting with the urge to reach out for her. She wouldn’t have stopped him.

What was happening?

“Well, color me red and call me a lion! Are my eyes deceiving me?” A booming voice thankfully interrupted her intrusive thoughts of imagining Draco’s hand on her neck.

“Hermione Granger, our heroine, our savior, in the arms of none other than Draco Malfoy.” Theo walked in with a strut, a massive top hat under one arm, and a small gift in the other.

“Do not fret, my fair lady, I am here to save you!” He announced theatrically.

“Theodore Nott, at your service,” he tossed his hat on a nearby chair, bowing low and taking Hermione’s hand, placing a small kiss on the back. As he did this, he looked up between her and Draco, then settled on her eyes and winked.

“And here is your present, mademoiselle, Happy Birthday. Open it when you feel like you’re in the wrong place, but it’s the right time,” he winked again.

“Pleased to meet you, again.” She couldn’t help but smile. She looked at the gift, a small box wrapped in gold with a big red bow. “You really shouldn’t have, we barely know each other. And your instructions scare me a bit if I’m being honest.”

“Great! Then you’ll follow the instructions properly,” he grinned.

She suddenly realized that the ruse for getting them all under one roof, which was her birthday party, was slowly becoming a real party.

“Not to mention that any friend of Draco’s is my friend,” then he nudged her and said, “I bet you’ll like me far more than him by the end of the night. He has such a drab personality, but we love him despite it, don’t we?” he patted him on the shoulder.

Theo suddenly gasped in shock as he noticed the pipe. “Draco! What would my beloved Cissa say? The Muggles put terrible images of rotten lungs on their cigarettes. Have you not educated him in the Muggle ways, witch?” he feigned disappointment.

“You can’t call my mother beloved. We talked about this.”

She laughed, “Are you in character?”

“No,” Draco exhaled and dragged a hand over his face, “He’s always like this.”

“Can you guess it?” Theo summoned his top hat and put it on his head at an angle.

“The Mad Hatter.”

“One hundred points to Gryffindor, as our old pal Dumbledore would say each time he robbed us of the house cup!”

He looked her up and down, placing his chin between his index finger and thumb as if appraising a piece of art, “You are a beauty with brains, a rare occurrence.”

He turned to Draco and said, “Draco, if you don’t win her hand in marriage soon, she’s mine. The race has begun!” Then he slapped the bar and said, “Eggnog on the rocks! Hold the olive!”

Hermione looked at Draco with raised eyebrows. Draco was biting back a smile as he shook his head. Don’t ask, he seemed to be saying.

“That’s disgusting, Theo, it’s not even Christmas.” Pansy drawled as she and Blaise made their way across the room. “Hi Granger, happy birthday, I hope you like books,” she handed her a package, “Because we got you a book.” Then she looked up at the floating books and smirked.

Blaise extended his hand. “Happy birthday, Granger, and nice to meet you again.” He had a nice, firm, no bullshit handshake and a soft smile. He always had a quiet, somber presence at school, and she could tell he was still the same. Pansy seemed to be the same, too, aloof and cold, or at least that was what she wanted the world to see. Theo, however, was practically invisible at school, even a bit skittish, and always looking sickly pale. Now, Theo was the life of the party.

“Welcome to the gang,” Blaise added nonchalantly. ”The book is Pansy’s favorite, don’t let her attitude fool you.” Pansy smacked him on the shoulder playfully. “We hope you enjoy it,” he added.

“Um, thank you, both, you shouldn’t have.”

Draco leaned down to whisper to her, “They should have, it’s your birthday, and you deserve it.” She blushed.

“Get me a drink, babe,” Pansy said, and Blaise turned to the bartenderless bar that immediately started mixing a dirty Martini.

“Draco, pinch me. I must be dreaming. Blaise just spoke in full sentences to Granger. What’s next? Is he going to start having complex thoughts? I need my salts, Draco, my salts!” Theo pretended fainting on him. Draco pushed him away with a snort, and Hermione giggled. Theo was hilarious, and even Draco was not immune to it.

The Snakes cozied up, and Hermione and Draco joined them. Hermione quietly observed the relaxed conversation and banter between friends, seeing Draco in a new light, more relaxed, more at ease. These were his people, his found family.

“So, Granger, who are you?” Pansy asked suddenly.

“Oh, I’m Nancy Drew, she’s a..”

“Right, I know, a detective, just like this one here,” she inclined her head toward Draco. “My friend in France was obsessed with the books,” she added, seeing Hermione’s shocked expression. “Did you two plan it? Is it like a couple's costume?” Her lips curved into a smug little smile.

“Oh, no, we..”

“It was a coincidence. We have similar tastes in books, that’s all,” he sipped his drink.

“Right. Well, guess ours. We did come in a couple’s costume.”

“Alright,” Hermione said, looking at them. “I am quite certain you are Morticia and Gomez Addams, it’s quite remarkable actually, not a lot of people know they were book characters.”

“For the sake of starting fresh, we admit we had no clue,” Pansy admitted, sipping her drink. “We saw one of the movies a few months ago at this indie cinema and we liked it, so…”

“You pull it off really well,” Hermione commented.

“Cheers,” Blaise raised his drink to her.

“So, who else is joining us? And don’t lie, Draco, I can tell.”

Just as Pansy finished threatening Draco, the fire roared.

“I knew it.” She rolled her eyes.

“Harry, Ginny!” Hermione walked over to them and hugged them both. They were dressed as Peter Pan and Wendy.

“What a setup, are you trying to impress someone, Ferret?” Ginny said to Draco.

“Certainly not you, Ginevra. And especially not Potter.” This earned him a punch in the shoulder by Hermione. “Oof!“ he looked at Hermione, who had murder in her eyes. He rubbed his shoulder and chuckled, “What I meant to say was welcome to my home, I hope you like the party?”

“Much better,” she noted.

“Hermione, be gentle. I think that’s the arm he almost lost to Buckbeak.” Potter smirked.

