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Part 1: September
chapter 1
the rodeo clowns

Draco Malfoy was many things.First of all, he was decisive. Need a difficult decision made? Draco was your man. He was also honest; cruelly honest, at times. He was determined, loyal, hard-working when the time was right.One thing that Draco was not, was modest. He knew he was a brilliant wizard, for instance. Was he a kind, good wizard? No. Had he made hard, terrible, life-changing decisions to protect the ones he loved? Absolutely. Would he do it again? Without hesitation.He was not a good man. But he was a brilliant wizard.All this being very known to him, Draco was not surprised when the Chosen One asked for his help. He was so unsurprised that he was sort of irritated - could Harry Potter be unpredictable for once in his damn life?Draco was close to saying no, of course. A millimetre away, if not closer, to saying no. Blaise was vehemently against it, as was Pansy. Theo, as usual, wanted him to say yes, just so he could see what happened.Draco knew what would happen. The oh-so-wonderful Harry Potter would piss him off in no more than five seconds of their reuniting, and Draco Malfoy would be packing his bags for Azkaban before the day was ended. And all because Draco Malfoy was a brilliant-but-not-good wizard. The issue, of course, is that because Draco Malfoy was a brilliant-but-not-good wizard, he just had to shove it in that wannabe’s face.Alright, maybe that was slightly unfair. Potter wasn’t really a wannabe, as he had saved the world, so fine. Draco could admit when he was wrong. He certainly would not apologise for it, however.Showing off was the main reason Draco agreed to help Potter. It felt good to read the Saviour’s letter four or five times at least, wait a few days, really let him simmer. It felt even better to show up at the Ministry - unannounced, of course - and declare that he was there to visit Harry Potter.“D- Do you have an appointment?”Draco might have let his lip curl at the clear lack of the word sir from the tweedy, skinny little thing behind the reception counter, but there was no point. He hadn’t been expecting manners. Ten years after the War and yet they all still knew his face. Knew what he had done. There would be no polite greetings from the people in this Merlin-forsaken place.“Obviously.” Draco hoped he imitated Snape as closely as possibly in his reply, although he was sure he hadn’t even come close. He did, though, enjoy the scrambling of the young wizard to find his appointment card - didn’t exist - and send a quick note to Potter himself to ask him to confirm the appointment - impossible - and allow Draco to ascend to his office.Despite his lack of appointment, Draco wasn’t shocked when the confirmation came through anyway, and he was allowed past reception to call an elevator. After arguing with the receptionist about leaving his wand behind - Draco didn’t really care, he just wanted to scare the little shit - Draco headed straight up to the top floor, where the very important (and very annoying) Aurors worked, and where Harry Potter called home.The Prick Who Died Twice was waiting outside the elevator, his face serious, hands shoved in his pockets. Draco didn’t miss the fact that one of those hands was probably wrapped around his wand. It didn’t matter - Draco’s own hand was wrapped around his own untraceable, only very slightly illegal, wand. The receptionist hadn’t checked him for that one. Idiot.“Malfoy,” was Potter’s greeting.“Potter.”“I had expected a written response before you showed up here.”“Yes, well, I figured that would be a waste of time. Don’t you want to get started as soon as possible?”Potter hesitated, just for a second, before giving a short nod and turning on his heel. Draco followed, trying to unclench his jaw. He could almost hear the grinding in his teeth as they walked towards Potter’s office, past wide-eyed stares and gaping mouths. It had been ten bloody years, for fuck’s sake. He’d worked here, for months, only two years ago. Merlin, this place really was stuck in a time loop.Draco might have been grateful for the isolation of Potter’s office, had it not been for the shock of red-hair peeping over the back of one of Potter’s visitor chairs. But he didn’t allow himself to hesitate as the Saviour had done, instead kept his stride to sit immediately down in the free chair. Left ankle placed on right knee, leaned back in the chair - but didn’t slouch, of course. He was his mother’s son.“What the fuck is he doing here?”The second reason for Draco taking this job; shoving his superiority in the Weasel’s face.He hadn’t seen Ronald Weasley in years - since he had left this very office, actually. Much to Draco’s chagrin to admit, it had partly been the very issue of seeing the little red-headed shit every day, every week, that had been part of Draco’s realisation that the Auror life was not for him. If they were going to let that useless piece of shit do the job, how on earth could he lower himself to it?That, and all the rules. So. Many. Rules.He hadn’t been able to listen to the Weasel’s constant whining, hadn’t been able to see his annoying face, and know that he had exactly what Draco wanted. Speaking of, where the fuck was she?“He’s here to help, Ron,” Potter said, and Draco was sure he wasn’t imagining the exasperation in his tone. Surely he was not alone in finding the Weasel immensely irritating and off-putting? Surely?“How on earth could he-”“We’re stuck, Ron. We both know it. Everyone knows it. We’ve exhausted every avenue.” Potter nodded his head towards Draco. “Except this one.”“He wasn’t even good enough to be an Auror, Harry, he-”“If you think I’ll sit here and have you talk shit about me as if I’m not here, you’re wrong,” Draco interrupted, readying himself to stand, “I came here at your behest, Potter. Do you want my help, or not?”“We do,” Potter said, causing the Weasel to throw his hands in the air as if the world had ended. God, how did Potter put up with such over-dramatics? How did she?Of course, Pansy was always calling Draco over-dramatic, so maybe he shouldn’t judge such things.“Tell me about the object,” Draco began.“It was found six months ago,” Potter began, rifling through some papers, “during a raid following an anonymous tip.”“What was the tip?”“Didn’t say much, just that there was a Death Eater holed up in a house in Pontefract.”“Have you traced the tip?”“We’ve tried,” Potter’s eyes moved to Weasley, just for a second, but long enough to be clear. Draco rolled his eyes. “Nothing came of it.”“And the Death Eater?”“That I can’t tell you.” Potter leaned back in his chair, almost readying himself for the attack. Draco rolled his eyes again. He had a feeling he’d be doing a lot of that today. Of course they would be keeping things from him; he had expected it. For this to be a straightforward job would have been far too easy. And Draco Malfoy did not like - nor did he deserve - easy.“And the object?”Draco was only slightly impressed that Potter had finally been able to mask his emotions, even just slightly, as he kept his surprise from his face. The Saviour was a shockingly terrible occlumens, couldn’t keep anything hidden. Hence why he’d been so easy to provoke during school.“We knew immediately that the object was dangerous. The dark magic around it was,” Potter shuddered at the memory, “intense. We transferred it to the holding cell and, well, that’s when it started.” Draco placed his elbow on the arm of the chair, leant his chin on his palm, waiting. “The Auror who moved it was the first to get sick.”“Sick, how? Physically?”“No, more like he started seeing things. At first it was just small, slight things, but then he was seen talking to people.”“I sent him home after three days,” Weasley said, his tone indicated he didn’t want to get involved, but knew he had to. “He started screaming at the new girl, calling her every name under the sun. I thought he was gonna hit her.”“So you gave him a pat on the shoulder and sent him on his way " Draco raised an eyebrow. “Sounds about right.”“Next were the memory issues, and then…” Potter rubbed at his forehead. “About a week after we found the object, we responded to reports of a dangerous wizard holding people hostage in a shop in Diagon Alley.”“The Auror?”“Yes, but, well, he wouldn’t have considered himself an Auror any more, I suppose.”“What do you mean by that?”“He was dressed…” Potter leaned forward, and Draco rolled his eyes. Never was good with words, this one.“Spit it out, Potter.”“He was dressed like one of you.” It was the Weasel who said it, finally, which, unfortunately, meant that Draco was going to have to look him in the eye in the end. Because Draco would not shy away from the Weasel, especially when he was making statements like that.“You’re going to have to clarify, I’m afraid,” Draco said, teeth surely ground down to nibs in his mouth. “Dressed like what, exactly? A man with more gold that you could ever imagine? A man with impeccable taste in clothes? A man with the best Firewhiskey waiting for him back ho-”“A Death Eater,” Potter interjected. “He was dressed like a Death Eater.”“Perhaps he was one.”“No, he wasn’t. You know we’d know if that was the case.”Of course they’d know. All Aurors underwent extensive background checks - everyone in this bastard Ministry did. Even if you had publicly and repeatedly condemned the actions of yourself and your family. Even if you had been a child when those decisions were forced upon you. It had taken years of Draco’s life to convince them that he had changed, and it still wasn’t enough.“So, he went mad, bought a second-hand mask off of the black market, and-”“He had the mark.”Now, that was interesting. Draco thought he could feel his own mark tingling, but of course that wasn’t true. The only way his mark would burn was if the wizard who put it there was calling him, which they all know was impossible. Which also meant that it was impossible for this Auror to have the same mark as Draco. Impossible.“It wasn’t exactly the same, of course,” Potter continued. “It didn’t react to the touch of a Muggleborn like…” Like yours did. “It appeared more like a tattoo than anything, until the body was moved back to the Ministry for the autopsy.”“Body?” Draco repeated. “He was killed?”“Not quite. The Auror - Michael - he was holding his wife and child hostage. He’d let all the others walk out. Before anybody could get to them he… He killed them. And then he turned his wand on himself.”Even Draco was stunned into a moment of silence. He tapped a finger on the arm of the chair.“And where did this all occur?”Potter shifted in his seat. “Borgin and Burke’s.”Draco quickly checked his mental brick walls. He had to admit, it was a strange case - he had know curses to send people on murderous rages, of course. Just two months ago he had fixed a champagne glass that forced people to push the nearest person to them out of a window. But such a targeted attack was odd.“So,” he said slowly, “you brought the body back to the Ministry for autopsy. And then?”“The morgue is in the basement, as you’d well know, only one level above where we keep the cursed items. The object was being kept down there. When the body was placed in the morgue, the mark started to change.”“Change?”“It was like the old marks, except this was more of a spread. It sped up the decaying process. No charms or counter-curses or anything could stop it. The body was destroyed within a day. By this point, we had already established that the object was no normal cursed item.”“What gave you that idea?”“The guards started saying that they could hear a voice from the object. Standard procedure is to simply observe the object for a week, as long as it is safe to do so.”“I’m aware.”“Yes, well, it had been a week at this point, like I said, and so we could move onto the next stage. This was before we returned the body to the Ministry. We had some curse-breakers take a look at the object.”“Let me guess, they started seeing things?”“Of course, nobody knew right away. Not until a week later.”Draco watched Potter carefully.“Potter,” he said slowly, “are you telling me that these curse-breakers murdered their families and then themselves as the Auror did?”“Yes,” he answered, “both on the seventh day. Both touched the object, either with their bare hands or through magic. The only difference is that they both escalated at home, no hostage situation. We think it was because Michael lived in Muggle London.”“And since?”Potter sighed, and Draco thought he heard the Weasel shift in his chair. “We’re not stupid. We quickly figured out that it was the cursed object causing these people to go mad. We’ve had it isolated ever since, nobody has gone near it. But, we can’t just leave it.”“Why not? There’s plenty of artefacts down there that could do just as much damage.”“The voices the guards are hearing, when the Ministry is quiet, are getting louder. Each person reports the voice as something different - for some, it’s their partner, and they hear it straight away, all the time. For others, it’s the voice of their worst enemy, and the hear it only at certain times. There’s no rhyme or reason, but the content of the words is the same.”“And?”“It’s… it’s demanding to be opened. Compelling, almost. If you heard it… you’d know why we can’t just leave it.”Draco pressed a finger to his lips, thinking. There was a line here, both he and Potter knew it. If Draco wanted, he could walk out of the Ministry and leave the Chosen One to deal with this on his own. Draco wasn’t an Auror, he wasn’t employed by the Ministry. In fact, he had spent his time since leaving this shithole ensuring he broke every one of the Ministry’s Laws, if he hadn’t already, just to make a point.But they both knew Draco would not be walking out of the Ministry. At least not until he had seen this mysterious object.“There’s one more thing.” Potter was clearly uncomfortable, tapping his fingers on his desk. Draco wanted to strangle him - show some restraint, for Merlin’s sake. “The victims aren’t killing their entire families. For instance, Michael had a brother that lived with him. Anthony, one of the curse-breakers, was compelled to murder his brother and parents over his wife and child.”“So, what’s the pattern?”“They’re all muggle-borns. Or, in the case of the children, Half-bloods.”Draco felt his jaw tighten. First the dark mark, now this? Targeting muggle-borns, again. Could a dark wizard ever think up something different? He knew he couldn’t get too close to this case, knew his mother would lose her mind if she knew he was offering to help. But this was a chance for redemption, wasn’t it? Saving them, instead of hurting them, for once.“Well,” Draco said, standing and straightening his tie, “I suppose I should hear this voice myself.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Draco knew instantly that he would not be breaking this curse himself. He had been in the basement before, of course, although not recently. He had never experienced such a huge wave of dark magic engulf him as he stepped out of the elevator. It was such that he, suave, competent Draco Malfoy, actually stumbled a step, feeling as if he had hit a wall of water. He was sure his dark mark stung him, just once, before settling again.

Your imagination

, he told himself. Of course his mark had responded to such darkness before, but Draco had never been sure if it really was the mark or if it was him imagining it. If it was his mind remembering how the mark would writhe under his skin, like snakes were moving through his blood, how he’d wished he could cut it out of him like an infecti-

“Malfoy?” Potter called his name, snapping through the haze. His voice was not a sound Draco liked to hear, but he was grateful for it at that moment. Draco realised he hadn’t moved since he entered the corridor, his foot hung in mid-air. His walls were shattered, his mind a barrage of memories. He felt as if he could be sick.

“Right,” Draco said, following Potter and Weasley down the corridor. He hoped the tug to his left sleeve was subtle enough to be missed. Slamming his occlumency walls back up, he berated himself. Years of being around dark magic and this is when he chose to have a moment? Around Harry bloody Potter and his annoying sidekick? No, it wouldn’t do.

As they walked further down the corridor, Draco was sure he was going to feint. He felt like he was back in the manor, seventh year. Stumbling down the corridor to his bedroom so he could vomit in private. Rocking on the floor of his bathroom after a session of legilimency with their house guest. It was hard to move, harder to think. The air was so thick down here, impossible to breathe in, where was the bloody oxygen for Merlin’s sa-

Let me out.

The voice, much like Potter’s had done but in such a nicer way, cut through the fog, and immediately Draco could breathe again. His steps were lighter, quicker, his back straightened. He felt the voice all the way through his bones. Suddenly the oppressive wave of magic had lifted

Let me out.

The voice was getting louder, and he knew in his heart that they were going in the right direction. Just a few more steps and he’d be there, right where he was supposed to be. Where he belonged.

Let me out

.

He was so close he could almost taste it, that familiar tang of dark magic, settling into his lungs and down his throat and over his skin. It felt different now, not filthy and scarring as it had when Voldemort had used it on and against him. Now, it felt like he had stepped into a stormy meadow, like the world was open around him, would bend to his will, the air sweet and cloying.

When they came to the door, Draco could not stop himself from pushing past Potter and through the door. He stepped right up to the glass window, a palm against it.

The box was clearly expensive, gilded gold. The clasp on the front was simple, easily opened. It sat on the pedestal, as if waiting. Waiting for him, Draco knew, to go in there and open it, pull it open softly, with reverence. He wanted to see what was inside it, he knew it would be something worth finding.

Let me out.

He could almost taste the moment when it would happen, when that voice was-

“Malfoy!” A hand at the back of his robes, swinging him to put his back to the box. Potter was frowning, Weasley’s snarl a blur over his shoulder. Draco couldn’t be sure what might have snapped him out of his trance; perhaps it was the annoyance of having Potter crease his robes, or perhaps it was the sheer disgust at having Weasley look at him like he was dirt on his shoe.

When the curse’s effect broke, Draco found he was shaking ever so slightly. His occlumency had failed him, as it had before, had let the curse filter into his head. Draco knew if he had been exposed to it for seconds more, he would have opened that box.

He shoved out of Potter’s grip, turning only his head so the box was in his eyeline. No voice crept out of the dark magic to greet him.

“You heard it, didn’t you?” Potter said. “We all have. For me, it was my mother.” Draco faced him, frowning at the open look on the Saviours face. Merlin, no wonder it had been so easy for Voldemort to break into his mind.

“She was begging me to let her out, screaming.” Potter was staring at the box whilst he spoke. “I still hear it sometimes, when I’m sleeping.” Draco sees Potter swallow. “But I’ve not heard it since. Ron’s heard Padma, a few times, but not recently. A guard down the hall swears he still hears his brother’s voice, every damn day.”

“Has anyone else been in the room?”

“Not since those first curse-breakers. From their reports, they were in there for hours. Touching it, hexing it. Opening it.”

“They opened it?”

“From their note, yes.”

“What did they find?”

“Nothing. Their notes stop abruptly. Once they opened it, it appears they couldn’t remember why they had done so, other than the obvious idea of it being a box. There are no mentions in their notes after opening it about a voice, only their initial observations. It’s like it wiped their memory when it cursed them. Then, the notes just stop "

“And nobody thought to check in on them before they lost their minds?”

“All of this was happening at the same time, Malfoy. We had no idea the effects of the curse would be so tragic, until Michael. By then, it was already too late.”