“I like them.” Theo announced.

The fire roared once more, and Neville and Luna stepped in. Luna was, in fact, Babbity Rabbity, and Neville was the Wizard with the Hopping Pot, considering he charmed a pot to gently hop beside him. Neville gave everyone a curt nod and got himself and Luna a drink, while Luna greeted everyone with a firm hug, and gave Pansy the longest hug of all, much to her chagrin.

Finally, Charlie stepped out of the fire in a black leather uniform, looking very much just like himself.

“Charlie, you’re not in costume!” Hermione exclaimed.

“I am, I just chose non-fiction because I had very little time to come up with something. I am a Dragon Tamer from Dragon Taming for Daring Fools.”

“I’ll take it,” then she gave him a tight hug, because Charlie, though they were all close, was always on some daring adventure with dragons, and was rarely home.

“I got your letter, sorry I haven’t replied yet. I’ll get you sorted, I just need the right candidate, and I’m working on it,” he said quietly.

“Thank you, you’re a life-saver!” She noticed how Theo was staring at Charlie, as if enchanted. She had a hunch, and she was going to test it. “Charlie, come here, I want to introduce you to Theo, my friend. He loves everything about dragons.” Theo nodded vigorously.

She left them there and went over to Draco, who was engaged in deep conversation with Neville about plants and poisons. “Um, sorry to interrupt, Neville. I need to speak to Draco for a moment.”

“Of course, of course!” He gave her a small pat on the arm. “Draco, find me later, I want to know your thoughts on using belladonna in a sleeping potion.”

“Sure, mate.”

“He’s not shy anymore, I guess slaying a giant snake does that to a man,” Draco observed as she took him to the side.

“Right, before people get properly smashed, seeing as the bar barely needs instructions anymore and is just guessing people’s drinks now, should we, you know, say something?”

“Right, that’s probably a good idea.” Just as he said that, they saw Theo, Charlie, and Neville taking shots of something green that reminded Hermione of washing-up liquid. Each time they opened their mouths, bubbles shot out of them, which only made them laugh, which in turn made more bubbles come out. Harry suddenly jumped up and yelled, “I wanna try!”

“Right, let’s hurry!” Hermione pushed Draco to the middle of the group.

They stood together in front of their unsuspecting group of friends as Hermione cleared her throat. Everyone turned to them.

“I suspected as much, you’re engaged!” Theo wailed, brushing a fake tear from his eye, a few bubbles bursting from his nose.

“I swear Theo I’ll…”

Hermione interrupted, “I’d like to say a few words before the party really kicks off. Harry put that down,” she saw him sneaking the shot from the bar and slowly raising it to his lips.

“The reason we’re all here today isn’t just to celebrate my birthday, although that was the pretense upon which we gathered you all here.”

“Aaaw, c’mon,” Theo started complaining.

“We’re still having the party, Theo, relax,” Draco added.

“Right, anyway, Draco and I have been working together on the project that I am running for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He has been instrumental in helping me find answers that confirmed my long-held theory. It is also how we became friends, believe it or not.”

“We believe it!” Harry bellowed. Ginny slapped his arm.

“Yes, well, my research. No, our research,” she looked over at Draco, ”has led us to the inescapable conclusion: house-elf servitude is not a natural state. It is a spell, and it’s one of the most ancient spells ever done. Tonight, we are here to ask for your help, as representatives of magical Britain’s oldest families, pureblood families, to be the ones who help us break it.”

“We’re researching the spell reversal, and we need seven willing purebloods to perform it. The spell itself doesn’t seem to be too complicated, but Hermione needs more time to gather all the ingredients, as well as work around the ministry blockade that her delightful boss set up. This spell reversal isn’t without risk, but we would appreciate your help.” Draco added.

The Gryffindors all nodded and agreed, then looked over at the snakes.

“Really? You all think we’d say no? I’m not surprised with your lack of faith, but I am upset with you, Draco. That you thought you even had to ask us that is downright offensive,” she turned her face away from him.

“Let me translate, she said ‘of course, my dear friends, we will help however we can’,” Theo said in a, what he thought to be, a girly voice.

Pansy threw a pillow at him.

“Yeah mate, no questions asked,” Blaise added as he handed another pillow to Pansy.

“Here, here!” Theo swatted the second pillow away and raised his glass.

“Now let’s get back to celebrating our Golden Girl, shall we? It's time for shots!” Theo yelled at the bar, which instantly lined up shot glasses and started pouring tequila.

Harry immediately took the opportunity and shot the green liquid in one go.

Chapter Text

Draco scanned the room as he walked away with another old-fashioned.

He was a man of habit, and he was loyal to things he liked.

The party really took off. Clearly, he made the right call with the bar.

Harry and Neville were hugging, singing one of the old sorting hat songs as Theo pretended to direct them with his wand.

Luna was dancing with the books, her ears flopping and tail bouncing, while Pansy watched her and clapped in rhythm with the tune that was coming from the wireless. Draco noted that Luna was not dancing to the rhythm at all and then smirked when he noticed Pansy smiling, like she was genuinely enjoying herself.

Blaise was opening another bottle of wine for the girls, as Charlie questioned him about his success with the wine business.

Snakes and Lions, brought together by the power of alcohol and shared trauma.

Then his eyes found her.

Hermione was sitting across from Ginny in one of the plush armchairs, waving her arms around, clearly talking Ginny’s ears off about something that excited her. Another Page Turner on the little side table next to her. He was right, she loved the drink.

Walking up to them, he came up with a perfect excuse to eavesdrop and perhaps even join the conversation. “Do you ladies need another drink?”

Gentlemanly, mother would be proud.

Ginny shot him a knowing look, winked at him without Hermione noticing, and said, “I need to go to the loo, warm my chair with your fuzzy bum, Ferret.”

“Ginny, honestly!” Hermione said through a laugh.

Ginny blew her a kiss and walked away.