“Well, it certainly sounds like a curse.” And feels like one, Draco neglected to say. He didn’t think he needed to. Potter had been under Voldemort’s wand, just like Draco had. They both knew how it felt. It didn’t need to be said.

Draco felt more confident now, despite the scratchy feeling at the back of his mind. He turned to face the box again, sneering at it. He hated the idea of something being in his mind, sifting through his memories, manipulating his emotions. It was all too familiar. Slamming his occlumency walls up, he lent on the sill of the window pane. Willed the bricks in his mind to stay held.

“What else could it be?” Potter asked.

“Who else have you asked about this?” Draco eyed Weasley as he said it, gaining a glare in return.

“Due to the nature of the raid, the entire thing was kept under wraps. Only those trusted entirely were sent by the Minister to capture the Death Eater, and so only a handful of us even knew about the object when it was found. One of them was Michael, obviously. One of the curse-breakers was another. So, aside from the three of us, only three others know of its existence. Plus the Minister, of course.”

“And none of you know anything more about it, then what you’re telling me?”

“Everything that you need to know, we’re telling you,” the Weasel said. “We have a cursed object that turns people mad and gets them to kill their families and then themselves. Other than the obvious fact that it’s a bloody box, what else do you expect us to know?”

“I’d

like

to know where exactly you found it, and who’s possession it was in. Don’t you think that might have something to do with it?”

“We have reason to believe that the Death Eater found in the house has nothing to do with this object.”

“What reason is that?”

“Malfoy,” Potter said, sternly, “we cannot tell you any more than that. We know that the Death Eater knows nothing about the object. We can’t get any more information about it from them.”

“So why come to me?” Draco said. “You’ve got some of the best curse-breakers in the world. What, two go mad and you won’t waste any more on it?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then why?”

Potter sighed. “Not many curse-breakers have experience with such… dark objects. Not like you. That was made clear when the two curse-breakers here with the most experience touched it and went off the rails. The Minister has allowed us to work alongside you to fix the curse.”

“You expect me to go in there and start messing around with this box after what you’ve told me it does to people?”

“You’re one of the few people we can come close to trusting, who has experience with these kinds of objects. You know that.”

“Right. That is true. Doesn’t mean I’m going to risk my neck, though, does it? And besides, there’s a very obvious answer to your solution. One that doesn’t involve me, and does involve someone very credible to the Ministry. Isn’t there?”

Draco faced Potter, raising an eyebrow. It was the closest he’d come to mentioning her, his secret third reason. There was no way they’d not be running this past her, she was the best in the world. Everybody knew it, including him. She’d beaten him in every class at school, hadn’t she? And for this to be involving muggle-borns… she had to be on this case.

“That is… out of the question. We need you, Draco.” Potter nodded his chin towards the box. “We’ve already had fifteen people try to get in here to open this box. Five of them managed it. They’ve all suffered the same fate. Do you know how many people have been killed, Malfoy, because of this box? Too many. It needs to end.”

Fifteen people.

Fifteen families. Draco supposed this was karma. He had destroyed more lives than this with his decisions as a teenager. Had hurt people, more than

hurt

people. He supposed he could think of it like karma, a way to redeem himself.

Or, he could think of it like a challenge.

“I’ll need everything you have on the box so far,” he said. “I want an office, nothing too shabby, either. It will need four walls, if you want me to keep this thing private.” He didn’t miss the way Weasley rolled his eyes. “And I’ll need your best spell-crafter and problem-solver. The best, Potter. If anything, just to keep me away from that thing until we’re ready to break it. The magic in there… if it calls to you lot even with your prissy do-gooding, Merlin only knows what it will do to me.”

Potter nodded, and Draco knew he’d gotten the message. He didn’t like it- hated it, in fact, but there was nothing for it. He was a big boy, he could handle the idea of working closely with the person who probably hated him the most out of all witches and wizards on this planet. He could handle being close to her, knowing he’d never get anything from her but glares and scoffs and snide comments. He could handle it, if not for himself, but for the families this box had already destroyed.

He could handle it.

Draco had been under the impression that Potter was a smart man. A bit annoying, sometimes clingy, an overwhelming goody-two-shoes, but smart. For the most part.

That was before Potter walked in with his version of “the best spell-crafter and problem-solver” the Ministry had to offer. Draco could only stare at the young woman Potter welcomed into his new - not too shabby - office with four walls whilst Draco was rifling through the first box of papers Weasley had slammed on his desk that morning. The ginger-haired twat had made it clear what he thought of Draco being here, and Draco had made it clear what he thought about the Weasel as a whole. In effect, nothing good had come from their reunion.

She was young, this employee, had to be early twenties, so too young to be a curse-breaker. She had the usual look of someone way in over her depth; chin ever so slightly raised, trying to look superior but just looking like she was trying to glare at something on the ceiling. Hair pinned back perfectly, robes ironed, shoes clean. Draco knew he had once given off the impression this young woman did; a know-it-all. She was clearly determined to do a good job.

But she was also, most importantly,

not

the witch Draco wanted.

“No,” was all he said, interrupting Potter’s introduction. Draco turned back to the report in his hands.

“What?”

“I don’t like repeating myself, Potter. You know that.”

Potter did, indeed, know that. The Minister had had them work together before, back when Draco was trying out the Auror life. He’d been good at it, of course he had, and so, unfortunately, that meant being paired up with the second-best, Harry bloody Potter. So, his temporary partner knew very well what Draco wanted, and he also knew that Draco would not settle for anything less.

“You wanted the best spell-crafter and prob-

“And this is not her, is it?”

When Draco turned around to face Potter, he saw the Saviour’s shoulders straighten, heard him tut, just once.

“Emily, wait outside, please,” he muttered to the girl. Draco thought his robes might have singed from the look she gave him, even glanced down at his chest to check. He was mildly impressed, but only for a second.

“Potter, if you want the bloody box fixed, we don’t have time to waste.”

“Emily is your best bet for doing what I’ve asked of you,” Potter said, “She’s incredibly smart, quick-thinking, extremely skilled with a wan-”

“What, are you marrying her, or something?”

Potter reeled. “Of course not!”

“Do you think I’m looking for an apprentice?”

“I’d feel sorry for whoever you hired. I certainly wouldn’t be giving away my best employees to perish under your guidance.”

“Then where the fuck is the witch I asked for?”

Potter swallowed, his hands fisting at his sides before he crossed his arms. Draco, unsure of what might be thrown at him next, leaned back against his new desk. He opted for an air of nonchalance, an uncaring expression that he knew was expected of him. What was that Muggle saying?

Fake it till you make it

.

“She’s not here.”

“Well, obviously she’s not here. So go get her.”

“I… can’t.”

“What do you mean,

can’t

? What, is the Weasel worried about her being in a room with me? I thought their relationship was dead in the water. I can assure you, I no longer have it out for Muggleborns, I wrote an extensive essay on it-”

“That’s not it.”

“Then bloody hell, Potter, what’s the problem?”

“She’s…” Potter took a deep breath in before waving his ward, muttering a

Silencio

. “Now, nobody but her closest friends know this, so I’m going to need your word of silence here.” Draco lifted a shoulder in a shrug which, apparently, was good enough for Potter. “And I’m only telling you because I know you’ll keep asking otherwise, and frankly I don’t have the time or the patien-“

“Get on with it.”

“She’s in London.”

“Potter,

we’re

in London.”

“No, I mean… Muggle London.”

“Well, she does work for Muggle Liaiso-”

“She doesn’t work for the Ministry any more. She hasn’t worked here for seven years.”

Seven years

. Well that was just impossible. Impossible, because that would mean that all the time he’d spent avoiding her whilst he worked here

two

years ago was a massive waste of time. He’d been sure she worked here, he’d done his best to avoid anywhere she might show up. Had walked around with a letter in his pocket every damn day just in case his

avoiding her

ability ran out and he wouldn’t be able to say to her what he had wanted to say. Wanted to say, but never had a chance.

Her possible presence had been a very, very, infinitely small part of why he’d shown up here yesterday. He’d thought that they would have asked her first, why wouldn’t they? Aside from being the third part of their little trio, she had gotten higher scores than him, everybody knew it. He thought he might lay eyes on her, even just for a second. The fact that she wasn’t here…

“Well, go get her,” Draco said, “I need her if I’m going to break this curse.”

“I can’t do that, Malfoy.”

“You know where she is.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You clearly have permission to bring non-Ministry consultants in on this job.”

“Yes, I do.”

“So, what’s the issue? If anything, wouldn’t she lend a sort of credibility to my work?”

“She doesn’t have anything to do with the Ministry any more.”

“Well, lucky her. When she gets here, I’ll ask just how she manages to-”

“Malfoy, she doesn’t do magic any more!”

Draco was stunned into silence, for longer than he had ever experienced, he thought. It couldn’t be. Potter had to be mistaken.

“What do you mean,

doesn’t do magic?

”

Potter inhaled deeply, sitting in Draco’s guest chair, leaning back against the cushions. He wasn’t good enough an actor to fake such indifference, and Draco was shocked when he spoke and seemed… uncaring. Unemotional. As if this information was old news.

“She lives in Muggle London with two muggle friends. She owns a bookshop, renovated it with her own two hands. She drives up to York once a month to see her parents. She goes out in Muggle London every Friday night with her friends. She still drinks tea, she still reads, she still knows more than the average person should legally be allowed to know. But she doesn’t do magic.”

If Draco wasn’t already leaning on his desk, and if his chair didn’t have a box of illegible notebooks sitting on it, Draco might have fallen into it himself. It was inconceivable. He’d known that she kept out of the limelight after the war, unlike her best friends. He’d known that she preferred a quiet lifestyle in the Muggle Liaison Department, slowly working her way up the ladder instead of being hoisted up there on name alone. Draco had stopped scanning the papers for her name, stopped searching her out in crowds, stopped expecting to see anything of her. But he’d always kept her there, somewhere, floating in his outer orbit. There was no magic without her.

“So,” he said slowly, “what you’re telling me, is that the Brightest Witch of Our Age is no longer a w

itch

?” Potter nodded. “But, why?”

“It was her choice,” was his explanation. “She made it clear that she wanted out, and she’s kept to it.”

“For

seven years

? Nothing?”

“Her wand is in my office.”

Draco almost scoffed. Leaving her wand behind meant nothing; he had at least six wands at home. But still.

“Well, did you try-”

“Malfoy,” it’s probably the softest Potter had ever said his name, “whatever you’re thinking we didn’t try, I can promise you we did. Ron, Ginny, Neville. The Minister. All of us. She didn’t want this any more.”

“Well, she’s going to have to change her mind, isn’t she?” Draco pushed himself up. “I can’t do this without her, Potter. Even just looking at the notes those two curse-breakers made before they went mental… it’s too complex, and the dark magic… I don’t know how it would react to me. I need her knowledge and her skill.”

“Emily-”

“-Is not good enough. Nobody else is. Surely the Golden Girl will do you a favour?”

“Well…”

“Don’t tell me you don’t still ask her ten thousand inane questions every time you come up against a wall, Potter.”

“Actually, one of her conditions was that we didn’t. Do that. Ask her questions. Or speak to her at all, actually.”

Draco frowned. Leaving magic behind was one thing, but her friends? In all the times he’d caught himself watching her, she’d hardly ever been without them, or at least waiting on them. The sheer

togetherness

of the Golden Trio was one of the first things that had led to Draco hating them.

What in Merlin’s name did you do, you infuriating witch

?

“Just this once, then-”

“No, Malfoy.” The Chosen One stood, made as if to head for the door. Draco was closing his chance.

“I need her,” he said, hoping his tine still sounded nonchalant, even if his words didn’t. “I’ll go with you to ask her, if you want, although I can’t imagi-”

“She doesn’t know,” Potter blurted out, shoving his hands in his pockets, “She doesn’t know that we know where she is. We’re not supposed to. We promised her we wouldn’t look for her, that we’d let her be, but…”

“So, you’re

stalking

her?”

“It’s not stalking! More like… watching.”

“Isn’t that what stalkers do?”

“We just keep an eye on her, check in on her every now and then. Make sure she’s alive and safe. We’re not stalking her, we’re just… ensuring her wellbeing.”

“So, spying.”

“Watching,” Potter corrected again.

“Oh, because there’s such a difference, is there?”

Potter frowned at him. “Whatever, Malfoy. I don’t expect you to understand.”

Draco didn’t understand, not one bit. The snakes had all avoided their post-war trauma in one way or another; for Draco, it had been self-imposed isolation. For Pansy, redecorating every Manor she could get her hands on. Blaise had run to France. Theo had drank his way through all of their cellars and then some. But they had

never

abandoned each other. Never.

“Well, I guess I’m doing this alone, then.”

“Emily-”

“Keep her out of my office. I’m convinced she’s singed my best robes with her backwards glare as she left. I don’t want her slowing me down.”

Potter sigh. “Fine. Just… let me know if there’s anything you need.”

“I’ll want a follow-up interview with everyone who came in contact with the box,” Draco said, “after I’ve gone through these notes. Is this seriously how the Weasel writes, by the way? You should get him a tutor. Or are you letting children into the cursed objects basement nowadays?”

Draco thought he saw Potter’s lips twitch at the comment, before he let himself out of Draco’s office. Levitating the box onto the floor, Draco replaced it in the desk chair, leaning his elbows on his desk.

He found himself staring at his quill, sat neatly in its holder. There was no way he’d be concentrating on the bloody box any time in the next hour. His world had shifted on its axis, fundamental parts of it having been torn apart in seconds.

With this third reason now obliterated, Draco wasn't sure he could continue working here. It had been one thing to knowingly avoid her, one thing to spend his life imaging what spells she was working up, what hexes she might use on him, the expression her face might hold if he ever got the chance to speak to her again.

But now, to know that her magic was gone. That she not here, would never be here. Knowing that he wouldn’t be running into her accidentally, knowing that the wizarding world had lost her. It certainly

felt

like a loss, even though she was still out there. What the bloody hell was she thinking? A witch with her magic… she’d go mad not using it.

It took him barely a minute to make his decision. She had abandoned them. They had let her. Draco would not be doing the same.

He was going to find Hermione Granger. And he was going to bring her back.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The loveliest thing about early September, Hermione thought, was the calm. The sound of the rain against the window brought a cosiness no other month could bring, the silence comforting and peaceful. With the summer and back-to-school rush over, and the Christmas shopping yet to begin, there was a kind of lull that shopkeepers in London rarely saw during the year. She supposed that, as a business-owner, she should love the busiest times of the year, but there was something to be said for actually getting time to spend reading, as a bookseller. Plus, she loved everything pumpkin-flavoured. There were certain parts of her that she could never change.

That was how Kate found her, of course, sat at her till in the shop, leaning over her latest read. Hermione's friend had texted earlier, to say she might try and nip in if the cafe was slow, but she hadn’t been over yet. It was near to closing time - Hermione supposed she must have shut early.

“I hate this time of year,” Kate said, perching on the stool at the end of the counter. Hermione closed her book to give her friend her full attention.

“I can’t relate,” Hermione said.

“Yes, yes, we all know how much you love autumn.” Kate waved a hand. “We can’t all have a mane to protect us from the cold, you know.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but cracked a smile. Kate was right; she did love autumn. And yes, she didn’t have to worry as much about getting cold because of her hair, although that wasn’t a reason. The truth was she hadn’t always loved autumn, at least not recently. But she was starting to get it back. Get

herself

back.

“Think you could close up early?” Kate asked, twirling her apron tie around her hand. “I need a drink.”

“You know, I struggle to understand how you keep the cafe open when you close early so often for drinks.” Hermione is standing as she speaks though, moving to the till to cash up.

Kate grins at her. “As if you struggle to understand anything.”

Hermione had started closing the shop earlier than usual. Partly the lack of customers, partly knowing that Kate would be expecting to head to the Duke of York early tonight for a glass of wine. She could always tell when there was something on Kate’s mind: they'd known each other since they were children, after their parents had met at a dentistry conference. Hermione was certain she already knew what it was, but she’d never bring it up first.

With the nights coming faster and the air getting colder, the customers would lessen until the Christmas hauls started, and Hermione would enjoy the peaceful days until then.

The Duke of York pub was just around the corner from the bookshop, back past Kate’s cafe. It was already starting to draw a crowd, so Hermione sent Kate on the lookout for three chairs whilst she grabbed the bottle of wine from the bar. By the time she had paid and found Kate’s table in the far corner, near the door, Charlotte had already joined her.

Kate was all ears when Hermione joined, a cue that Charlotte was not ready for comments. Hermione set to pouring the wine whilst she tried to catch up on Charlotte’s latest gossip. Having only lived in London for the last year, Charlotte was still getting used to the sheer monstrosity that was the tube. Hermione and Kate didn’t have the heart to tell her that you never got used to it, that it was always a rush, and that she should just get used to being shoved out of the way by a white man with a briefcase.

Personally, Hermione loved it. The hustle of London, the constant stream of new people, the ordinary. The expected. She hadn't been sure she would last in the city when she'd first moved back here. But six years later, she was still here.