Draco sat down on his very smooth butt, if he may say so himself.

“So, what were you telling her? From afar, it looked like the most riveting story. I am quite intrigued.”

“Oh, nothing, we were just reminiscing about some random stuff we did at school,” her lip curved.

“All my information about your adventures came from gossip or bloody Skeeter, so please, indulge me with one of your stories while we wait for Ginny,” he relaxed into the chair.

Hermione leaned forward, conspiratorially, “You wouldn’t believe me unless I took an Unbreakable Vow”, then she winked at him and leaned back with a giggle, sipping her bespoke cocktail.

Was she tipsy?

He noticed the light pink in her cheeks and the way she was looking at him under her lashes.

She was definitely tipsy.

“Try me,” he leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees, and swirled the old-fashioned with one hand.

He suddenly saw something in her gaze that he wasn’t quite prepared for. Her eyes roved over him, stopping at his forearms that were showing because he pushed his sleeves up, slowly shifted to his drink that he was swirling between his knees, then dragged up his torso to meet his eyes.

Oh shit.

She exhaled through her nose and sat back up. With her swotties tone, she said, “I, Hermione Jean Granger, broke into Gringotts and rode a dragon.”

His mouth dropped open. “That was YOU?”

She giggled again. “Well, Harry, Ron, and I, but yes. I had to drink the most foul Polyjuice potion since I brewed it in my second year and turned into a cat. I turned into Bellatrix for the heist, oh sorry,” she said as he winced. “She tasted vile, but we needed to enter her vault…”

“Sorry, while I recover from the fact that you turned into that deranged woman, please tell me you didn’t brew Polyjuice just to turn into a cat in our second year?”

“Gordic no!” she laughed, “We were trying to get into the dungeons to find the heir of Slytherin. But hush now,” she waved him off, “that’s a story for cocktail number three, we’re only at two, so you get the dragon story now.”

“Deal,” he smirked.

She wasn’t smart, she was brilliant. Polyjuice was advanced, and certainly not in the second year syllabus.

“But we were quickly found out,” she interrupted his thoughts, “and the only way out was on the scales of a very sad and abused dragon. This is part of the reason Charlie and I are such great friends. He found the dragon later, wandering, searching far and wide for his kin, and then he nursed him back to health. Harry, Ron, and I named him after you when Charlie found him. His name is,” she giggled, “you’ll be so mad,” she covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

She was shaking with laughter. “We named him Drakey, and then it turned out to be a girl!” She was almost wheezing now.

He sat stunned for a fraction of a second, then burst out laughing. He felt his ribs hurt by the time he was done.

“I thought you’d never break a rule to save your life, oh, how wrong I was!”

“You have no idea, Draco. I will go to great lengths for people I love, and if I think my cause is just. Just ask Skeeter.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down, looking very pleased with herself.

“You were buddies briefly, weren’t you? Ever wonder why she disappeared and you couldn’t give her any more juicy gossip about us?”

How in the world did she know?

“How in the world did you know?” He was genuinely shocked and impressed.

“I saw you talking into your hand, and I figured it out. I trapped her in a jar for a month and blackmailed her. Why do you think the gossip about us is always from someone else nowadays, and never from her?” She took a victory sip from her cocktail. “This is dangerously good,” she smacked her lips.

She was incredible and scary.

“Wait, you wanted to trap Thicknesse in a jar, that’s what you meant!”

“Ten points to Slytherin,” she raised her glass to him.

“We should complain to Hogwarts.”

“I know, I wanted to, but I figured with Dumbledore gone, students would not be put in mortal peril anymore, so I dropped it. Byegones be byegones, and all that.”

“No, Hermione, we should complain because you should have been sorted into Slytherin.”

“Oh,” then she burst out laughing again.

Ginny never went to the loo.

She walked away far enough, then snuck back to the bar and sipped her ginger ale as she observed Hermione and Draco.

She grinned.

She. Fucking. Knew. It.

She was nothing if not a good friend, and good friends were supportive, encouraging even.

She saw Hermione wheezing with laughter, Draco staring at her as if she were the Sun and he was an asteroid in orbit, doomed to crash into her and burn out. She could tell there was something more going on, whether these two idiots knew it or not.

So she finished her drink, placed it on the bar, and started making her rounds.

She walked over to Harry first and whispered something in his ear. He looked over to Hermione, then he winked at Ginny and gave her a chaste kiss.

She walked over to Theo next and whispered into his ear.

“You and I, we should be best friends.”

“Well, if you keep hitting on my brother like you’ve been doing all night, we might be family, too.”

Theo was left speechless, probably for the first time in his whole life. She smirked inwardly and kept making her rounds.

She felt bad for interrupting Neville. He was obviously trying his best to woo Luna, who was still swaying to her own rhythm, but staring at him intently nevertheless.

You almost got her, old champ!

She excused herself for her rude interruption, then grabbed them both by the shoulder and whispered her little plan.

“Oh, I thought I could see the Wrackspurts all the way from here,” Luna said in her wispy voice. “You are so right, dear Ginny, we will follow your lead. By the way, did you notice you had two auras? Congratulations.”

“Huh?” Neville looked at Ginny.

“Oh, never mind her, you good with the plan?”

“Yeah, yeah, she seems really happy, I’m glad. She deserves it. You were right the other night, they do seem to have good chemistry.”

“Ever the potioneer, dear Nev, now get going!” she shooed them off.

She stood and observed the room, all the pawns of her game slowly moving, conspiring, and the two idiots were completely oblivious because they just had eyes for each other.

Yeah, it was all coming together beautifully.

Hermione was so lucky to have such a good friend, she thought to herself, as she glanced at them one last time.

Hermione was sitting on the edge of a massive, plush armchair, as if trying to get as close as possible to Draco while they talked. He was on the edge of his chair, too, elbows on his knees, listening to every word she said as if he was hearing the gospel truth.

Transparent and adorable.