“Okay,” Charlotte finished, taking a deep breath, “I’m finished. God, what a day.” She took a big gulp of her wine. “I feel like I’ve not seen either of you all week.”

“Well, you have been running around London at the speed of light,” Hermione let out a small laugh. “What have you been chasing this week?”

Charlotte groaned. “Another dirty politician, obviously. And you know exactly what his come-back will be when I out him for being a filthy little tax evader. Little immigrant, what does she know about our laws, blah blah blah. I wish they'd come up with something new.”

Charlotte had been a reporter since she graduated, but over the last year she'd started building up a reputation for taking down the rich. There had been many occasions when they'd been accosted outside their building, but Charlotte could hold her own.

“At least they’re predictable,” Hermione offered weakly.

“Don’t try to make me feel better about it, it’s impossible. Instead, let’s talk about your week. Kate said there was a visitor at the store yesterday.” Charlotte grinned over the rim of her glass when Hermione sent a glare towards Kate.

“It was nothing.”

“It was absolutely something. The same guy, three days in a row. That is most definitely something.”

“I don’t even know how you know this,” Hermione said to Kate. “What, do you have a camera in my shop or something?”

“Not a camera, per say.” At Hermione’s raised eyebrows she huffs. “Fine, he comes in for a coffee after he buys a book from you. Plus, I asked Olive.”

“Ha!” Hermione sat up straight. “So he’s also going to the cafe three times a week. So it has nothing to do with me. Thank you.”

“I’ve never seen someone so determined to prove that every guy she sees is not into her.” Kate rolled her eyes. “It’s almost as if you don’t want to meet someone.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why do you read so many romance books?”

“That has nothing to do with my love life. A girl can read whatever she wants without it having any strings attached.”

“To be honest, I’m just glad she’s not reading maths textbooks for fun any more.” Charlotte said to Kate. Hermione was sure her eyes would get stuck at the back of her skull if she carried on rolling them, but she smiled nevertheless.

It was true that she had spent a lot of time reading textbooks. After she ditched her previous… lifestyle, she’d had a lot of catching up to do. Moving into the flat with Kate a year after quitting the Ministry had only proved to her how little she truly knew about living in the muggle world, only having done it during the summer after her move to Hogwarts. Reading textbooks had been the easiest way for her to soak in the information, and sometimes she still needed a little reminder.

She'd never admit it, but she enjoyed it. They'd never let her live it down.

“Anyway,” she said, trying to find a distraction, “Maybe we should talk less about my non-existent love life and talk about where the hell Kate’s been all week?”

Kate licks her lips mischievously, grinning, and Hermione has her answer. Not one to keep secrets, Kate delves into a graphic day-by-day account of her time spent with her new girlfriend, a recent addition to Kate’s busy lifestyle. Between her parents in the Midlands, the girls, the cafe, and her thousands of hobbies, Kate was never still. It was what had attracted Hermione to her in the first place; all Hermione had felt when she first moved to London - this London, anyway - was still. Frozen. Kate had thawed her.

“I mean, it won’t last,” she says, shaking her head.

“Why not?” Charlotte asked. “It sounds like you both have the same ideas for what you want.”

“I just don’t need to add a commitment into my life right now. I’ve been thinking - and this is actually what I wanted to talk to you about. You know that building around from the flat? The one with the letting? Well, I’ve been crunching the numbers, checking my taros, and I think I’m going to get it!”

“Another cafe?”

Kate nodded, and Charlotte squeals, calling for another bottle.

“This is so exciting!” Hermione says, reaching across the bar to latch onto her friend. “I’m so happy for you!”

I’m thinking of doing a much more zen theme for this one, you know. I have a lot more freedom than my current letting, which is so fun.” Kate sighed. “I’m ready for something new.”

“Does this mean you’ll stop crocheting me gloves?” Hermione asked. Kate had a lot of talents, but that didn’t mean she was good at everything.

They kept to their usual Friday Night Drinks tradition; three bottles of wine, before heading back to the flat with pizza and, of course, more wine. Hermione didn’t usually let herself get too drunk in public, but she felt so comfortable around the girls that it was easy to do so safely. She wasn’t sure she’d ever feel completely safe letting go.

It had been such a culture shock, leaving the wizarding world behind. It had felt sort of like ripping herself in two, leaving half of her behind to rot. For the first year, she had holed up in York, just practicing dampening her magic within her. It had been excruciating, exhausting. Heartbreaking.

But Hermione didn’t let herself regret it for one moment. Even just thinking about it had her heart faltering, her mind reeling. She no longer had the urge to use accio to pull her mug towards her, or wave a finger to get the dishes washing, or even to pick up Hogwarts: A History. Not that she still had her copies. She burnt them the night she’d decided to leave it all behind. She was no longer the Brightest Witch of Her Age, no longer the Golden Girl. She didn’t trail after her best friends, feel terrified every time September came around. She wasn’t different anymore. She was just Hermione. Bookseller, business-owner, friend, and it was enough.

It had to be.

The weekend went by in a blur of planning; Kate was a brilliant businesswoman, but she was useless at setting boundaries. Charlotte had to all but lock away her laptop to stop her from checking her emails every ten seconds. Hermione herself knew what it was like to work until your legs collapsed, until you couldn’t physically keep your eyes open, until you slept for so long you ended up waking in a fog of exhaustion. Those around her during her childhood had let her do it to herself, repeatedly; she would never be one of those friends.

By the time Wednesday rolled around, Hermione herself was ready for a week off. It wouldn’t be hard to leave the shop in her assistant’s capable hands; Olive, the older woman who helped Hermione run the bookshop, was always ready to take charge, and was also always trying to get Hermione to take some time away. But Hermione never felt she needed it; she loved her shop, loved helping customers - mostly.

But more than that, she loved having a space that was utterly and completely hers. She didn’t think she’d ever had it before, not really. Her childhood home had been her parents, of course, and then her dormitory at Hogwarts had been owned by, well, the school. From there, she had lived at the Burrow , sharing a room with Ginny, spending her days in a Ministry office. Until she had gotten the store, nothing had truly been hers. Not her space, nor her friends. Harry and Ron had always belonged to each other more than they had belonged to her.

So she just liked having something that was hers. She liked sitting at the till on quiet days, sending Olive home, curling her feet up underneath her on the armchair so she could watch the door, book open on her lap next to a packet of chocolate M&Ms. It was hard, on days like this, to even try to miss her previous life. Maybe the little things, like a stasis charm to keep her coffee from going cold, or a cooling charm when the book shop started to get stuffy or-

“Care to share, Granger?”

The voice startled her, had her jolting back to reality. She hadn’t realised just how invested she had gotten into the story open in front of her, and although found herself irritated at being interrupted, started to curl her lips up into a smile. She realised, a minute second before catching his gaze, that there wasn’t anyone she knew who referred to her by her last name. Only…

If she ran into him in the street, she might not have recognised him. Except for the platinum hair, of course, although he wore it differently now; less severe. Messy but still sophisticated. His suit was - shock horror - muggle, tailored to perfection and dark in colour, contrasting against his pale skin. But he no longer looked sickly, not like the last time she’d seen him. Although she supposed she hadn’t been close then, not near enough to give him a good look, anyway.

It was the eyes that gave him away, always. Even with the distance between them, she could see the glinting silver, the ocean of sea foam; could feel it pulling her under, almost. For the briefest moment, she could have sworn she was back at that manor, her own screams echoing around them as he turned away…

She snapped back to the present, physically reeling back, the bag of M&Ms tipping over from where it sat precariously on the arm of the chair. They both let it fall.

For what felt like a very long moment, they held there, just like that. She knew he was assessing her as she was him. But she hardly cared what he thought of her appearance. She’d never cared before, not when they were children. Draco Malfoy had been unbearable at school, even when she knew that it had become more of a defense position to try to take her down. After, during the war, and even his trial, it had simply been unbearable to look at him. He had been a physical manifestation of everything they had been put through, of the horror and pain and manipulation.

So, back then, she would have looked away first. She had done so, on so many occasions. But now, she willed herself to stare him down, to check he was real. To push him out.

“What do you want?” She probably could have - should have - thought of something wittier to say. The first wizard she spoke to in seven years, and it was Draco bloody Malfoy. This conversation had better be quick.

“Well,” he looked around her pointedly, “I was under the impression that this place sold books.”

“Not the sort of books you’re after,” she said, pressing a hand to the cover of her own read protectively.

“And how would you know that?”

Draco Malfoy took a step closer, and Hermione leapt to her feet. Moving quickly, she placed the counter between them, eyes flicking over the M&Ms as she did. She would have to tidy that up later. First, get him-

The M&Ms slid up into the air, collating together to slip back into their packet. The packet itself, draped gently on the counter. Hermione stilled.

The audacity. Of course, Malfoy was never one for playing by the rules - for instance, coming into the clearly muggle book store and refraining from magic. Hermione liked those rules; it made it clear where she could and couldn’t go. Where was safe, and where was not.

Draco Malfoy had marched into her safest place, and brought his magic with him. Hermione’s blood was boiling, the magic within her curling to life after years of being pushed down, deep where it could not bother her. She’d worked so hard at getting it to quiet, at preventing the random bursts of magic that pushed itself out of her. She’d worked so hard. And just like he had when they were children, he wanted to ruin it. Ruin her.

She would not let him.

Cutting her gaze from the bag of sweets and meeting his stare head-on, she moved her hand across the counter, swiping them back onto the floor. Watching her closely, Malfoy’s lips dared to curl ever so slightly. Not in a sneer, though, as she’d expected. Was he… laughing at her? Maybe she should punch him again.

Now she could feel magic in the air around her, stinging her skin. Steam was rising from her coffee.

“Get out of my shop,” she said, putting as much muster behind her words as she could. She was proud that they did not come out shaky, although she was sure she was trembling. “Now.”

“I’m not here to hurt you-”

Hermione let out a laugh, more like a bark. “As if you would dare.”

He cocked his head to the side. “I really am just here for a book, Granger. You wouldn't really turn away a paying customer?”

Teeth gritted, Hermione fought the urge to scream at him. If she did so loud enough, maybe someone on the street would hear and come to her rescue. Or maybe she could throw a book at him, although she’d rather not harm the merchandise. Although it would be nice to see his nose broken again, maybe she could use her fists-

“Goodness, Granger, you really are bottled up, aren’t you?” Malfoy dared to step closer, leaving only the counter between them. Dared to put his palms on the tabletop, leaning forward. Hermione was now fighting the urge to step back. She couldn’t remember a time they’d ever been this close.

“Go on,” he urged, “Get your wand out. Hex me, jinx me. Come on, Granger.”

His magic had always been intense. She remembered fifth year, when he'd really started to come into his gift. Trying not to watch from across the room as he bested every spell in one go. Trying not to get caught in the wave of magnetism that had surrounded him.

Now, with only the counter separating them, she could feel their power melting in the air, twining together. She glanced down, saw the edges of the sheets of paper curling, as if burnt. One of the lamp lights flickered. She narrowed her gaze, snapped it back up to his.

God, what did he want? Did he want her to punch him in the face? No, he wanted her to use magic. Clearly, he hadn’t heard-

Suddenly, he leaned back, pulling his sleeves back into place. “I really would like a book. Got any spare?”

“Leave,” she said, “I don’t want-”

“The quicker you find me my book, the quicker I’ll go,” Malfoy said, putting his hands in his pockets. His eyes still glinted, still pierced her.

“Go to Flourish and Blotts.”

“This is a muggle book I’m after.”

“Then go to the store down the street.”

“No.” He smirked at her -

smirked

! “I want it from here.”

So he knew she worked here before he entered this store - she was an idiot to ever think, hope, that this might be a coincidence. He’d known where she was, and came here anyway. Seven years avoiding all wizardkind and Draco bloody Malfoy is the first one to find her. God, why did she come back here? Why did it have to be London?

“Malfoy,” she began, annoying at how timid she suddenly sounded, “I don’t know what you want, but pl-”

“It’s something to do with elves,” he interrupted, “or, no, I’ve got that wrong. The elves are a part of it, but not the main bit. Is it…” Suddenly, he pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, studies it. “No, not that one… Ah, yes. A ring. Some story about a ring, please.”

“A ring?”

“Yes.” He frowned at her, shoving the paper back into his pocket. “You do know what a ring looks like, Granger? You haven’t forgotten the basic idea of jewelry, too, have you?”

What on earth…

“Of course not. I just-”

“I’m aware how good I look in muggle suits, but it’s hardly the time for such discussions. I need this book right away. It’s urgent.”

There it was, that streak of ego. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“It's in special editions. Second floor, to the left. You’ll find it under T.”

Malfoy hummed, rocking back on his heels and taking a glance around the shop. “Seems awfully unorganised in here, Granger. Not sure I’d find anything. Suppose it was too much to ask that you’d finessed your organisation system, but-“

“Excuse me,” She had to interject here. “My system is the best, thank you.”

“No,” he mused, shaking his head, “Not like my library.”

“Well, maybe you should fuck off back to your mansion, then.”

And leave me the hell alone

.

“Oh, I plan to. Now all those silly little curses are finally broken, I can start on my muggle collection. The first I intend to buy; the Duke of the Ring.”

“The Lord of the Rings,” Hermione corrected.

“Yes, you’ll absolutely have to show me where to find it. If you don’t, I fear I’ll get lost in here forever, just wandering around your shop for the rest of my life. Perhaps I’ll starve to death and haunt the store for th--”

“Fine!” Hermione let out in a cry, storming back out of the counter. She didn’t wait to see if he was following her; she could feel his presence like a weight in the air. She made her frustration clear, taking it out on the stairs as she stomped her way up to the second floor and to the left. Grabbing the book off the shelf, she turned to face Malfoy.

Malfoy, who was much closer than she’d anticipated. With her arms outstretched, elbows bent, the book pressed into his chest. His chest, which she had to look at or fear raising her eyes and getting stuck in his silvery gaze. She hated how his shirt - a muggle shirt, she couldn’t believe it - was stretching in that perfect way… She'd always found men in suits attractive, especially when they were tailored right. And of course, Malfoy’s suit would be tailored to perfection.

But at the top of her eyesight, she could see his mouth curling into a smirk. That is, until his eyes trailed down her arms, to where her sleeve was pulled to her elbows. On her left forearm, her scar looked like it might be glowing. Maybe that was just her imagination. Or maybe it was her magic, waking after seven years.

“Grange-”

“Take it and get out.”

“What, you don’t even want me to pay? That’s kind of you, a reunion gift.”

Hermione let out a groan of frustration, pushing past him to head back down the stairs. God, was he always this infuriating when he wasn’t being cruel? Was this how he was with those friends he used to hang around with, before they all got caught in a war they had no business fighting in. How did they put up with him for seven years?

Back at the counter, Hermione jammed the sale into the computer.

“Seventy,” she said simply. He cocked his head again, and she wanted to punch him.

“I may not be used to muggle money, Granger, but I can read numbers. Very well, in fact.” Malfoy tapped on the back of the book. “This says fifty.”

“Fifty for the book. Twenty for the sheer displeasure of dealing with you.”

He shocked her then, leaning back on his heels and letting out what might be the closest to a laugh she’d ever heard from him. Not a snarling, cruel one, either. Hermione almost rocked back, shocked. She’d never made him laugh, or even smile. Her existence had always made him sneer, snarl, glare. He was laughing… And it didn’t feel hateful, like he was laughing at her. She reminded herself that she hated him. It didn’t matter that he was even more beautiful when he laughed. It didn't matter that her magic was singing in her blood, making her feel high, happy.

“I’ll take it. Pansy would consider it cheap.” Hermione tried not to let her eyes linger on his boom lip as he pulled it into his mouth in thought. “Do you open accounts here?”

“Accounts?”

“Yes, you know, for ongoing purchases. I’d rather pay it all in one go, if that’s-”

“You’re not coming back,” Hermione stated simply. Well, she hoped it sounded like a statement and not a question. Malfoy frowned at her, an expression of incredulity passing across his face.

“And how else would I complete my muggle collection?”

“Go somewhere else. Anywhere else. Not here.”

He appeared to take a minute to think on it, looking around at the shop again, before humming.

“No,” he said finally, “That won’t do. It has to be here.”

“Why?”

“Well, my collection has to be the best. And who else to recommend the best muggle books, but you?”

Hermione reeled again. How dare he call her the best, now, when he’d spent six years of her life calling her everything but. God, she wanted to hit him. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted him gone, out of her life. She wanted peace again.

“Please leave,” she said suddenly, hating that she had resorted to begging him.

He seemed to sense something in her face, because his gaze narrowed ever so slightly. He straightened, nodding once and, with a tiny flick of his fingers, set the sweets back to their rightful position once again. Hermione’s hands curled into fists under the counter.

The bell over the door jingled as he left the store, and Hermione made a mental note to get a bigger one, with a louder bell, so she could never be surprised again. She should have seen him through the window, should have had time to lock the door to stop him from getting in. Should have, should have, should have.

Should have gone anywhere but London. Should have done any other job than the most obvious. Should have changed her name, her hair, her face.