Ok, she decided. It was time.

Hermione was suddenly left standing next to Draco, as she said her final goodbye to their last guests.

What in the world just happened? If she knew any better, she’d guess they all conspired to leave at the same time.

Maybe the sentient bar was just too good and got them all properly sloshed.

“I, well…” she started. “I guess the party’s over?” She looked at Draco with a shrug. He looked equally perplexed.

He shook his head, “Let’s get some fresh air, then I’ll walk you to the Floo, what do you say?”

“Sure”, she linked their arms. “Lead the way, Drakey.”

“No, certainly not,” he said as he walked her out onto the massive balcony adjoining the ballroom.

It was a crisp autumn night with a starry sky illuminating the view of the Manor’s gardens that stretched seemingly forever. She could see fireflies dancing among the rose bushes carefully planted and tended to by loving hands. Probably his mother’s.

She shivered slightly and felt a jacket drape over her shoulders.

They silently walked over to the railing, both of them leaning on it, looking over the gardens.

She almost felt their shoulders touch as she looked up at him. He angled his head to meet her gaze, his eyes the color of the perfect storm. She felt like she should step away, lest she be hit by lightning.

“Thank you, Draco,” she almost whispered his name.

“I don’t think I ever had as much fun as I had today,” she added, still holding his gaze. She saw silver flames, and she was afraid to burn.

“Don’t mention it, Hermione. You deserve it, all of it,” he said, putting his hand over her arm.

“I have something for you.”

“Oh, no, Draco, the party was more than enough,” she put her hand over his to stop him.

He looked down at their hands, stared at them even, then gently turned towards her and summoned her present.

“Nonsense, I am not going to be the only one who hasn’t given you a present.”

“Here, it’s, um, nothing special, but it makes me think of you.”

She took the parcel, their fingers brushing.

She looked up at him, then slowly started ripping the wrapping paper, a simple brown wrapping paper like they have in the bookstores.

She didn’t know how he would have known this, but she hated glossy wrapping paper. This was how she wrapped all her presents. It was unassuming and simple, and it made what was on the inside count.

She gasped, one hand over her mouth, her gaze shooting up.

“Draco,” her voice almost breaking.

“Hush, it cost me nothing. I had it in the Library already. I saw you looking at it a few times, and I just knew it was yours. You were meant to be here, to find it, and now it’s yours.”

‘Hogwarts: A History’, first edition, was sitting gently in her hand, as tears silently fell down her cheeks.

His warm hand touched the side of her face, tilting her head up. Heat blazed through her. With his thumb, he gently brushed a tear away as he said, “I made you cry again. I don’t like to make you cry, Hermione.”

“It’s happy tears, I promise. I don’t know what to say about all this. Can I hug you?”

He gently wrapped her in a tight hug. She hugged him back fiercely, trying to communicate everything she was afraid to admit out loud.

“Right,” he cleared his throat. “Let’s get you home safely,” he said.

They walked back, hands linked like always.

Draco was towing the line, and he knew it.

He realized something tonight.

This was more than friendship to him, more than a crush.

Though the truth would be liberating, he was glad to stay prisoner to his own lies.
For admitting what he really felt meant accepting damnation.
He would float in the waters of his own denial for as long as he could, for he feared drowning in her gentle rejection that was surely the only outcome.

They stopped in front of the Floo.

She turned to face him, standing impossibly close, staring at him with glassy eyes, her breath catching.

He gently took her by the arms and looked deeply into her eyes.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could fall with me, so I wouldn’t be falling alone?

His gaze dropped to her lips.

I would kiss you, worship you, claim you, if I could.

He leaned towards her, and she closed her eyes, inhaling sharply.

He stopped just for a moment, looking at her gently parted lips, her flushed cheeks, her closed eyes, and then he leaned in and kissed her cheek.

He let go of her and stepped back as she looked up at him.

“I’ll see you on Monday, then? I hope you sleep well, Hermione.”

“Yes, Monday. Good night, Draco”.

Then she was gone.

Chapter Text

Her mind healer told her that if she couldn’t fall asleep, and was ruminating or overthinking, the best thing to do was to get out of bed and do something else for a little while until she felt sleepy again.

If that didn’t work, she could always decide to ‘postpone her worry’.

“It’s like Scarlet used to say, ‘I'll think about that tomorrow.’ Pick a time for another day, then really sit down at that time and think about your worries.”

She also told her that if she was so anxious, to use temperature to stop the spiraling emotions—for example, to put an ice cube in her mouth, or to place her hands under very cold water.

Another thing she suggested was to try to use her senses: her touch, scent, hearing, taste, or sight.

“Naming things you see, or identifying the textures you feel, will ground you and bring you back to the present moment.”

She had also told her to drink water, chew gum, or eat something to trick her brain into thinking she was safe.

“Our primitive brains don’t perceive we’re in danger if we’re sitting back, relaxing, and chewing. Surely we wouldn’t be running away from a lion chasing us and have time to stop for a snack, right?”

She was funny like that.

Finally, she could always do a meditation that she had practiced with her mind healer. She even had a recording of her voice navigating her through it.

Hermione did all of it.

The kiss he gave her hours ago was still burning her cheek.

She got out of bed and read a book. Coincidentally, it was the Hogwarts: A History that Draco gave her, so that didn’t help.

She tried going to sleep, and after tossing and turning for another hour, she got up and dunked her face into a bowl full of cold water.

Then she had a snack and meditated.

Nothing worked.

Hermione had one last strategy to try.

She decided to make a list of things that were currently buzzing through her mind, keeping her awake. She would put the list on her little coffee table and worry over it in the morning.

Like Scarlet.

She tossed her covers off in one swift motion, put on her fuzzy slippers (they had cat ears), and crossed the room to her elegant little secretary that she bought in a second-hand furniture store for a bargain.

She pulled out her notebook that she used with her mind healer a few years ago, and opened it to the next available page. She decided she’d write down everything and anything that came to her mind, no censoring it, no editing it. Just the raw truth that she would then examine in the morning.

It was that, or she’d be awake all night.

I thought he'd kiss me on the lips.
I think I wanted him to.
I am frustrated and confused.
I am afraid.
I think…

She put her quill down with a sigh of frustration and snapped her notebook shut.

I can’t do this.

She immediately regretted her decision to write the ‘raw truth’.

He was a co-worker. A friend. She had to stop this nonsense.

She told herself she felt lighter, despite the turmoil still churning inside her.

She rubbed her eyes and made her way back to bed.

She wrapped herself in her duvet and scratched Crooks' head. He was on the pillow next to her. “I am going to go over that list tomorrow morning, I promise,” she said to him.

Then she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

On Monday, she came through the Floo, back to her professional demeanor, as if they were back at square one.

Serves me right, I definitely crossed a line at the party.

With a short tea and a few polite thanks for the gift and the party, they moved on to continue putting together the reversal spell and a list of items they’d need at the waterfalls. She sat further away, only talked about the work, and didn’t stay for lunch.

You had to lean in and kiss her, you fool.

On Tuesday, she seemed to have softened up a bit. They chit-chatted a bit during their morning tea, and she even asked him about the spell for the floating books. During their research in the Library, she sat a bit closer and once or twice touched his arm as they spoke of this and that.

Thank goodness.

He didn’t think he could go back to the beginning. He wanted her to know her friendship was most important to him, and he would never cross that line again. So he treated her in a friendly manner, but did not return the touches and kept a respectful distance.

On Wednesday, she walked through the Floo with a smile.

“Good morning, Drakey,” she giggled.

“Good morning, and we said absolutely not, remember?” He smirked.

Outside, cool and collected. Everything was normal. She would never know that inside, he was on fire. It was confusion mixed with hope. This wasn’t normal.

Were they back to teasing and banter? Had she come around? Was she mocking him? No, she’s smiling, she’s making a joke on purpose.

Ok, good. You’re still friends.

“I just can’t believe I told you that, and I can’t resist the look on your face!” she chuckled, pointing at him. She didn’t realize the look on his face had nothing to do with the dragon’s name, but he wouldn’t correct her.

“Some days I wish you didn’t, but I guess I will suffer the nickname every so often, seeing as it makes you so happy. Tea?” he offered gently.

“I am glad you’re accepting it, it’s much easier that way.” She turned to the tray with biscuits and tea, then looked back at him, “Shall we just take it with us? We have a lot to cover today.”

“Of course,” he levitated the tray and sent it through the door toward the library. “Shall we?” he asked, not knowing what to do with his arms, so he simply gestured towards the door from the safe distance he was keeping.

He used to offer her his arm, and they’d walk to the library talking about their daily agenda, or they’d share a few jokes. Sometimes they’d debate an interesting article or piece of news they read in the Daily. It was their thing.

He was unsure how to proceed, so he just stood there and watched her as she walked over to him.

She linked their arms, just like always, and looked up to him with a soft smile before saying, “Lead the way, Drakey”.

“Merlin, save me.”

She laughed.

His stomach somersaulted; that sound lifted his spirit, and he felt as if he was given a second chance. He wouldn’t squander it, no matter what.

He was still adamant about keeping his distance, a resolve that was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain as the day progressed.

He did not dare initiate anything, but instead, he let her decide the pace. He had to earn her trust again.

As the week progressed, he noticed she held his gaze just a bit longer than usual, that she sat closer and closer each day, and that her casual touches increased, too.

Today, when she sat next to him as they worked, she often touched his forearm, tapped his shoulder, and sometimes she’d nudge him playfully. He was happy she felt comfortable again to do that, but he was mortally afraid to push her away and lose the friendship they had built, so he did not reciprocate.

They were sitting at their usual desk, looking over his translations. She wasn’t as proficient as he was, but she noticed a small mistake. He usually didn’t make mistakes, but it was distracting sitting so close to her, like he was in a pressure chamber, waiting for the door to burst open and let the water in.

She put her hand over his to stop him writing, then leaned in, pointed at the mistake, and asked him some questions. He didn’t seem to hear anything from the sudden buzzing in his ears.

The whole time she spoke, her hand stayed on his. The soft touch sent sparks up his arm.

Was he breathing? What was she saying?

She looked at him, her brows furrowed.

“Are you okay?” she said as she lifted her other hand to his forehead and gently touched him as if taking his temperature.

His gaze shot up at her; she was searching his eyes for an answer he could not give.

No. He was not okay.

He was undeniably sick from longing, and she was his disease.

“You look a bit pale, but you don’t seem to have a fever”, she touched his cheek briefly, then put her hand down.

“I might need a glass of water,” he croaked, not knowing what to say.

She conjured a glass of water and explained the mistake again.

He corrected it.

On Thursday, she walked in, waving another list—this time with all the items they absolutely had to take with them, and some that could come in handy. It was a long list, and he’d already prepared most of it, anticipating this. When he told her that, she smacked him on the shoulder playfully and told him he was just as big a swot as she was.

After a day of torturous touches, glances, and softness that was now a new normal for her, they finally sat down to have lunch.

She was across from him, and he was beyond grateful for the small distance that allowed him a moment of reprieve from her intoxicating scent, the torturous brush of her curls that would ever so often softly graze his skin. He was briefly free of how she’d seem to always need to touch him when she wanted to ask something, or how she didn’t move her leg away when their knees accidentally bumped. Neither did he.

“Oh, wait.” She stood up halfway, leaned over the table so that if he had been less of a gentleman, he would have noticed the dip of her blouse and the suggestion of a full, lacy, white bra. Her fingers suddenly brushed his neck as she gently took his collar and corrected it.

He froze, goosebumps following the trace her fingers left. Her eyes were on her current task; his eyes were on hers.

“Your collar was crooked,” she fixed it, then looked up at him, her gaze lingering for a few heartbeats before she sat back down.