Without looking, Hermione reached over. Knocked the sweets to the floor.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hermione actually did take the next two days off from the shop, texting Olive to cover for her. Charlotte worked from home most days, bringing her tomato soup and bread, spiced with ginger, to try and kick whatever was keeping Hermione in bed. She couldn't know what was truly wrong. No herbal remedy was going to cure Hermione of what she needed to do.
Run.
It was pathetic, really. Pathetic and immensely frustrating, that after seven years of hard-work, commitment, and peace, Draco Malfoy could walk in and smash it to pieces, with his annoying hair, perfect suit and… glinty eyes. God, she’d taken to making up words to describe him. Infuriating, that within the space of - what, ten minutes? - her entire life had been set aflame. Heartbreaking, at the thought that she might have to leave this behind, if she couldn’t regain her stability.
Because since the minute Malfoy had left her shop, Hermione had felt she was standing on a precipice. Her magic, stilled with practice, was alive again, rushing through her veins . Just last night, when she’d made a cup of tea for bed, one touch had brought the kettle to boil. On Wednesday, after the blond prick had sauntered into her shop, she had pulled books off of the shelves without touching them. She felt she could explode into sparks. She felt thorns dragging over her skin, claws raking through her brain.
And possibly the worst part, was that she couldn’t even speak to her friends about it. Kate and Charlotte could know nothing.
That didn’t stop them, of course, from figuring some part of it out.
“You need to leave the house,” Kate said, erupting into Hermione’s bedroom on Friday afternoon. Crookshanks glared at Kate when she sat on the bed, disrupting his all-day nap. “You’re not sick, you’re just… stuck, although on what, I haven’t figured out yet.”“I’d rather stay in, Kate.”“Well, we don’t have to go for drinks but you do have to go for a walk. Come on, we’ll bring the wine home.”Sure enough, Kate did not pressure Hermione to stay out for drinks. They headed to the local store and bought their usual three bottles, bringing them back to the flat. Charlotte got to pouring almost immediately, waving Crookshanks out of the way. Hermione pulled him onto her lap, ignoring his protests.“So,” she drawled slowly, “are you going to tell us what’s up?”“It’s… complicated,” Hermione said, “and nothing I should be worrying over, really.” Just the breakdown of my entire life, that’s all.“Okay, well, why don’t we start at the beginning,” Kate said, placing a glass in front of Hermione, “and we’ll un-complicate it together.”Settling down on the stool, Hermione wondered how much she could - or should - tell them. Seeing an old fellow student was hardly the worst thing to happen, and she couldn’t even get into the true depths of how Malfoy had treated her. They couldn’t know about blood status, or purity, or anything close to the magical war Hermione had spent her childhood fighting in. They couldn’t know how Hermione had defended him in the trials following the war, because she knew it had all been a defensive strategy for him. She knew that everyone she had known throughout school had just been trying to survive.
“Someone from school came to the shop on Wednesday,” she started, “He wasn’t exactly a friend.”“What do you mean?” Charlotte asked.“I mean… He was not a happy child. He had… It’s complicated, but he took it out on me.”“He bullied you?” Hermione nodded, and Charlotte all but slammed her glass on to the counter. Crookshanks hissed and jumped off of Hermione’s lap, disappearing into Kate’s bedroom.
“I want a name, address, and phone number.”
“No, it’s old history,” Hermione said. “It’s just… I left all that behind, you know. I guess seeing him brought it all back.”“Tell me he didn’t give you that, at least.” Kate waved a spoon at her left forearm, where her scar laid underneath the cotton sleeve of her t-shirt. They’d both seen it of course, never asked what the term meant. She wasn’t sure what she’d tell them if they ever did.
She was well past the nightmares that had plagued her after the war, but sometimes that one still found her. When the nights were darkest, on anniversaries and certain dates. Hermione could still feel the burn of Bellatrix’s wand on her skin, the smell of her hair, the feel of her breath on Hermione’s face. She could still hear her own screaming, begging, crying.
“No,” she told them. “It wasn’t him.”“What did he want?” Kate asked. “Can’t be a coincidence, after all this time, right?”Right. “He wanted a book.”“Should of shoved it up his-”“What book?” Kate interrupted Charlotte quickly. “And why from you?”“His family have a kind of collection in their manor. It’s one of the larg-”“Wait, their Manor?” Kate all but screeched. “Jesus, Hermione, we knew you went to a good school, but the place of… Manor holders? What would you even call him? A lord?”“I suppose. Anyway, his family was an exception,” Hermione assured them, “but their library is extremely well stocked.” And well cursed, against my blood.
Although, he had mentioned that, hadn’t he? Mentioned removing the curses on the Manor. From what Hermione had known about it, there was no way any muggle book would have been able to stay in the library if the curses still held. And those curses were old. Founding families old. It would have taken a lot of time and effort to break them. But why? All for a couple of books he probably didn’t even read?God, why did she care? Was her incessant curiosity so desperate for something to latch onto?And what was with all the damn questions now?
“Anyway,” Hermione continued, “He got his book and then he left. It just shocked me, that’s all.”“Well, hopefully you’ll never see him again, right?” At Hermione’s frown, Charlotte pressed on, “Right?”“He… He wanted to open an account.”“An account? God, who he is, the King? Seriously, Hermione, give me his name, and I’ll make sure he never bothers you again.” Hermione shook her head at Charlotte, smiling at her friend’s staunch defence.
“If he wanted an account, does that mean he’s coming back?” Kate asked.
“I have no idea. I asked him to leave, but he seemed to think he could only get the books he needed from me.”“Right, well, you know what we have to do,” Kate said to Charlotte.“You take the afternoon shift, I’ll take the morning,” Charlotte nodded seriously, “As soon as he shows up,” she slams her fist into her palm, “bang, fist straight to the throat.”“I’ve already punched him in the face once, it didn’t make much difference,” Hermione said with a small laugh. Charlotte’s mouth fell open in gape.
“You punched him? When?”“When we were at school.”“God, maybe I do want him to show up. Just for a re-enactment of that. Please, if he comes back, and I’m there, I have to see you hit him. Aim for the dick this time.”“I don’t want him to come back,” Hermione admitted, “I don’t ever want to see him again.” Him, or any of them.“Well, the last thing we need you to do is become a hermit. Been there, done that,” Kate reminded her. “You can’t hide from him, Hermione. This is your city.”
“Your shop,” Charlotte added.“Your life,” Kate said. “Don’t let one dickhead ruin it. You’ve worked so hard for this.”She had. She’d worked so hard. It hadn’t been easy, just getting out. Just convincing Harry and Ron and the others to let her go had taken months upon months, to the point where she’d considered just using magic to obliviate them and be done with it. But wasn’t that the whole reason she was here? All magic had done was take, steal everything from her, time and time again. Her life now, with her tiny circle of friends and her bookshop and her peace, was hers. And she’d be damned if she let Draco bloody Malfoy destroy it.
She was Hermione Granger. She did not run.

Considering there were witches and wizards involved in its brewing, the coffee at the Ministry was decidedly disgusting. There was a rumour that the tea was slightly better, but drinking tea reminded Draco of being with his mother, and if there was one way to make this entire situation even more unbearable, it was involving his mother.
So, he’d been putting up with the coffee, powering his way through the boxes of notes in his office. He was sure that, in the back of the Weasel’s mind, he’d written so badly just to piss Draco off, because reading his reports - if they could be called that - took the most time. And yet, they were the least informational. Draco’s self-writing quill actually fell asleep during those ones.Draco had to admit that Potter’s were the best. Of course they were. Annoying as it was, Draco knew that he did a good job. It didn’t mean Draco liked him. It didn’t mean Draco’s job was any easier.
The box was just that; a box. From what Draco could tell so far, there was nothing material inside of it. The voice itself seemed to be coming from the curse; or, it was the curse. Either way, Draco knew now, if he hadn’t before, that the voice was a lure. Designed by the curse-maker to draw people to touch the box, in whichever way.
Draco hadn’t heard the voice since the first day. He’d been down to the basement every day to check the logs and see if anything had changed. Under his authority, he had the guards write down when they heard the voice, each time. From what he could tell so far, there was no pattern as to who heard the voices the most. He almost wanted to hear it again himself, just so he had something to go on.The curse-maker was talented. Possibly one of the best Draco had come across in his years since leaving the Ministry. Having scoured the globe for cursed objects, practising his curse breaking just for the fun of it, Draco thought he was a good person to think on the matter. Whoever they were, this witch or wizard had put a great deal of time into designing the placing of this curse. Draco had tried twice to get inside the room without succumbing to the overwhelming feeling of the dark magic emanating from the box. He had shown foresight in having Potter with him on these occasions. Draco himself was managing fairly fine with the intensity, he was happy to admit. The Chosen One, however, was not. His record was 2 minutes, before Draco had to pull him away from the box and out of the room. It was infuriating.There was, of course the resounding theory as to why the box was cursed, but Draco was trying not to delve too much into that. Motive wasn’t his job, and nor did he care. Quite frankly, he wanted this job finished, if nothing else so that he never had to drink this so-called coffee ever again.
Come to think of it, there was a nice coffee place near Granger’s bookshop.
Well, that was that.
The closest apparition point to the bookshop was a few streets away, but Draco was glad of it. It gave him some more time to practice the words he was going to say - again. Their reunion had gone… well, probably better than he deserved it to, although not as well as he’d planned. He’d brought the letter along with him, had planned to open with an apology, give her the letter, and then fuck off. Get a step in and then come back to ask for her help with the box later. Why on earth he’d started prattling about some book, looking at the letter as if it was his list of titles to order. Perhaps he’d put in for an award for improvisation.
For a moment, Draco had worried that Granger was beyond saving. Especially when he saw that scar - regret had stabbed him at that point. Who was he to think he deserved to be in her presence? He’d thought, for a moment, that the light in her eyes was snuffled, along with her magic. But he’d drawn it out, of course he had - taunting her had always been the way to her fire. He would, obviously, be going about it a different way than when they were children.
And on that thought… apologise.
Draco didn’t have much practice with apologies, despite owing thousands of them. There were only a few he cared enough to even think about giving, even less he had spent time practising. None he had given properly. His last experience of it had been stuttering out what he hoped was an understanding “sorry” to Katie Bell when he’d ran into her in Diagon Alley a few years back. He hadn’t stuck around to see if she got the message. His parents had taught him to be many things; they hadn’t taught him to be apologetic.But this one was important. This one would define whether or not he would succeed in bringing Granger back to where she belonged. In righting the wizarding world. If he did that, surely everything else would just fall into place, right? She couldn’t be happy, not like this.Although, she had seemed content. Before Draco had barged into her shop, that is. He’d had a moment to watch her through the glass, trying not to do so creepily, unlike the two idiots she used to hang around with. In the low light of the store, Draco had become instantly convinced that she had only become more golden after putting distance between herself and her childhood compatriots. When he’d gotten closer…Anyway, his mind had gone blank. He wouldn’t be making the same mistake this time. This time he would be prepared.He got to the book store before the coffee shop, monologue ready in his head, letter burning in his pocket. He had to give it her, had to start it this way, or she’d never trust him. He couldn’t quite begin with trying to force her back to the fold, could he? Maybe he could give her the letter and then go and get coffee. That would make it clear, wouldn’t it, that he meant it? He had seen a cup of coffee on her desk yesterday, not tea, like Potter had said. What an absolute prick. Draco knew she drank coffee during the day, she always had.
Alright, so, step one, apologise.As he passed the window, Draco turned his head, catching sight of her immediately. Stood behind the counter in those jeans she was wearing the other day, when she’d led him up the stairs-He tripped, grabbing onto the door handle to stop from breaking his nose on the concrete floor. Was there a rule, or something, about those jeans, that meant he had to make a fool of himself whenever he saw them? Righting himself immediately, he took a moment.
Right, step one, get inside the shop without breaking it.Granger was talking to a brunette when Draco entered, but her eyes found him, sucking him in. He couldn’t believe he’d thought of them as simply brown as a child. They were more than that, they were… unending. A kaleidoscope of earth. He felt her gaze on him like a wave crashing down, a weight, not uncomfortable but certainly heavy.
Her hair had only gotten more wild with age, although it appeared she was taking better care of it in recent years. Draco had spent the evening following their reunion wondering what it would have felt like in his hands, if he had reached across the counter like he‘d itched to. It had been a compulsion of his for as long as he could remember, even when he’d hated her. Her bloody hair.Of course, she had to be beautiful. He’d known she would be, but this? It wasn’t really fair, was it? It made not looking at her so hard. It made thinking hard, and Draco certainly wasn’t used to that.“…not even got the time,” the brunette was saying. Seeing Granger’s gaze shift, seeing her straighten against the counter, the girl moved her own eyes, landing straight on Draco. They immediately narrowed to slits, eyes of venom. A glare to rival Pansy’s. Draco shivered.“Is this him?” she asked immediately. Not even waiting for an answer, she stormed up to Draco, finger digging into his chest.
“Whoa,” Draco put his hands out, not touching her. He’d not had someone inside his personal space for a while now, and it was not a feeling he’d missed. “Back up.”“You back up,” the girl snarled, and Draco wasn’t sure he could have done a better job of the glare she gave him. “Back up all the way out of this building, off this street. Hell, out of this god-damn city.”Draco looked over her shoulder - she was quite tall, this girl - at Granger, who was watching with a look of… was that amusement? “Hired a security guard, did we?”“Don’t look at her.” The girl punctuated her words with a jab to Draco’s chest. If he hadn’t been at least ninety percent sure that this was one of Granger’s muggle friends - or, if he hadn’t spent the time doing his due diligence and checking on said friends - Draco would have wiped this girl off her feet within seconds of her taking one step towards him. But, he was trying to get on Granger’s good side, and assaulting her friends was hardly a solid foundation.
“Look, I’m just here for the books.”“Then go somewhere else.”“Why would I do that when the best bookseller is here.” Draco filled his words with a tone similar to the girl’s, determined not to let himself be pushed out of this store. If Granger was going to let her friends do her dirty work for her, then she really wasn’t the witch Draco had come looking for.“The best bookseller is way above your pay grade, buddy,” the brunette continued jabbing him as she spoke. “She’s so far above you, you can’t even see her. She’s a dot to you. Do you have any idea what you put her through? You should be on your knees begging for forgi-”“Charlotte,”Granger called out.“-veness. You really think you can just barge in here, after all these years, and just buy a book? As if nothing happened? As if you didn’t bully the shit out of her for years? You can take your goddamn manor and fu-”“Charlotte.” Granger’s voice was stern now, slightly more like the one he remembered from those years at school, when he’d hear her berating the boys for something idiotic they’d done. “That’s enough.”The girl - Charlotte - leaned back, just so slightly, and crossed her arms over her chest. Still defensive, ready to protect. It was a habit Granger had, Draco noted, to pull those around her into defending her, as if she couldn’t do it herself. He knew the feeling of being sucked into her orbit. It had only taken seeing her in a pretty dress in fourth year to finally tip him over the edge. He’d spent the next two and a half years of their school lives trying to protect her, as if she wasn’t the most capable, strong, powerful witch on the bloody planet.He should have known that pushing into her life would mean breaking some walls - hers, not his. But he didn’t like that this friend was pretending that she had been there, that she understood anything about their history. Although, he had to admire her passion.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Granger asked, and Draco caught her gaze over Charlotte’s shoulder. He had to do it then, he realised, because he couldn’t walk away from being verbally attacked by her friend and act as if nothing she said was true. Because it certainly was.
“I need to talk to you.” He put his hands in his pockets, wrapped his fingers around the piece of paper he kept there, still. “Alone, preferably.”“Not happening.”“Charlotte,” Granger repeated, less stern but still strong, “it’s fine. There’s a book on the Iraq war I found for you last week. First floor, to the right? It would be good for you to reference in your new piece.”“I should-”“Take the hint,” Draco said, and he couldn’t help but snarl. He could admire Charlotte’s stance against him, but he was tired of it. He didn’t like repeating himself, and nor did he like others doing the same. Especially witches whose word should be law.Charlotte’s eyes narrowed, and she opened her mouth, before Granger coughed. Rolling her eyes, Charlotte moved to the stairs.“I’m literally like seven steps away,” she reminded Granger, “and I have a mean right fist, remember.”Granger’s lips twitched, and it was time for Draco to roll his eyes.
“Not as mean as yours, if it’s anything like I remember,” he said. His voice seemed to make Granger stiffen, and she began busying herself with some paperwork on the till. Looking everywhere but him.
“I’m not going to apologise for my friend,” she said pointedly, “but I-”“I wouldn't have asked you to," Draco interrupted, although it was rude. He knew that if he let her talk, he’d give himself time to talk himself out of what he had to do. How he had to start this. “She was right, of course. Everything she said…”Draco was not on to second guess himself, but he was doing so now. He felt himself rocking back on his heels, felt his mind whirring. He should just-“Goodness, Granger, you really should get some chairs in here, or something. Bookstores are meant to be relaxing, hardly the place to force your customers to stand. Perhaps I cou-”“Malfoy.” She wasn’t looking at him, rifling through pieces of paper on her counter. He wanted her to look at him. “What do you want?”What did he want? He wanted her help, of course. That was all. He wanted her back where she belonged, in the world of magic. It wasn’t right, seeing her like this.
“I have something for you,” he said suddenly, stepping up to the counter. Still, his hand could not leave his pocket. “I’ve been holding onto it for a while. I should have given it to you last week but I… Anyway.”Finally, he pulled his hand out, holding the folded paper between his fingers, placing it gently on the desk. It was torn at the folds, yellowed ever so slightly. He’d thought about rewriting it, renewing it, something to make it look nicer. But this apology didn’t need nice, it needed real. And Granger didn’t want magic. The incident with the M&Ms had made that perfectly clear.Granger frowned at the paper on her till, but Draco saw her hand twitch He was desperate for her to see it herself, he couldn’t say it. She wouldn’t make him, would she? Merlin, she must have known how hard this was-She reached out, unfolding the paper with one hand. He watched her eyes - he’d forgotten just how light they could be in the daylight - scan over each word. He watched her brows crease in a frown. She must not have been halfway through when she stopped, flattening it onto the counter-top.
“Malfoy-”“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, for everything. “I was supposed to say it last week and I didn’t. I wanted to say it… years ago. Had I know you’d…” Merlin, was he really fucking this up again? “I was a dick to you for years and then… everything in seventh year. I never thought… I thought I would see you to apologise, like maybe they’d make me do it publicly, and I -”“Is that was this is?” Granger nodded to the letter, “Your speech for your public apology?”“No! No, this is… private. I was going to give it to you when I worked at the Ministry but I never saw you.”“You worked at the Ministry?” She sounded shocked.Draco stilled, willed his eyes to stay at that spot just over her shoulder. “Yes, well, apparently they’re so understaffed they’ll take anyone. Even criminals.”Granger’s frowned deepened. “That’s not what surprises me. You just…. don’t seem like the Ministry type.”At that, Draco had to let out a small laugh. “That’s true. I only lasted a few months. Although, I do feel like I deserve a medal for putting up with the Weasel for all that time.”Granger gaped at him. “You… you worked with Ron? As an Auror?”“If that’s what you call whatever he’s doing, then I suppose so, yes. Although I want it noted that I was leagues above him.”This had gone severely off track. He wasn’t looking to update Granger on his current lifestyle, he just wanted to apologise. And then maybe he could convince her to return to the wizarding world, fix this bloody box, and they would both be on their way. But now, idle chit-chat.
“Anyway,” he said, “I-”“How did you find me?” Granger seemed, as still and composed as she was, desperate for this answer. Her eyes burned, and Draco could have sworn he saw her hair twizzling in the air, curls tightening, ready to explode. He wondered how it felt, ignoring the magic inside you for seven years.
He could tell her the truth then, he supposed. Could tell her that he just needed her help for a job - she wouldn’t even have to do magic, just read up on his notes and give him some ideas. She was the only one, he could tell her, who had an inkling of what they might be dealing with, and how they might fix it.
But Draco was not an honest man, He was not a good man. And to be honest, he didn’t want to tell her truth. He knew once he did, she’d chuck him out of her shop and disappear. He just wanted more time.“Luck,” he said, and maybe it was only half a lie. Granger didn’t believe him, of course, so he quickly added, “I’ve been scouring bookshops for a months, trying to find a seller who wouldn’t ask too many questions on why my collection was missing so many important volumes. Your name is on the lease for this place, so…”“I don’t…” she trailed off, straightening the strange contraption with the button letters in front of her. “I don’t want anyone knowing where I am. You’re the only one who’s found me.”Another chance for him to tell her. By the way your ex-best friends have been stalking you since you asked them to let you go.
But that wouldn’t gain her trust, would it? She would almost definitely disappear if he told her the Golden boys knew where she was, and he’d never figure her out. Never get to the bottom of that mind, never get to feel her hair or see that fire in her eyes. He didn’t even hesitate.
“Your secret is safe with me.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Your secret is safe with me.