He would not survive this.

At the end of the day, she informed him that she would not be in tomorrow.

He was almost relieved because he didn’t quite understand what was going on and how to act. He felt like he was walking a tightrope, and with each intrusive thought of how her soft curls might feel wrapped around his fingers, or if her glances and touches meant more than he dared hope for, he felt it shake and threaten to snap under him.

She had to spend the day at the office to tie up loose ends and speak with Thicknesse, but promised she’d be on time to make their portkey to Norway. Then she gave him a goodbye hug and said she was looking forward to seeing him later. She seemed to linger a moment before turning for the Floo.

On Friday, he knew he couldn’t stay at the Manor all day thinking in circles.

So, he asked Tilly to prepare lunch and take it to Hermione, and told her that he’d be out all day. Tilly promised to deliver lunch to his Ms. Hermione and told Draco not to forget to eat. He ignored her observant jab.

He had an early meeting with a few Wizengamot members.

Time to use the influence of the Malfoy name, no matter how bitter the taste it left.

He would do it, for her.

Hermione braced herself in front of Thicknesse’s door.

She needed to know the status of the impact study, and she was hoping that he also reviewed her ‘House-Elf Emancipation and Reparations Act,’ although she knew better than to get her hopes up.

But, she was leaving for Norway in a couple of hours, and she’d feel better knowing where she stood and what she’d need to focus on upon their return.

“Come in Ms. Granger, don’t just stand there,” he called her in.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Thicknesse. I was wondering if I could have a quick word,” she started.

“Yes, I assumed you would. Sit down, won’t you?” He gestured to the chair without looking at her.

“Well, well. Pulling the Malfoy strings, are we? I should have known.” He finally looked at her, his expression one of utter contempt.

“It seems your patron has reminded certain parties that his family’s generous donations to this department come with certain… expectations. Namely, that his pet projects be treated with urgency. So, congratulations, Granger. Your study is now top priority.”

Her eyes went wide; she couldn’t hide her surprise or joy.

“I hope you and your… benefactor… are happy. The expedited review of the Act and the study will be completed upon your return. Now, if you’ll excuse me, some of us have real work to do that doesn’t require a rich man to make it important.” he looked down at a stack of blank papers and started shifting them around the table.

“Thank you, Mr. Thicknesse. I truly mean it.” With that, she left.

“Draco Malfoy, you’ve been busy today.”

“Not even a good evening? Where are your manners, Hermione?” he was leaning on the doorframe, a travel bag by his feet.

He knew what she was talking about. He could see it in the way her eyes crinkled at the corners. She was happy. He was smirking victoriously.

“How did you do it? Thicknesse seems to think you threatened the Ministry to expedite the study. He’s even reviewing my Act.” She approached him, smiling. She had no travel bag, only her small beaded bag across her shoulder. She crossed her arms, waiting for his explanation.

“I did no such thing. I simply went to the Wizengamot’s Committee for Post-War Magical Reconciliation and asked them to what purpose they were putting my generous donations to your department, if not to fast-track the impact study of your project, or to review the proposal for the House-Elf Emancipation and Reparations Act.

“They were quite embarrassed to tell me they had no idea this project even existed and that they would get to the bottom of it as they deemed it, I quote, ‘vital to national healing.’ I guess they called Thicknesse in later and handed him his ass,” he smirked. “I told you I’m good at cutting through red tape.”

“You’ve really been funding my department?” Her hands dropped beside her.

“Of course, extensively and for years,” he admitted, but couldn’t quite meet her eyes.

She stepped into his space, staring at him with her brow furrowed. Then she put her hands on his chest. He could hear his heart thumping and was certain she could feel the pulse beneath her palms. He stared at her as she stared at her hands.

“I don’t know what to say, Draco. Without you, I don’t think I would be able to do any of this,” she said as her hands slid up, and then she was hugging him, her head in the crook of his neck as she held on tight.

He put his hands around her and gently squeezed her back, allowing himself this brief moment of intimacy.

Friends hugged all the time.

“Thank you,” she whispered into his neck, and he swore he could feel dampness on his shirt.

“Hermione, it’s all you. I’m just a guy with a deep wallet,” he quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

She let go, wiped a tear from her cheek, and said, “If you say so.” She gave him a small smile.

“Shall we?” he asked, taking out a small bundle of cloth from his inner pocket.

He opened it to reveal a small, empty bottle of perfume. Their portkey.

Hermione quickly shrank his luggage and stuck it into her beaded bag. “Oh, I hope you don’t mind, this way, I can hold on to you and touch the portkey,” she explained after seeing his face.

“Not at all,” he said with a smile.

She didn’t hold his elbow or link their arms as he expected. Instead, she took his hand and intertwined their fingers.

They were holding hands.

Deep breath, Draco.

“Ready? On three, two, one…” They touched the portkey, and with a familiar tug behind their belly buttons, disappeared.

Chapter Text

The portkey dropped them on the outskirts of Geiranger, and the world swam. Hermione swayed, the dizzying lurch of the magic leaving her unsteady. The only solid, real thing was Draco’s hand, still holding hers, his thumb stroking a gentle, unconscious rhythm against her skin.

She pulled away, stuffing her hands into her pockets. The Norwegian air was sharp and cold, a shock to the system.

“You okay?”

“Yes, just a bit dizzy. Thank you for letting me hold your hand. I don’t enjoy travelling with portkeys.”

“Anytime.”

She turned and looked around. She needed a moment to process everything, so she took in the view.

Geiranger was stunning. It was a village tucked into the valley of a massive fjord.
The surrounding hills were a deep green that seemed to be spilling into the darkest blue Hermione had ever seen.

In the distance, they could see cruise ships that were bringing thousands of tourists to a village of only about three hundred inhabitants. The village was in such stark contrast to the greens and blues around it, with the deep red facades on the wooden houses with bright white trimming around the doors and windows. The colors were like a defiant warmth against the overwhelming coldness of the grey and green of the mountains.