As if Hermione had ever been safe with Draco Malfoy. Although she supposed he must have changed, if this apology - or what she assumed was an apology - was anything to go by. She didn’t suppose he would have had much practice, growing up as he did.
Hermione could accept the premise of Malfoy learning his bullying techniques from his father. It didn’t mean she forgave him.“I-” she cut herself off. She had to be careful with him. If he really was going to be coming to her bookshop, she couldn’t be blurting out vulnerable requests like please keep my life a secret , and please don’t betray me every five minutes . It’s not like they were old friends. She needed to find a way to convince him to go elsewhere.“I assume you’ve finished the Lord of the Rings?” Hermione wasn’t sure why this was what her brain decided to ask him in that moment. Maybe it sensed that she needed a break from the terrifying reminders of what she left behind - he’d worked with Ron, for fuck’s sake - and was taking the chance for a refocus. Maybe it was just blurting out the first thing that came to mind. Maybe her subconscious memory had reminded her that, of all the people she’d ever known, he was the only one who read books like she did.Malfoy blinked at her, seeming just as confused at the change of tone as she was.
“Yes,” he said slowly, “Although…”“What? Not too fond of your first muggle read?”“No,” he said quickly, as if she was testing him. Maybe she was. “It was very slow, that’s all. I’m not sure I could read another word about a tree for at least five years.”Hermione’s laugh came out of her in a breath, quiet and shocked.
“Well, you better prepare yourself. There’s at least two trees in the next installment.”“There’s more?”“It does end on a cliffhanger, Malfoy. You read The Fellowship of the Ring. The next on--”“You’re telling me that behemoth is just one of two?” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “What is it with muggles and needing everything to be a bloody series?”“Well, one of three.” Malfoy gaped. “And that’s not even counting the prequels.”He sighed, ruffling his hair. “Well, I suppose you’d better give me the next two. I have a feeling I’m going to have a lot of free time over the next week.”“Why?” Hermione asked before she could think, her instinctual questioning yet again proving to be a curse.
“Work is slow at the moment,” he said by way of answer. “I doubt you’d want to hear about it.”He doubted correctly. She had heard of his exploits after his trial; Kingsley hadn’t been impressed with what such a talented wizard had chosen to do with his freedom. Not only did she not want to hear about whatever dastardly, and possibly illegal, things Draco was up to, she certainly didn’t want to broach the subject of anything magical. Just having him in the same room as her was causing her blood to buzz, the air between them sizzling.
She’d always known he carried intensity. Waves of magic rolled off of him naturally. During school, when they had sat merely spaces away from each other, she’d felt it washing over her constantly. In the more dreary lessons - divination, mostly - she’d let herself imagine what it would be like to have that sort of power. To feel it in your veins, under you skin. To use it. It was part of the reason he’d been so gifted, she supposed. That and his determination to beat her at everything.
She remembered thinking about him when he was in Azkaban, awaiting trial. To have that magic bottled up… It must have been awful.
“Well,” she said after a moment, “You know where.”“Actually,” he shuffled on his feet, “I’m not sure I feel safe going alone.”“You won’t get lost, Malfoy, it’s one set of stairs.”“It’s not that. It’s your guardian.” He nodded his chin towards the stairs. “The Hogwarts statues have nothing on her.”Hermione swallowed, stifling a smile. “She’s only that way with you because.. well…”“Because I was a prick to you at school, I know. Like I said, I don’t need you to explain.”Hermione’s eyes glanced at the piece of paper still sitting on the counter, a physical barrier between them. She wasn’t sure if she wanted it removed or not.
“She won’t actually hurt you. She’s just protective.”“You know, I heard you saying that about Crookshanks in fifth year but I swear that cat tried to kill me. On numerous occasions. One time it was close as well; tripped me up on the stairs.” He glared at her when she laughed. “Those stairs moved, Granger. I could have been lost to Hogwarts forever.”“What a shame that would have been.”
He gave her a wry smile.“I’ve been tasked by my mother with staying alive, and intact. You’ll have to escort me.”Hermione found, to her irritation, that she was fighting a smile as she headed up the stairs silently. Charlotte was perusing the British history setting, but her eyes met Hermione’s in a quick check of well-being. Seeing Malfoy behind her, her eyebrow raised.
On the second floor, Malfoy visibly shivered.
“Scary,” he muttered. “She reminds me of Pansy.”Hermione frowned at him. “She’s nothing like your girlfriend.”Malfoy tilted his head at her. “Pansy is not my girlfriend. In fact, don’t ever let her hear you say that. She’d combust on the spot for the sheer thought of it.”
“Whatever. It’s up there.” Hermione pointed, moving her gaze away from him. She could feel his eyes burning into the side of her face, and when she looked back at him, she saw he was watching her. Much too closely than she liked. When he found her returning his gaze, his lips spread into a cunning smirk. She saw his right hand move to the inside pocket of his blazer.
“Malfoy, do-”He barely had to flick his wand before the book levitated out of his place on the shelf and down to his hand. Before he could react, Hermione reached forward, ripping it from his grasp. If anything, his smirk widened.
“Now what, Granger?”Grabbing the small stool from the corner, she used it to reach the shelf, putting it back into its place. She felt unable to look him in the eye, scared that if she did, the magic emanating from him would reach forward and awaken hers, drag it out of her.
Malfoy simply watched her for a moment, and from her gaze just over his shoulder, she saw his eyes narrow ever so slightly. She was sure he’d levitate the book back to him and they would be caught in this circle of cat and mouse for the rest of time. She wondered when he would do it, if he would make her wait…Barely having to stretch, Malfoy reached up, grabbing the book with his right hand and pulling it down. A silent understanding passed between them; Hermione hoped he’d gotten the hint. No magic here.
“The third?” he asked quietly, voice low. She was startled by the sound, knew that he noticed.“I’ll have to order it,” she said, “I sold it yesterday.”“Very well.” His eyes flickered around the room. “After you.”They headed back down to the till to find Charlotte speaking to - or, rather, at - the recent regular customer Hermione had acquired. He was a tall man, rather gaunt, sharp features. He looked like what Malfoy had looked like during sixth year, Hermione suddenly realised, although his colouring was certainly healthier. She gave him a small smile, taking Malfoy to the counter.
“Could you add-“We don’t do accounts here, Malfoy,” Hermione said. He cocked his head at her.
“Well then, there’s nothing for it.” He started for the door, ignoring her small sound of outrage. “See you next week, Granger.”

“And then he just walked out.”“With the book?” When Hermione nodded, Kate gaped. “He stole from you? Again?”“I don’t think so,” Hermione said slowly. “He said he’d be back next week.”“So, he borrowed it? What does he think you are, a library?”Hermione wasn’t sure what Malfoy was thinking. She never had been. It had been enraging, during school, hating him but at the same time wanting to know him. Understand him. After, sitting in on his trial, she’d come slightly closer, hearing about his childhood. Watching his memory of the day Voldemort had branded him. Against his will, Malfoy’s lawyer had said. She’d believed him.“Malfoy’s not one to steal.” He doesn’t need to. “He’ll pay, when he wants to.”Kate rolled her eyes. “Rich, then?”“You have no idea.”Charlotte appeared at the table, bottle of wine in hand, grin across her face.
“Finally,” Hermione said, taking the bottle from her, “we’ve been waiting for ages.”“There’s a queue.”“No, there isn’t,” Kate rolled her eyes, “We saw you chatting to that girl. Did you get her number?”“I didn’t need to. She asked for mine first.”“Well, next time, could you bring us our drinks first?” Hermione said, “It’s been such a long day.”Not only had it been a long day, it had been a bad day. Hermione had woken with a headache, probably from lack of sleep considering she’d stayed up late to watch TV with Charlotte. Not that she had been sleeping, anyway. She was constantly on edge, waiting for Malfoy to show up at her door with Harry, or Ron, or all of them, ready to drag her back to the Ministry. She just knew he’d tell somebody, if nothing but to gloat to the others that he’d found her first, and that she was without magic. Hey, Potter, guess the Golden Girl’s not so Golden after all, hey?Then, everything had gone wrong. All day. She’d dropped everything she touched, messed up all the orders so she now had five copies of Malfoy’s order, and had spilled coffee all over the receipts she was supposed to be bookkeeping. Then, in reaching for a pen, an accio had been so close to pushing past her lips, and she’d recoiled so hard she had knocked over her cup of coffee from the counter - again. She had wanted to be sick for a full hour.
And then, to make matters even more confusing, a chair had shown up at the shop. A big, monstrous thing that she absolutely did not want to keep. The delivery man had been confused when she’d told him she hadn’t ordered it, showing her the receipt of purchase. Her name, her address. Hermione had known exactly who’d sent the bloody thing, especially when the delivery driver had refused to take it back, stating “instructions upon delivery”.
Although, she had to admit that the dark emerald looked beautiful in the corner of the ground floor. It could stay there until she found somewhere better for it.All in all, a stressful and confusing day. So, she’d practically downed her first glass of wine.
“There was a letter for you at home,” Kate said, passing over a small envelope. Hermione frowned at it, the scratchy writing of her name, before ripping it open.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

“I have found her,” I said,

When I finally saw you
Hermione read it twice before showing it to her friends. Kate grimaced.
“Ew, poetry.”“It’s a love poem,” Charlotte gasped. Picking up the envelope, she scanned it quickly. “There’s no address on this. Someone posted this under your door.”“That’s creepy,” Kate said. “Hermione, you have a stalker.”“I do not have a stalker,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “They probably got the wrong door. Or it’s the boys upstairs playing a stupid prank.”Their neighbours above their flat were university students, constantly partying. At the weekend the girls usually watched from the balcony as they drunkenly partook in ridiculous dares that had, once or twice, led to the police being called. This was well up their street.“This doesn’t weird you out?”“Of course it weirds me out.” Hermione ripped it from Charlotte’s grasp, tearing the paper up and dropped it into an empty glass.
“Could it be Malfoy?”Hermione shook her head immediately. “It’s not his writing.”Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “You know his writing?”Of course Hermione knew his writing. They’d been in competition all through school; when their professors had marked essays, they’d switched theirs so they could see what the other had done, that they hadn’t. Hermione had learnt the cursive swirls of his letters by heart, annoyingly perfect and smooth. Of course he had good handwriting; no Lord of the Manor could have anything imperfect about him. Aside from the terrible decision-making and ruthless character, that is.“It’s not Malfoy,” Hermione said, in a tone that finished the conversation. The neighbours had sent stupid notes through their door before, taped notices to the door, all harmless. Hermione wouldn’t let herself worry about something so small.
Not when she had other things to worry about. Like the fact that her magic hadn’t quietened since Malfoy had left her shop.

Draco was ready to throw his book at Theo. No, maybe not his book, he didn’t want to damage it. His glass, yes, perhaps he would chuck his glass at him. But that would be a waste of perfectly good whiskey…“I mean, what else is there to do?”“Whatever you decide, could you think on it quietly?” Draco asked through gritted teeth. He didn’t need to look at Theo to know that the snake was rolling his eyes.
“Could you put that bloody book down for five seconds, Draco?”“No.” Draco was at a particularly good point in his latest muggle read, the one he’d taken from Hermione’s store. It was annoyingly slow, but not enough to make him want to stop reading, and it was at least twice as interesting as the current dilemma Theo was trying to get him to solve.“But I need your help.”“You do not need my help. You just want me to tell you what to do because you're useless at making decisions."Theo sighed, throwing his head back on the arm of the sofa he was lounging on. Draco narrowed his eyes, again, at the feet that he had up on the cushions. Theo Nott was one of his best friends, but that didn’t mean he had the right to put his feet all over Draco’s furniture.“I wish Pansy were here,” Theo said. “She’s so much better at relationship advice than you.”“That would probably be due to the fact that she is in a relationship.”“Considering your mother returns from France next month, you’d think you’d be trying harder to find yourself in a similar position, as I am.”Draco rolled his eyes, finally closing his book to face Theo. It wasn’t the first time that Draco had found the closeness between his best friend and his mother irritating and unhelpful. Narcissa had become Theo’s sort of adoptive mother, since his own biological mother was so bloody useless. It was nice, most of the time. But not right now.
“What exactly do you want from me, Theo?”“I want you to tell me what to do to get Luna to-”“Why her?”Theo frowned. “What?”“Why Luna?
You’ve been chasing her for a year. More, if you count when you were actually in a relationship with her. She’s still clueless. As am I. Why do you want her?”Theo blinked. “It’s… complicated.”“Well, I suggest you find words to explain it. Then, go tell her instead of harping on about it to us every Friday night. Then you might get what you want.”Draco took a sip from his glass. Theo wasn’t his only friend who was pining for somebody they’d never have. Blaise was in a similar situation, although he was much more silent and broody about it. Draco, on the other hand, couldn’t be happier at how his current situation had found him.
The cursed object was, still, a mystery. Draco had finally finished reading through all the notes provided to him and had, of course, absolutely fuck all. But if there were two things that Draco loved, it was challenges, and mysteries. A challenging mystery was just perfect to take him out of the boring day-to-day of un-cursing his manor and others like it. It had provided him the perfect excuse of not going over to the Flint manor this week, for instance.
In truth, Draco hated going back to Malfoy Manor. So did his mother. He hadn’t lied when he’d told Granger he was starting a muggle collection for his library; what he had neglected to tell her, because he doubted she cared, was that this collection would be going nowhere near that place. Draco was quite content to live the rest of his life in his London flat overlooking the Thames. In fact, he had only just recently found that he loved his home even more than he did a few weeks ago. And not because it was fairly close to a certain bookshop.The fireplace roared to life all of a sudden, flames bursting green and leaving Blaise in their place. He came bearing a bottle of Superior Red, his usual Friday night tradition, and stalked straight over to Draco’s drink cabinet to pour himself one before falling into a chair. All without a word.
Theo whistled. “You look terrible, mate. What’s happened?”Blaise took a long gulp of his drink, opting to stay silent for a moment. Draco and Theo both knew not to press; Blaise would tell them when he was ready. Never one for confrontation, Blaise was possibly the least outwardly passionate of their group. In seventh year, Draco had found it infuriating. Now, it was as expected.“Well,” Theo slapped his knees, rising to sit up straight on the sofa, “now that you’ve apparently solved my problem, Draco, why don’t we talk about yours?”“I don’t have any problems,” Draco murmured, opening his book again, “My life is just as a Lord’s should be.”“Your mother disagrees.”“My mother has no say over my life decisions, Theo.”“Tell me that again in a month’s time.”Draco glared at him. “I will.”“Didn’t you take a job at the Ministry?” Blaise said, eyes not leaving the fireplace from which he had entered. “Thought you’d vowed never to work there again.”He did, that was true.
“I think his exact words were, I’d rather fuck a Chimera then return to that shithole ,” Theo reminded him, laughing.He said that also.“So, a man’s not allowed to change his mind?”“You never change your mind,” Theo said. “What have they got you doing, then?”“Curse-breaking, of course.”Blaise rolled his eyes. “God forbid you do anything else.”“What’s that supposed to mean?”“You’re a skilled potioneer, duellist, and alchemist. You’d think they’d use you for something much more suited to your talents.”It was as close to a compliment as he might get from Blaise, although Draco shrugged it off. Sure, he was good at many things, but curse-breaking had been the only thing in the last year or so that had held his interest. After trying and hating being an Auror, he had spent months in a sort of haze, his hobbies seeming bland, his prospects even bleaker. He had broken his first cursed object sort of accidentally; a mirror at the manor, cursed to reflect what you hated the most. After that, it had become a sort of obsession.Until, of course, a much older obsession had reared its head of curls.“I’m finding this most recent task to be sort of a challenge, actually. Besides, it was Potter who asked, and who can say no to the Chosen One?”“More like, who can say no to beating the Chosen One," Theo said, raising his eyebrows over the rim of his glass. "Surprised he didn’t just ask the Golden Girl to do it for him, considering all the dirty work she used to do for him.”“Granger no longer works at the Ministry,” Draco muttered, appearing nonchalant, “apparently.”“Oh?” Draco met Theo’s gaze, “And how would you know that?”“Because I asked the same damn question, obviously.”He hummed.
“Poor Weasley might have to start doing some work then, I suppose.”Draco said nothing, simply turned his gaze back to his book. It was quite good, actually, fresh and new. To him, anyway. Although, he was sure he’d need something with a bit more pace soon, or he’d probably start to lose his shit. Especially with how slow things were going at the Ministry, too.
By the time he returned to work on Monday, he’d finished the Fellowship of the Ring, and was considering breaking the week up with an impromptu visit to the book store to get something new. He was halfway through a practice session of spell-breaking, trying to work out a new combination that might work on the box, when Potter barged into his office, breaking his concentration. The small ring box went flying around the room at the break in his focus, until Draco brought it to a stop with a flick of his wand. He glared at Potter.
“Didn’t you read the sign?” He’d placed a piece of paper on his door, a hastily - but neatly - scribbled threat to anyone who dared to enter.
“You need to see this.”Draco followed Potter to the elevator in silence, wondering what had changed over the weekend to cause Potter to be so stiff. He knew he wouldn’t get anything until they were right in front of whatever Potter wanted him to see, what with the layer of secrecy the Ministry insisted on placing over every fucking thing in the building. Draco understood the need for privacy when it came to such objects as the one Potter had him working on, but it had driven him insane when he’d been surrounded by it.
Potter stopped the elevator at the floor above the morgue, which, unfortunately, was the last place Draco had ever thought to find himself again. He was sure that Potter remembered Draco’s last visit to this particular floor, because he slid Draco a look full of pity. Draco ignored him, stepping out onto the white tiled floor.
The Ministry’s hospital floor was lower down in the building, to ensure that patients were able to be brought here as soon as possible. In perhaps a poor-sighted and ironic move, it was one level above the morgue, a fact which Draco never hesitated to remember whenever he was here. The last time he had been here had almost led to his return to Azkaban. Even when he'd worked here, he'd avoided it.
And yet, here he was.
It was exactly as he remembered. The smell of cleanliness, the shininess of the white floors and walls, and ultimate oppression of the whole space. Broken only by a screeching that seemed to reverberate through Draco’s entire self. Too similar. What was that Muggle term, about feeling like you've been somewhere before?“It happened on Saturday,” Potter told him now, as they walked. Draco noticed him cast an imperturbable charm around them, preventing any others from hearing their conversation. “I only learnt about it this morning. Gary is one of the oldest guards at the Ministry, he’s been here for… well, nobody really knows, actually. He’s never done anything like this before, he knows the rules better than anyone.”The Gary in question was restrained to the bed with a strong, and rather impressive, immobulus spell, keeping his limbs pressed down to the mattress. The healer keeping it placed on him was in the corner of his room, with other, similarly dressed colleagues rushing around the bed. Gary himself was clearly desperate to get off that bed, throwing his head around violently and screeching.
“He opened the box,” Draco stated.
“Apparently so. Nobody saw him do it, but the entry wards on the room and… well, this, would suggest that is the case.”“All the others took a week to change so drastically.”“Right. And none of them presented in this way.”“No, they just murdered their loved ones instead.”“Gary has two older children, three grandchildren.”“Muggle-born?”“No. Both Gary, his wife, and children’s wives are all purebloods. But his brother married a Muggle. His nephew’s have just started Hogwarts. As soon as we’d learnt he’d opened the box, we brought him here. He denied it, and became violent when he was told he would have to stay here for observation. He’s been like this ever since.”“You’re stopping the curse from carrying out its effect,” Draco murmured, “Instead it’s taking it out on Gary.”“So we should-”“If you want to keep his family safe, then this is what we have to do. Eventually the curse will burn him out and he’ll be lost.” Draco removed Potter’s spell, calling over to who appeared to be in charge. “Calming draughts?”“Do nothing,” one of the healers came over to them, holding out a chart. Draco looked away. “We’ve given as many as we can. Right now, it’s the wounds that concern us.”“The wounds?”The healer waved them closer, although Draco did not move. Now that some of the healers had moved aside, he could see the wounds clearly. Gary’s clothes had been removed so they could access his skin, where the gaping cuts were re-opening repeatedly. The direction of them, the deepness. It led Draco to a memory he had no wish of going down.
“Are you…” Potter started.“It appears our curse-maker can perform the sectumsempra,” Draco said, not looking at the Saviour’s guilt-ridden face. They’d already had this very brief conversation, and Draco had wished never to return to the curse that had almost ripped his life away.
“I’ve not heard of this particular spell,” the healer said, “perhaps-”“It’s not a spell, it’s a curse,” Draco interrupted, “and the only one who knows the counter-curse is dead.” He looked at Potter. “Whoever cursed the object must have known Snape, for the curse to be so effective.”“We don’t know that it is sectumsempra,” Potter argued. “It could just be something similar.” Draco rolled his eyes.“Either way, if we don’t figure out the counter-cure, your guard here is going to die. Seeing and breaking the effects of the curse might help me break the whole thing down, anyway.”Draco knew the incantation to reverse sectumsempra, but the song-like quality of its wording had been something he’d never perfected, even when Snape had been teaching him. After it had been used against him, Draco had insisted on learning the counter-curse from the wizard himself, but then Snape had died and everything had been lost.Draco stepped up to the guard in the hospital bed, the patient still throwing whatever body part he could around on the bed. It would be even more difficult to focus, what with the movements and the-“Enough of that.” Draco waved his wand, silencing the patient. “I need you quiet.”Potter came to stand on the other side of the bed, watching carefully as Draco held his wands over the cuts. They were gushing blood, despite all that the guard had surely lost, new ones opening with every second.
Draco had always wondered what he'd looked like when Potter had thrown this curse his way. Now, seeing the red lines tearing open Gary's skin, deep and bright, he wished he'd never thought about it. He suddenly felt as if he was going to fall over.“Malfo-”“Shut up,” Draco snapped, “I can’t do this with you hovering over me.” He took a stilling breath and, moving his wand carefully over the cuts, muttered, “ Valnera Sanentur .” Trying to recall Snape’s precise tone, the movements of his hand and wrist, the focus. “ Valnera Sanentur .”The cuts deepened, blood bubbling. Draco swore, waving it away so he could see the wounds. Tried again.It took a few times for Draco to perfect the counter-curse, but eventually, Draco and Potter watched as the blood flow slowed, as the cuts started to close. Once Draco was sure that they weren’t about to burst back open, he turned and stalked out of the room, barking an order to the healer to apply as much dittany as they could. He tried not to start screaming at Potter when the Chosen Prick stepped quickly into the elevator after him, or even when he followed Draco back to his office, despite Draco trying to swing the door closed before he could enter.
“Malfo-”“Why was I not called as soon as the box was opened?”“I didn’t know - nobody knew.”“Then the wards placed on that room are shite. I’ll redo them immediately.” Draco scribbled a quick counter-curse on a piece of parchment, using a sticking charm to place it on the wall. The rest of the wall was eerily empty; the only part of the counter-curse he knew. He’d have to witness the full effects of the curse before he could list the others. “I want witness reports, times, dates. Everything. And I’ll need full access to the patient.”“You have it. I’ll ensure that everything is sent to you. Are you-”“Why did you not have the wards spelled to alert you as soon as somebody entered that room?”Potter straightened when Draco leveled his gaze on him. “I was… busy this weekend.”“Busy? Forgive me but I thought you told me this was of up-most priority”“It is.”“Then what on earth could have been more important this we-”“I proposed this weekend, Malfoy. I couldn’t be called away, even if I’d wanted to. Kingsley ensured it.”Of fucking course. A cursed box is sending everybody into murderous rages, but the Minister is more concerned that his favourite couple start their happily ever after. Draco grabbed his cloak from the hook by the door.
“Congratulations,” he said. “I assume the She-Weasel said yes?”“Actually, she asked me before I could ask her,” he said, giving what Draco could only describe as a stiff smile. Hardly the happy husband-to-be he’d envisaged.
Well, no wonder Blaise was so pissy on Friday.
“I’m replacing the wards,” Draco said, “and then I’m leaving for the day. If anything changes with the guard-”“You’ll be the first to know. Malfo-”Leaving Potter behind was easy. Replacing his shitty wards was even easier. Stepping into the Ministry’s floo to take him to the Zabini manor, however, was hard, and finding his friend in the expected state of inebriety was even harder. Draco used Blaise’s owl to send notes to Theo and Pansy, and settled next to his friend with his own drink.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hermione was getting ready to close the shop when Malfoy stepped through the door. She opened her mouth to tell him that she was done for the day until she saw him.

Really

saw him. He looked… Well, he looked dreadful, quite honestly. The bags under his eyes looked more like bruises, his skin was even paler than she’d ever known it, his hair uncharacteristically messy.
She was even sure that she saw a crease in his suit trousers. Muggle suit trousers, she’d never get over it.

But even haggard, he was breath-taking. Irritatingly handsome, despite being broken.

“Malfoy.” She called his name more in shock at his appearance. She had been expecting him all day, knowing he was not one to stand up a meeting, if that’s what this was. She had his order out on the counter ready for him, despite telling herself she should put it away. She liked to think it was to get him out of the store as soon as possible.

“Granger,” he drawled, “apologies for the lateness.”

“I- it’s fine,” she said. “Are you alright?”

Malfoy cocked his head at her, stepping through the door and letting it close loudly behind him. He moved so he was just a few steps away from her. Hermione fought the urge to move back - the words

do not run

, rushing through her mind.

“Don’t I look alright?” he said in response.

“You look… tired.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Hermione leaned against the counter, weighed down by his words. It was true, she was still struggling to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she would see her parents, her friends, Malfoy’s face sneering at her.

Not so Golden any more, are you?

Even the sleeping pills she got from her GP earlier in the year were proving useless. And with his repeated presence in her life, the urge to conjure one of her old calming charms had found its way into her head, her fingers twitching through her sleepless nights.

She could just tell him to get out, that she was closed, that she’d send the bill for the books to his bloody Manor, that she never wanted to see him again. But he looked how she felt, and Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she’d been with someone who knew exactly what it was that she was hiding. Someone who knew what it was to be reminded, constantly, of what you had done and what had been done to you.

So many times over the last seven years, she'd considered breaking the Statue of Secrecy. Spilling her secrets to her friends, telling them everything, so that she would feel like they understood her a little more. Hermione never would, though: the risks were too great. If anyone found out, Charlotte and Kate's memories would be obliviated. Hermione never wanted that spell used near her loved ones, ever again.

So, she'd lived her life as half of her, the part of her that didn't have or need magic. But it was always there, constantly simmering underneath her skin. And they could never know what had actually happened to her during school - the near-death experiences, the fear, the hate that had been thrown in her face. The possibility that she would lose everything, always on the edge of her mind. They couldn't know. But Malfoy did.

So instead of turning him away, she gave in.

“Fancy a drink?”

Malfoy hovered outside the shop whilst Hermione finished closing up. She didn’t miss how he watched her, probably looking for signs that she was using magic. Since her accidental almost-accio Hermione had been extra careful not to slip into old ways, and it was working. But with him, she knew she would have to be extra careful. Her magic was building, sizzling in her blood.

They walked to the cafe quietly, side by side. It wasn’t often Hermione found herself in comfortable silence; Charlotte was too much of a chatter-box and Kate couldn’t cope with a lack of noise, so there was always some sort of noise in their flat, whether it was the TV or music or conversation. Hermione realised suddenly that she missed it.

Even with the intensity of him. It was like strolling alongside a blazing fire, flames licking at her skin across the distance between them. Hermione could feel her own magic trying to escape, reaching back, waking up. She should have hated it. She didn’t.

“I thought you meant a

drink

drink,” Malfoy said when they came to the cafe. Hermione stilled with her hand on the door handle.

“Oh,” she said, “we can go somewhere else, if you’d like.”

Suddenly she realised that she didn’t know if Malfoy was comfortable being in a muggle cafe. He’d been coming to the store, of course, but she had no idea if he went anywhere else. Besides, from what he’d said the only reason he came to the bookshop was because of her. Whatever that meant.

“No, no,” he said, waving a hand for her to enter. “Coffee is better, actually.”

Hermione hoped he didn’t see the sigh of relief she exhaled when he didn’t suggest going somewhere magical. She wasn’t sure how she could utter the words, even after all these years;

I don’t go there any more. I don’t do that any more. I’m not a witch any more.

Kate’s eyebrows raised when she saw who Hermione had brought to the cafe. Nodding her chin towards Hermione’s usual table, she started on her usual chai latte.

“Black coffee, please.” Malfoy brought out a wallet from his blazer pocket before Hermione could even mention paying. “Go sit. I’ll wait.”

Hermione, unsure of herself, obeyed, moving to the table in the corner, right up against the window. Kate’s cafe had a certain sort of charm, plants hanging from the ceilings, jars of spice shelves on the walls, Kate’s mum’s collection of mugs protected by a glass wall. It was a mismatch of everything Kate loved, which is why Hermione loved it, too. She couldn’t wait to see what Kate would do with the new place.

Malfoy made it over a few minutes later, handing her a mug smelling of chai. She raised her brows at the size of Malfoy’s drink, and he chuckled quietly.

“She said I needed it,” he muttered, and Hermione smiled into her drink. “She’s a friend?”

“And room-mate.”

“So, the other security guard, then?”

“I suppose so.” Hermione set her mug on the table carefully, shifting in her seat. She winced when her back protested. Today had been a hard day of shifting inventory, shelving books and climbing ladders and lifting boxes. She was feeling it now.

“Long day?” Malfoy asked. She met his silvery gaze, wondered if everybody felt the warmth she did when his eyes were on her. She’d always thought his gaze cold when they were young, perhaps because every time they met eyes he was glaring at her, like she wasn’t even worth sending a slicing hex.

But the man sitting in front of her was not the boy she remembered. He didn’t even look like he had when they were children. His face was fuller, his eyes softer. Less sharp, less hateful. Even with the shadows hanging over him today. She wondered what had changed.

Everything

.

“Inventory,” she answered finally, rolling her shoulders back. “It’s just a lot to do on your own, lifting heavy boxes all day.”

He hummed, lifting his drink to his mouth. “If only there was a way to make life easier for yourself.”

She thought he was being irritable, but she caught the curl of lips before he took a sip, rolled her eyes as he smirked at her. Was that her magic bubbling in her stomach, or butterflies? Of course his irritating smirk had to be attractive.

“Do you do this every Wednesday?”

“Only the second Wednesday of the month,” she said, “that’s generally when I get new orders in.”