She could have just taken his arm like always, was what was going through her mind as she took in the familiar view of Geiranger.

But she didn’t take his arm.

Her small hand fit perfectly with his. Their intertwined fingers, like puzzle pieces, came together naturally and felt just right.

This past week was a whirlwind of emotions and confusion. After her sleepless night, she kept her promise and reviewed her list. She was even more frustrated afterwards, as it provided her with no more clarity than she had before. So, she decided to bring it back to a ‘professional coworking context’. She needed to feel some semblance of control, she told herself.

But when she got home that Monday, she felt awful. All she’d done was be rude, cold, and dismissive to Draco, who looked absolutely heartbroken and walked around her on eggshells all day. He was probably thinking that his gentle goodbye and the kiss on the cheek ruined their friendship.

In truth, it probably did. At least it did for her.

She realized that she was angry with herself for wanting something she shouldn’t and it was wrong to take it out on him. They were friends, and they had a job to do. So, for the rest of the week, she leaned into their old routines.

Draco was adamant about keeping a respectful distance, she could tell, so she tried showing him they were still close, that nothing had changed.

She’d spent the entire week trying to bridge the distance her own coldness had created—a playful nudge here, a touch on the shoulder there. This, the simple act of holding his hand, was her final, silent apology.

The problem was, his hand in hers felt like a promise.

A heaviness settled in the pit of her stomach.

She felt confused and torn between what she thought she was allowed to feel and what she actually felt.

But above all, Hermione hated lies. So she sucked it up because she could not go on lying to herself, of all people. She inhaled the cold Norwegian air, surveyed the landscape and with a long and freeing exhale, accepted the truth.

“The view is stunning,” Draco commented as he came to stand next to her.

They were standing atop a hill looking over at the Geiranger Fjord.

She breathed in deeply, the cold air filling her lungs once more. “I used to live in Oslo for a little while, then I transferred to Trondheim. I visited a lot of places during my studies here, and Geiranger has always been my favorite,” she said as she looked on, not daring to meet his eyes just yet. “I’m glad to be back.”

Unable to resist, she looked up at him. He was staring at the fjord, and she felt she needed to fill the silence. “Did you know they’re in constant threat from landslides? They have sirens installed to warn the citizens so they can evacuate.”

“Yes, it’s fascinating. I researched it before we left. It was in one of the guides you brought over. They’re terribly popular as a tourist destination despite the risk. No wonder their magic laws are so strict.”

“Yeah, we have to be careful.” She looked at her feet, then kicked at the cold ground, disrupting a few rocks and some moss. “They only have a few magical families living here. Basically, no magic unless absolutely necessary. Are you going to be ok, little prince?” she poked him playfully. “You probably never went a day without magic.”

“True, but I am nothing if not terribly stubborn and proud. I will suffer in silence, pretend I’m fine, and also, I figured I’ll let you do most of the work,” he smirked.

She smacked his shoulder, “You’ll do no such thing, you posh prat! Camping has been added to your list of Muggle things to experience besides films, books, and music. And you will endure it and you will enjoy it!” She crossed her arms.

“The list is getting longer and longer. You’ll have to take a week off work to go through it one point at a time with me.”

“Oh, it will be more than a week, trust me,” she laughed.

“I trust you’ve gone mad,” he chuckled. “Let’s head to the cottage, maybe we can scratch a few things off the list while here, shall we?” he offered his arm with a smile, and she took it.

The cottage Draco rented was a traditional Norwegian hytte, built from aged, dark timber that had been silvered by years of wind and weather. Nestled in a copse of pine trees just above the village, it offered a stunning, uninterrupted view of the fjord. A single, steeply pitched roof was dusted with fallen needles.

Inside, it was all exposed wooden beams and the rich, clean scent of pine tar and woodsmoke. The main room was a single, open space - a living area with a deep, worn sofa facing a large fireplace, and a small kitchenette in the corner. The cupboards revealed mismatched cutlery and plates, various sizes of pots and pans, and a few decks of cards that, if she had to wager, probably weren’t complete sets.

Typical, Hermione thought, a soft huff of laughter escaping her. It was so quintessentially Norwegian. A family hytte was never just a cabin. It was a living archive. The cozy space was a tapestry woven from generations - a worn armchair from a grandparent, a faded quilt stitched by an aunt, mismatched linens and towels from summers passed. It wasn't decorated; it was accumulated, each piece holding the ghost of a memory. She loved it.

The air was still and quiet, the only sound the faint crackle from the hearth that Draco had started while she rummaged.

On the small round dining table was a small welcome basket with some jam, cheese, wine, and a note Vi håper at du koser deg, meaning ‘we hope you enjoy yourselves’. She still had some use of the language, although she had forgotten a lot despite being almost fluent while she was studying here.

There was a small hallway with two doors that led to separate, small bedrooms, with a small bathroom and toilet located across from them. It was the very picture of cozy isolation.

They stood in front of the bedroom doors and peeked into each room. They were the same rooms, divided by a thin wooden wall.

“Cozy” she said, at the same time as he said “Quaint”.

“You are a posh prat. I’m taking the one on the right.”

“But I wanted that one.”

“Oh shut up!” she laughed as she entered her room. It had a sizeable double bed, a small secretary, and a chest of drawers with a mirror above it. Her small window overlooked the mountainside and the forest beyond.

She sat on the bed and took out her planner to confirm they were on schedule, and what was best to do next. She never unpacked her beaded bag apart from toiletries, which of course, she had a double of everything - including a few options for men - just in case.

Some habits never die.

After freshening up, they went for a stroll in search of a shop to buy some groceries and get a bite to eat.

They walked around the small village for about an hour, visited the Geiranger Gallery, and found a supermarket at the harbour called Joker, where they bought a few supplies for the camping trip.

Their destination was, of course, across the fjord, so they’d have to take a small boat and hike the rest of the way.