“You don’t hire anybody else?”

“I have an assistant, Olive, but she’s not able to lift.”

“So, there’s only two of you?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you just hire somebody to help you?”

“I don’t need anybody to help me,” she said, “I can do it myself.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, his eyes glittering, but a shadow fell over their table. Kate placed a plate with a single piece of Oreo cookie cake on the table, nearer Hermione’s cup.

“Take a look at this picture I got of Crookshanks this morning,” Kate said with a chuckle. She moved her phone in front of Hermione’s gaze.

“Crookshanks?” Hermione saw Malfoy grimace. “That thing is still alive?”

“Crookshanks is a beloved member of our household, thank you, Malfoy.” Hermione laughed at a picture on Kate’s phone reaching over to slide the cake towards herself. “Will you send that to me?”

“That little demon should be banned from the public,” Malfoy said.

“Don’t be cruel.”

“All the times I spent running around the corridors of Hogwarts, the nights I woke up drenched in sweat from nightmares, the-”

“All deserved,” Hermione chirped. “He’s very protective of me.” She took a bite of her cake, just as her phone dinged in her pocket. She took it out to see the picture Kate had sent her, smiling at it again.

“What is that?” Hermione looked up, expecting Malfoy to be looking at her phone, but he is glaring at the cake.

“It’s Oreo cookie cake,” she told him. “Kate makes the best.”

“Can I have some?”

“No.”

He looked shocked for a moment, then let out a short laugh. “No?”

“It’s my favourite, and she bought it over for me. If you want something you’ll have to go and get it yourself.”

Malfoy looked over to the counter, bit his lip for a second. “No,” he said thoughtfully, “she’d
probably poison it.”

Now Hermione laughed, and his gaze swung back to her. She busied herself with her cake.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asked her suddenly, and her hand paused halfway between the plate and her mouth. Did he really think she’d answer him?

“How is that any of your business?”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

She opened her mouth to tell him that in no universe did she care about his business, but then snapped it shut. It’s not that she cared, per say, but her irritating curiosity wanted answers to questions she hadn’t even asked. Like,

why do you look like you could throw up,

or

when was the last time you slept?

“I’ll go first,” he said suddenly. “On Monday I had to break a sectumsempra curse which, as I’m sure you could guess, hit quite close to home. Since then, I haven’t slept, and this is the longest I’ve gone without a drink. I mean, an alcoholic drink.” He leaned back into his chair. “It’s not a curse I was itching to come across any time soon.”

Hermione sat with his words for a moment, wrapping her hands around her mug. She remembered when Harry had used that curse on Malfoy, remembered the way Harry had described what had happened to him. He’d been guilt-ridden over it, despite all the talking Ginny had given him. Her friend had been convinced Malfoy must have deserved it somehow, although Hermione hadn’t been sure. Hermione had never even heard of the curse until Harry had told her about it from Snape’s book - she couldn’t imagine what it would do to a person to go through that, and then see it done to somebody else.

“That must have been difficult,” she said. “I suppose they were lucky you were there.”

“They were?”

“I doubt anybody else would have been able to break such a curse,” she murmured, “From what I heard about it, it was… It took a certain ability, you know.”

“More ability than it does to cast it,” he said, eyes on the table.

“Did they catch the person who cast it?” Hermione asked timidly, probably the most timid she’d ever asked anything. Unsure if she wanted to know the answer, to dive deeper into this world she had left behind.

“Not yet.” Malfoy met her gaze again, eyes a dark grey now, walls up. “But I will.”

He didn’t press her to return the favour, and she didn’t rush to. She sipped her coffee, ate her cake. Pressed her palms together as if it might ground her a little more, as if it might stop the fizzing in her veins.

“Are you… in contact with anyone from school?” She posed the question carefully, knowing that he most likely was, but thinking it would be a good way for her to address the emotional turmoil that was bubbling through her.

“Only the usual,” he told her, “You know. Theo, Blaise, Pansy.” She waited whilst he took a drink. “They’re the only ones I care to see.”

“And they… Are they…” She shifted. He watched. “Do you think that…”

“Granger.” He drawled her name into his cup. “Do you want to meet my friends or something?”

“No!” She said it very loudly, very quickly, and then thought for a moment that he’d be offended. And then wondered why she cared. But then he laughed, closing his eyes in a smile.

She took a quick moment to study him - really study him, without the layer of shock at seeing him. He really was attractive, she thought reluctantly, annoyingly so. Everything about him was annoying. But she couldn’t help notice that she liked the way his smile lit his face up, or the way he leaned back in his seat when he laughed. It was natural, really, to be around such a person and notice these things.

“No,” she said quietly as he calmed down.

“Good,” he said, “because I don’t want to introduce you. So, if meeting my friends is not what’s on your mind, why are you asking about them?”

“I’m just wondering… do they know what you do during the day?”

“I tell them everything.”

She took in a deep breath, quickly, then another, found that she had forgotten how to breath out, so the air was just getting trapped in her lungs. Hermione hoped her panic didn’t show on her face.

She hadn't wanted anyone to know. Her nightmare had come true. Everything. He tells them everyth-

“Except you, of course.” He brushed some lint off of his shoulder, ignoring the way she looked at him.

“You haven’t told them? About me? That you… That you found me?”

He looked at her then, gaze flat and empty. He was obviously occluding and it made those bags under his eyes so much starker, his features somehow sharper. Suddenly, now, he reminded her of how he’d been at school. Dark, empty. Lonely.

“I told you your secret is safe with me, Granger. I meant what I said.” He stood suddenly, grabbing her coffee mug. “Another?”

She nodded vaguely, watched him walk back to the counter. She might have laughed at the glare that Kate gave him, the way his back straightened even more. He brought her coffee over first, then returned with his own and a plate of cake. Seeing her eyeing it, he raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t get any funny ideas, Granger,” he said, “I bought this for myself. If you’d like something, you’ll have to go and get it yourself.”

She knew the smile she gave him was real then, and she knew the one she got back was just the same. Real, and beautiful.

“It’s about bloody time you showed up.”

Pansy stood in the middle of his kitchen when he flooed in from the Ministry, hands on her hips. Theo was lounging on his sofa, as per usual, and Blaise was sat in the armchair, glass of Red already in his hand. Draco should have known.

“You know, most people wait for the homeowner to be home before entering themselves.”

“Most people don’t learn that their best friend has taken a ridiculous job from Theo, of all people.”

“Well, if you stopped skipping out on Friday night drinks, then you would have heard it from me.”

“Touché,” Theo said, raising his bottle. “Pansy, where have you been?”

“Managing my girlfriend’s pre-mid-life-crisis,” she said, turning to make herself a drink. “Milly’s been harping on about bloody house-elf rights for months, and I make

one

comment-”

“We told you not to bring it up,” Draco reminded her.

“It’s hard not to when it's constantly being shoved in your face! Honestly, you’d have thought I married Hermione bloody Granger with all the civic rights nonsense she spouts.”

Draco ensured that his face didn’t change, made sure he was occluding at just the normal amount, nothing extra, nothing suspicious. And still, Theo sent a grin his way. Pansy gave Draco a pitying look that made him want to roll his eyes.

“I’d hardly call civil rights

nonsense

, Pans.” Draco made sure his words were more a drawl than a clear statement.

Pansy gave him a suspicious look, and he made sure his barriers were up. It wouldn't do for her - or any of them - to see that he was hiding something from them. Then she clicked her tongue, her lips curling into a mischievous smirk.

“Theo says you’re still pining, Draco.”

“Theo said what?”

“You know, it’s funny,” Theo said conversationally, “this is the second week in a row that Hermione Granger has come up. You’d think it was a sign…”

“Merlin, Theo, could you be any more opaque?” Blaise groaned.

This had to be one of the worst Friday night drinks in a while, if this was going the way Draco assumed it was going. Somehow, they’d found out. Maybe they’d followed him on Wednesday for whatever reason, Draco had no idea, but they knew. They knew he was seeing he- well, not

seeing

her, but that he saw her, on a weekly basis. That on Wednesday they shared coffee and it had been nice and calming and Draco hadn’t needed a drink for possibly the first time in almost three days and it had been

nice

.

“Your mother and I were talking,” Theo said, and Draco groaned, falling into his chair.

“You and my mother are always talking.”
He nodded at Pansy when she handed him a drink. “And I wouldn’t even call it talking. More like scheming.”

“We both think it’s high time you were married.”

“Fuck off, Theo.”

“And since she is in France, Narcissa has given me full permission to decide on who is most acceptable for you.”

“And?”

“And, who else for the Brightest Wizard of Our Age, then the Brightest

Witch

of Our Age?”

Draco let his head fall onto the back of the chair, closing his eyes. How had it come to this? One minute she’d been practically non-existent, just a blip in the back of his mind, an ever-there presence that made everything seem right even though there was no way they’d ever end up even in the same room together without the universe imploding. The wizarding world had its Golden Girl, and Draco could watch from the sidelines, enjoying her but never knowing her.

And now, it was like she was everywhere. And it wasn’t that Draco was complaining, because he wasn’t. He’d never expected to enjoy a muggle cafe so much, or be so open with somebody as he was with her. Even the snakes didn’t know about the sectumsempra incident, and he knew he wouldn’t tell them, even now. But she knew. She'd listened.

But it was overwhelming, that this ever-there presence was now actually here.
In his thoughts, constantly, and on Wednesdays, in reality. And now, she was invading his Friday drinks with his friends. The friends she’d been so offended by the idea of meeting. He’d wanted to bring her back to the world she belonged. He never expected she’d step into his own world so easily.

But he wasn’t complaining.

Although the idea of Theo setting them up was a step too far. He could imagine bringing the idea before Granger,

Hey, my best friend and my mother think we’re a good match, wanna get married?

He wondered how long she’d vomit before she passed out.

“No,” he said aloud, firmly. Theo went to open his mouth, then shut it when Draco sent him a venomous glare. One he reserved for such situations. “You’re not matching me up with anybody, thank you. I’m happy the way I am. Besides, if your love life is anything to go by, you’re hardly one for advice.”

Now Theo rolled his eyes. “At least I have a woman in my sights.”

“She’s been in your sights for a year, Theo, and you’ve not made a move yet.”

“I will, soon. Trust me.”

“Great. Can we talk about something else? Something that doesn’t involve any of our love lies?”

“When are you going to let me decorate the Manor?” Pansy asked him suddenly, and he had to groan again.

“Pansy, you don’t want to decorate the Manor.”

“Yes, I do. It’s literally my job.”

“Nobody even wants to set foot inside the manor, let alone decorate it.”

“I think it would be good for you and your mother to have it back. But different.”

“I don’t want it back. As a matter of fact, I’ll pay you to burn it to the ground, if you like.”

“But-”

“I let you decorate my flat, isn’t that enough?”

She sighed, curling her feet underneath her. “Fine.”

“Now, what are the plans for tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night?” Pansy frowned at him, and he flickered his eyes over to Blaise, who was pointedly staring into space.

The biggest engagement of the century had been announced in the

Daily Prophet

this week, with the engagement party set to happen tomorrow. Since it was an official event, Pansy and Blaise had both been invited, with plus ones. Pansy was bringing Milly, and Blaise, who was adamant he would be going alone, had been forced to accept Draco as his date. There was no way he’d be going to that party without backup.

“Right,” Pansy said, licking her bottom lip. “It starts at seven, so we should probably arrive at around seven thirty. Floo to mine at six for pre-drinks?”

“Sounds like a plan. Blaise?”

“Whatever.”

“Green and silver for the colouring,” Draco drawled over to him, “we must be matching.”

“I literally could not think of anything worse.”

Draco assumed the party was going exactly as Potter and the She-Weasel had planned; slowly. Draco wasn't sure how much longer he could put up with the funny looks, the whispered insults, the narrowed eyes. It had been ten bloody years. He'd done things since the war that proved just how much he regretted what he'd had to do. None of them would ever know it, of course, but sometimes he wished he could scream it in their faces. Just to get them to stop looking at him.

The ever-pouring punch was going down smoothly, as was the firewhiskey that, in a lovely turn of fate, was free. Draco had managed to avoid the red-headed minions the entire night, despite Pansy’s ability to get absolutely everybody to come over to speak to them. Her interior decorating business was thriving; she had just re-decorated Fleur and Bill’s house last year, of course, and so they

had

to talk. Blaise and Draco both took that as the time to get a drink.

Unfortunately, that was also where the lucky man himself was, and Draco noticed too late that he was between the two men. He wondered if there was a worse place to be stuck, between a man who was engaged to a woman, and the man who was in love with that same woman. The thought led him to list all the places he’d rather be.

The Manor.

“Looking a bit stiff there, Potter,” Draco said, by way of conversation. His mother would kill him if she knew he so awkwardly started a discussion.

The dungeons at Hogwarts.

Potter turned to him, his eyes darting over to Blaise beside him, before centering on Draco. Draco liked to think that his appearance had improved over the last few days, particularly since he was sleeping better now. And yet, Potter still frowned at him.

“Ginny invited you?”

Borgins and Burke’s.

Draco had to smirk. “Don’t worry, Potter, your fiancé is not inclined to introduce snakes into your circle. Blaise, however, is her colleague, and I am his plus one.”

At the mention of his name, Blaise gave a nod towards Potter, who nodded back. Draco wanted to burst into flames.

The Muggle cafe.

“Blaise!” Ginny Weasley looked dashing, dressed in a dark burgundy colour that offset the red in her hair. Draco had to admit that Potter had done well, with the ex-professional Quidditch player turned sports reporter. He wondered, though, what drew Blaise to her. They weren’t what Theo would call a match…

Especially since this girl could talk. Draco was sure that she hated him, most likely due to her past friendship with Granger, who also, in the She-Weasel’s eyes, hated him. Draco suddenly wondered if she knew where her old friend was. Granger had said nobody knew, but he hardly believed she was completely open with him. And besides, Potter knew.

The Muggle cafe, with Granger.

But if they were still in contact, wouldn’t Granger want to be here? Here, with all of her friends and her family, celebrating her two best friends getting married? Why would she want to miss this? For six years, Draco had watched her world revolve around this sorry lot, and she had abandoned them. It’s not that she had forgotten them, and she certainly hadn’t lost that Gryffindor loyalty. He could not figure her out.

Granger's bookshop.

What was even more incalculable, to him, was that they had let her go. Let her abandon them, drop her magic like it was a choice. Like she wasn't the most powerful witch on the planet. Like she didn't spend seven years pulling them out of every near-death experience, saving them, helping them. If Draco had had her…

If Draco had her, he'd never let her walk away. From him, maybe, because he hardly deserved her, but not from her magic.
Granger's bookshop, with Granger.
By the time they got to the bar, Draco was almost ready to slap the next person who gave him a funny look. Blaise, being him, was so still it looked like someone had hit him with a glacius charm. Draco got the impression he didn't want to talk, so stared around the room whilst he waited for their drinks. His eyes landed on Potter and the Weasel, chatting away near the top table.

How could they be so happy, knowing she wasn't there? They'd been inseparable, suffered together, fought together. Sure, seven years was a long time. Draco had gone longer without seeing her, though, and he'd never forgotten her.

Perhaps that wasn't fair. He didn't know the details, after all.

Draco didn't feel like being fair.

“It’s weird that she’s not here, right?” Blaise said all of a sudden, looking around. Draco frowned at him, wondering if this was his strange divination thing he claimed to have, working in real time.

“Who?” he asked, testing it.

“Granger. Ginny talks about her all the bloody time, but she’s not here.”

“Ginny talks about her?”

“They’re close, aren’t they?”

They were

. “I don’t think this is Granger’s sort of thing. From what I’ve heard.”

Blaise grunted. “I can relate. When do you think Pansy will let us leave?”

“Not until she’s gotten at least five more jobs in her diary.”

It took an hour and a half for Pansy to get those jobs, during which time both Draco and Blaise drank the bar dry. In perfect timing, Pansy told them they could leave just as the speeches started. Draco grabbed Blaise and dragged him towards the corridor.

“You’re staying at mine,” he slurred, shoving him into the Floo. Following straight after, he stumbled into Blaise and they crashed to the floor. More drunk than exhausted, they stayed there for a while. Draco was almost dozing off, when Blaise spoke.

“She’s getting married.” Draco’s eyes opened to look up at his ceiling, his best friend’s words slurring together. “I’m in love with her and she’s getting married to somebody else.”

“I’m sorry, mate.”

“What do I do?”

Draco sighed, sitting up. “Right now, you’re going to have another drink with me. Because we’re going to move on from this. Tonight.”

“I can’t-”

“You can and you will. Come on.”

By the time Draco had made him a drink - the Muggle way, he put in effort for friends - Blaise had shoved himself into the armchair he usually sat in. Hunched over, he held his face in his hands. Draco placed his glass on the table next to the chair.

“Tell me about the She-Weasel,” Draco said, falling into his own spot.

“Her name is Ginny.”

“Tell me about her. You’ve been infatuated since we left school, but you’ve never told me about her.”

“You’ve never asked.”

“I’m asking now. So, you slept together ten years ago, is that it?” Blaise gave him a look, and Draco held up his hands. “I'm not judging.”