Apparition was out of the question, as the Seven Sisters had a magic-dampening field around it. Their research over the past few weeks revealed that the area around the falls wasn't just a legal no-magic zone like in the village, it was a natural magical phenomenon. The ancient, raw magic of the place suppresses wands and spells, so they came prepared for a very Muggle experience.

“I don’t think Bjørn liked me,” Draco commented as they exited the tourist office that sold the boat tickets.

Hermione had to stop and hold her stomach from laughing.

“No!” she laughed, “He didn’t!”

After selling them the tickets, the lady at the counter gave them a bunch of flyers and guides in English on how to stay safe in the mountains while hiking and what to do in case of storms or if they got lost. Before handing the guidebooks over, she eyed them suspiciously, then said, “Just a moment,” and called over someone called Bjørn.

Bjørn was a huge man. He was wearing the most Norwegian sweater imaginable, hiking pants, and ankle-high Gore-Tex boots. He had a big beard, and his long, golden brown hair was tied up in a man bun.

A Viking, if she’d ever seen one.

Bjørn questioned them for about 10 minutes about what they planned on taking with them, how they planned to pack their backpacks (because there was a wrong and a right way), and if they had woolen underwear. He seemed really adamant about the woolen underwear until Hermione pulled up her sweater and showed him she was already wearing a layer. He explained the Fjellvettreglene, or the Mountain Rules, to them at length, and only when they could repeat them back was he satisfied.

“Even if it’s sunny, prepare for rain and cold, and snow.”

“We promise, we will,” Hermione repeated for the third time.

As Bjørn walked away she heard him mutter to the lady “Den kar’n he’kje eingång sje’tt eit fjell, langt mindre gått på det. Jento klare seg nok, håpe han høyre på ho.”

“You understood him, right? I had a feeling that was about me.”

They were walking towards Geiranger Brygge, where they planned to have a drink and something to eat.

“Sorry, it was so funny..” she was wiping her eyes and biting her lip, trying not to laugh again.

“Illuminate me,” Draco winked.

“My Norwegian is a bit rusty, and they speak in a really different dialect here, but the gist was that he thought you never went hiking in your life and that he hoped you’d listen to me,” she looked up at him. “They probably don’t give this long speech to every tourist, there are thousands of people coming and going, so that made it even funnier,” she started giggling again.

“I’ll have you know,” Draco started importantly, “that he was completely right,” then he laughed with her.

“I know better than not to listen to you. Where you lead, I will follow,” he said as they reached the brewery. “Ladies first,” he gestured opening the door.

“Now stop that.” She stopped in front of him, crossing her arms, and looked up.

“What?” Draco smirked.

“You’re quoting the theme song from Gilmore Girls. I have this odd feeling that you’ve been referencing Muggle pop culture this whole time on purpose, just to get me all riled up!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who are these girls and why do they have a theme song?”

“You’re insufferable. I’ll have to spend months showing you all this, and if at any point I find out you’ve been scheming and pretending this whole time - you’re a gonner.”

She narrowed her eyes at him as she went inside to find them a table.

It was a small brewery right at the edge of the water with a beautiful wooden deck terrace with seating right next to the fjord. The terrace was lit with fairy lights and had heating lamps, blankets, and cozy pillows at each table. They took a seat by the water and read the menu for a few silent moments.

Hermione scanned the menu, then looked up at Draco below her lashes, then back at the menu as she bit her lip, her smile finally escaping as she tried to hide it behind her hand.

“Out with it.” Draco scoffed.

“I mean, have you ever even had a pizza? All they have is beers, burgers, and pizza.”

“Believe it or not, I have. My favorite is a simple Margherita, and look, it’s on the menu,” he pointed it out. “I’ll let you order the beers,” he added.

“I stand corrected, it’s my favorite too. But I am having a juicy burger. We should order their craft beer. I think you’d like the pale ale, and I’ll have the beer of the month and let them surprise me.”

And surprise her they did - with an IPA. She hated IPAs, so she took sips of Draco’s beer until he realized half his beer was gone, so he ordered her a new one.

“That IPA was atrocious. I mean, if you like IPAs - fine. But don’t call it beer! Just call it wheat juice or something,” she was ranting as she tugged her boots off.

“I didn’t realize you harboured such profound hate for a type of beer.” Draco observed as he hung his jacket.

“It’s not a beer. It’s a disgrace,” she put her jacket beside his and made her way to the living room.

Draco laughed, “You’re a beer snob. Don’t worry, I bought wine in that joke store.”

“I am not!” she pursed her lips. “I just like actual beer and not pretend beer. It’s Joker by the way, and yes please, I need to wash out that dreadful taste.”

“You drank my beer and your own. We also had dessert, the taste is gone.”

“But the memory isn’t!”

Draco came back from the small kitchen with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He gave her one glass and sat comfortably close, but not too close. He poured a very generous amount to both their glasses before raising his own to her.

“So, here’s to a successful expedition and to proving Bjørn wrong.”

Hermione chuckled, “Cheers to your survival!”

“I’m sure it will all be fine, as long as you listen to me,” she added with a wink.

“I always do,” he took a sip.

A comfortable but short silence stretched between them. Her thoughts were whirling with worry.

“Do you think we’ll get it? The water, I mean?” Hermione twirled the wine, then took a small sip.

She felt nervous and shifted on the sofa to face Draco, who turned her way as she continued, “What if we're not... worthy? What if the magic doesn't recognize our intent?"

"Hermione,” he said, his voice low and certain, cutting through her anxiety. “The magic will recognize your intent. You don’t have the capacity to have ill intent for this magical water. You’ve been trying to free these elves since you were fourteen. If anyone can get a vial of this water with the magical properties intact, it’s you."

“But you’ll try too, right? Just to be safe,” she asked, putting her hand on his knee.

He looked down, then took her hand and intertwined their fingers.

“We’ll do it together,” he softly squeezed her hand and didn’t let go.