He couldn't really judge for being obsessed with an old school-mate, could he? At least Blaise had gotten somewhere with his witch. Draco had spent his time between fourth and sixth angling his book so he could stare at Granger over it, folding paper cranes to fly around the room so he could hear her laughing at it, insulting the Weasel just to get her to glare at him.

And now, ten years later, here he was. Barging into her life because of this strange… could he call it a crush? It certainly felt like it was pressing down on him.

“It's not like that,” Blaise said.

“Then what is it like?”

Blaise sighed, leaning back against the cushions. “She’s… formidable. Always has been. She’s determined and loyal and blunt. She makes me laugh. She’s one of my best friends.”

“Right, well I can fix one of those things. None of the Weasels are funny, Blaise, not one of them. And of course she’s formidable, look at her bloody hair.”

“I love her.”

“She’s getting married.” Blaise groaned at the reminder, hunching forward again. “You waited too long, mate.”

Blaise glared at him. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know that I should’ve told her how I felt years ago? Before we left school, even?”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Because… there was never a right time. I kept planning it, how I’d say it and where we’d be, but then fucking Potter got in the way-”

“He was always in the way, Blaise. She’s been obsessed with him her whole life. Doesn't know when to move on.”

Blaise’s sharp eyes cut over to him. “You might have something in common with her, then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pansy and Theo might not notice, but I do. Do you think you were subtle at school, watching her? And now, every time someone so much as

thinks

of mentioning Granger, you get all tense and weird.”

“I do not.”

“You’ve seen her recently, haven’t you?” Blaise narrowed his gaze.

“No. Try again.”

Blaise shook his head, downing his drink in one. “Whatever is going on with you, take it from me, Draco. Don’t wait too long.”

Draco watched him head to the spare room, the door shutting quietly. Leaving his own drink on the coffee table, Draco made his way to his own bed, falling on top of the covers. It must have been because Blaise mentioned her that his thoughts stemmed straight to Granger.

He knew he got tense when she was mentioned. Only because he felt so guilty about lying to her, not for any other reason. She’d explicitly asked him who he saw from school and he’d neglected to tell her about his working with her two best friends. The friends she specifically wanted nothing to do with. He was acting as if he’d happened upon her through luck, but that wasn’t true was it? Those friends she wanted nothing to do with were spying on her, and that was what Draco had done. Used their information to get to her. It was only through exhaustion that he hadn’t used any magic on Wednesday, a hint of what her life had been like for the last seven years. He needed to tell her the truth, before it exploded in his face.

Blaise’s words drifted through his mind, repetitive and ominous.

Don’t wait too long.

Draco fell asleep feeling like he already had.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hermione received another letter on Sunday morning. This time, Crookshanks got to it first, ripping it apart so Hermione had to piece the shreds together. Kate took it as a sign.
“Someone bad left that letter,” she said seriously, making Hermione roll her eyes. Sometimes Hermione thought Kate was a divinator, or a muggle version of one. Or at least, Kate definitely thought she was one. But, to be fair, Hermione got a bad feeling from this one, too.
Happy birthday, was all it said. I’ll be thinking of you, as always.It left Hermione with an itchy feeling, one that made her hug Crookshanks to her chest so hard he hissed. Kate winced, watching the cat run off into Hermione's bedroom. Charlotte tutted, glared at the shredded letter on the coffee table.
“That’s it,” she said, “I no longer work from home. I work from the shop.”“That’s not necessary.”“This guy knows your birthday, Hermione. He obviously knows where you work. There’s nothing else for it, you need protection.”“I can look after myself. I have pepper spray in the drawer, and I know how to throw a punch.” Just ask Malfoy.“That’s not my concern. My concern is, who is going to dig the hole while you cut up the body?”“Gross.” Kate wrinkled her nose, but laughed.Still, Hermione felt better with Charlotte typing away on the chair in the corner of the ground floor. The day was steady, customers coming in and out. Hermione became frustrated with herself after the fifth customer rang the bell and her head rose so fast she thought her neck would snap. It took seven times for Charlotte to notice.
“So just who are you hoping is going to walk through that door?” she said in a musing tone. “Could it be, oh I don’t know, a tall, blonde, snarky aristocrat?”“No.”“Kate said you two looked very chummy at the café last week.”“I know what she said. She said it to me.”
“You haven’t told us about him. Like, anything.”“There’s nothing to tell.”“Nothing to tell? The only man you’ve seen on a weekly basis, like, ever, and there’s nothing to tell? This man who you have some severe history with, of which we only know the basics, and which has apparently been obliterated from your mind?”At her choice of words, Hermione felt a shiver go through her. Perhaps she should have been better guarded against such things, after all this time, but it still hurt. She felt it in her bones, especially with tomorrow coming up.
“It hasn’t… I mean, I haven’t forgotten it. He apologised.”“He did?”“Yes. He gave me a list of all the things he’s sorry for. It’s two pages, back and front. He has small writing.”“So… all is forgiven?”“I don’t know, Charlotte. He comes in and we talk and it’s just.. nice, you know. That’s it, for both of us.”Charlotte hummed. “Well, he knows how to pick a comfy armchair, at least. Not sure about the colour, though.”
After that, Hermione made sure not to look up until at least five seconds after the bell rang until she looked up to greet the customer. Customers who repeatedly were not Malfoy. Her new regular came in, as per usual, and still, no Malfoy. It wasn’t until she closed up and she and Charlotte were heading home that she finally admitted to herself that he wasn’t coming.
It doesn’t matter. She told herself. It was never going to last.

Kate and Charlotte woke her on Thursday - her birthday - with screeches and off-tune singing of birthday songs. They sat on Hermione’s bed and ate her breakfast Oreo cake, the girls talking more than Hermione, and then they tried to give her presents despite her refusal. Her parents had always told her to wait until the end of the day to open her presents, to drag the day out more. It was a tradition she held onto. She clung onto all of their traditions; it was the only way to feel them with her.Charlotte came to the shop with her again, and, this time, Hermione did not keep checking the door for whoever it was she was checking the door for. She was as productive as she always was on her birthday, spending the day ticking off admin jobs and tidying the shop from top to bottom. Charlotte did not approve.“It’s your birthday!” she said, like she did every year. “You’re supposed to relax, have fun, let loose. Get laid.”“I always work on my birthday.”“I know, sweetie, but,” she came over to stand behind the counter, “I just wish you wouldn’t. One year. Maybe next year?”“Maybe.”“Hermione, I know you find it difficult, what with your parents, and everything, but-”“Charlotte, please.”“You never want to talk about it, but I really think you should. I still have the number for that guy I told you about. I think it could really help.”“I don’t want a therapist.”“Nobody wants a therapist, Hermione. But sometimes we need one. I hate to do this on your birthday but… I’d really like for you not to work next year, so, I’m going to leave this here. Think about it, okay?”Charlotte left her, going back to her chair and her laptop. She delved back into her piece instantly, and Hermione was struck - not for the first time - by how much Charlotte and Ginny would get on. They were both blunt, both outgoing, both stubborn.It was on her birthday that Hermione missed Ginny the most; she loved Kate and Charlotte, but she couldn’t be open with them like she could Ginny, back when they were friends. Ginny knew why she’d lost her parents, and how - or at least, she had. Ginny didn’t know everything, though.She didn’t know why Hermione had left.Hermione hadn't told the others why she was leaving, only that she was. It had taken months to convince them, months to say her goodbyes. Ron had been furious, refusing to even try to see her perspective. She supposed she hadn't been entirely fair throughout the whole ordeal: she had been distant the entire year before she'd made the decision. And she'd never given them a reason.She still remembered the looks on their faces as she told them she never wanted to see them again. Ron; raging and heartbroken. Harry; confused but resigned. Ginny; open and desperate. As she told them that she was done, asked Harry to keep her wand safe for her. It had gotten to the point, in the end, where she knew she would just have to leave. So she had. Packed her bags in the middle of the night, left her wand and a note, and apparated to York.And that had been that.
She always found herself reluctantly floating down memory lane on her birthday. She supposed it was natural. It didn't make it easy.Hermione was punching numbers into her century-old calculator when the hand dipped into her M&Ms. Expecting Charlotte, she glared up to find it was Malfoy, smirking down at her as he popped the red sweet into his mouth.
“Care to share, Granger?” he said, and she rolled her eyes.
“Get away from my M&Ms, Malfoy. And find a new line.”“I wouldn’t risk it,” Charlotte called from her corner. “She once threw a milkshake over me for stealing a tiny bit of her cake.”“That is such a lie! You ate the whole thing, and I didn’t throw it. I knocked the table and it fell.” Hermione looked back at Malfoy, who was watching her, standing with his hands behind his back. Charlotte moved to stand at the counter, watching.
“We expected you yesterday,” she said to Malfoy, who finally moved his eyes from Hermione to meet Charlotte’s piercing gaze. When he raised an eyebrow silently, she rolled her eyes and looked at Hermione. “I take it you’ll be fine?” Hermione nodded, and she sauntered up the stairs.

“She’s exaggerating,” Hermione told Malfoy, “We weren’t expecting you, at all. But I do have your order here, the third book? You never took it with you when we went-”“Did you really think I’d come yesterday?”She reeled back slightly.
“I mean, I-”“Why would I come yesterday when today is such a special day?” Bringing his hand around to the front, he placed a perfectly wrapped parcel on the counter. She thought she saw his hands shaking, before he shoved them in his pockets. “Happy birthday, Granger.”“Malfoy, you… you know my birthday?”“We went to school together for six years, and I’m very observant. You think I wouldn’t remember your birthday? Don’t you remember mine?”She did, actually, She remembered seeing all the presents being unwrapped at the Slytherin table, remembered trying not to watch his face as he opened each one. Remembered noticing each year that he seemed to enjoy it less and less.“Now, I was going to get you a book, but, well,” he looked around them, and grinned, “seemed a bit pointless.” She laughed then, saw his eyes light up silver, flashes of grey. “You know you’re supposed to open these, right?”“Right,” she said slowly, “I usually don’t open these until later on, but…”“Well, I won’t be there later on, so can you open it now? Please?” She looked up at him, surprised to see that his eyes were open, no occluding whatsoever. He looked desperate, nervous. He’d been open with his words, of course, but never with his emotions. Not like this.
“Okay.”She was careful with the wrapping, having never had such a beautifully wrapped present. She wondered if he’d had his house-elves do it, or the store wherever he brought it from. She moved on from the thought quickly.
The box itself was beautiful, carved dark wood. Tones of brown and earthy green swirled together under an engraving, HJG. She gasped at the beauty of it.
“Malfoy, it’s beautiful,” she said.
“Open it.”She glanced at him and he nodded encouragingly. Inside was a collection of small items, carefully wrapped in tissue paper. She frowned up at him.
“I’d like you to know, for dignity’s sake,” he held his hands up, “I wrapped them all muggle-style. You know with these hands. Slowly. So slowly. It's a wonder how muggles get anything done."Hermione found she was grinning again, and picked up the first object. The bookmark was silver, cold in her hands, and again engraved. When she read it, she laughed out loud.
“I know you’ve probably read the fifty best novels to read in your lifetime,” he pointed out, “but I thought it best to make sure.”The second item was a reading light, followed by a bag of M&Ms. Malfoy’s eyes lit up further when she picked up the third, pulling out a pack of black ink pens. She looked up to see him smiling.
“Have you seen these?” he said. “It’s like a never-ending quill. You don’t even have to dip into ink, it just comes out all on its own! I’ve been trying to figure out how they work." He took the packet from her, frowning. "Open the last one.”Hermione chuckled and did as told, pulling out the small square package. When she unveiled a stack of yellow post-it notes, she laughed at his expression.“I had to get you these,” he gushed, “You write on them and they stick to things! How amazing.”Hermione laughed. at him. “Maybe I should get you some.”“I signed up for a monthly subscription, to come straight to my home.”She shook her head. “You’re taking the piss.”“Am not. These things are revolutionary.”“Who knew Malfoy would be blown away by mere post-it notes. Maybe if I’d have shown you these back in school we would’ve both had a better time.”She regretted it the moment it came out, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by it. His smile didn’t waver.
“I wish you had.”Hermione faltered now, slowly placing the presents back to the box. When she closed it, her fingers traced the engraving on the top, clearly well-made.
“Thank you, Malfoy,” she said. “I didn’t expect anything.”“Yes, well,” he gave a small shrug. “I like birthdays, that’s all.”“Do you want your order?” Hermione brought it out from beneath the counter, already wrapped in a paper bag. She changed the conversation tactfully, knowing that thanking him too much would cause him to retreat. She’d sensed before that he found gratitude towards him misplaced, even when it wasn’t. He clearly didn’t believe himself deserving of it, even now.
“Yes, but…” he trailed off, eyes glancing around the shop. “I was wondering if you could recommend something else?”“You didn’t like The Fellowship of the Ring?”“I did, it’s just... It’s very slow. I’d like something a bit fast-paced to break it up. I left my list at home.”“You do have a list?” she asked, incredulous. He blinked.
“Of course I have a list.” When she laughed, he frowned, although his mouth curved into a smile. “Why is that funny?”“I just never imagined you to be one for lists. Thought you’d remember everything in that big brain of yours.”“Well,” he rolled his shoulders backwards, “I like to leave room for only the most important information. Birthdays and muggle inventions and such.”Hermione rolled her eyes at him, knowing that was certainly not what he kept locked up in his mind. She didn't even want to guess at what he hid behind his occlusion, the darkness he'd seen. They'd all had their fair share of it during the war, but Hermione had always wondered what Malfoy's life had been like. Living with Voldemort, with Bella. Having them rifle through his mind like a personal feed of information. She'd never thought it fair, what the Ministry did to him after, forcing him to share his memories in return for his freedom. But her voice hadn't been taken into account.“So,” he said slowly, “can you recommend something?”“Oh.” She was surprised, even though it was the second time he’d asked. Every time she saw him he surprised her; or maybe it was just the fact that it was him, that was a continuous surprise. “I actually just got a new release, it’s a retelling of an ancient Greek myth. You might like it.”“Do you like it?”“I thought it was brilliant.”“Then I’ll take that.”She grabbed one of the books from the window display, placing it carefully in the bag with the other. In the time that she’d been gone to grab his book, Malfoy’s eyes had landed on the business card Charlotte had left on Hermione’s till, the words therapist in big black writing. Not as subtle as Hermione would have done it, she immediately decided.Hermione glanced up at Malfoy, who looked like he wanted to say something. Don’t, she thought, don’t say anything because I know what you’d say.With timing Hermione could only ever silently thank her for, Olive stepped through the front door, the bell ringing her entrance cheerily. At the same time, Charlotte descended the stairs loudly, holding up a large autobiography.
“I need this,” she stated. Hermione waved a hello to Olive, who went to put her bag and coat in the office. Handing the book over to Hermione, Charlotte raised her eyebrows at the box on the counter. “That’s so pretty,” she said. Her eyes flickered between Malfoy and Hermione. “Did you make it?”“No,” Malfoy said, and Hermione almost laughed at his expression, “I’m not artfully inclined at all.”“Well, that makes three of us. Hermione tried to give me a hand-made keyring once and it broke as I unwrapped it.”Hermione rolled her eyes. Trust Charlotte to bring up every memory she had of Hermione today. She supposed that’s what birthdays were for.Malfoy chuckled, looking at Hermione. “Thank you for the books. You’ll add the-”“I’ll write them down,” Hermione said, waving the stack of post-its. His face brightened before he turned towards the door. Suddenly, Charlotte was gripping her wrist.
“Did you tell him?”“What?”“Malfoy,” she called out suddenly. He paused and turned back to the two women, one grinning creepily. “Did the birthday girl invite you to her party?”Oh. Shit.“Hermione has a tendency to understate her birthday, so Kate and I have to make it an event for her. We always go out for drinks with some friends on a Friday. You should come tomorrow.”Hermione moved her gaze to see that Malfoy was watching her, not Charlotte. He was waiting, she realised, waiting for her to invite him, instead of her friend. She cleared her throat.
“We meet at seven,” she said, hoping nobody else heard the way her voice broke. “The Duke of York pub, near the river.”He waited a moment. “I’ll try to stop by,” he said finally, and then he was gone. Hermione turned to narrow her eyes at her friend, who grinned.
“You know, for someone who wanted to cut his dick off just a few weeks ago, you seem awfully happy to drag him even further into my life," Hermione said. Her fingers trailed lightly over her initials on the box.“Yes, well. Maybe I see something in him.”“Like what?”Charlotte shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Draco apparated across the river from his apartment at seven fifteen. He’d considered coming earlier; he had been ready for six thirty. Showing up on time meant eagerness, though. And Draco never showed eagerness.
Except for giving her that bloody birthday present. He knew he shouldn’t have, but he didn’t regret it. In fact, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the smile she had given him as she opened it. The way her eyes had lit up, amber fire igniting his soul. He had itched to twine her curls around his fingers, feel her smile against his skin. The urge to kiss her had never been stronger. His hands had shook with the need to touch her. He'd not been able to stop thinking about it.Not that work hadn’t tried its best to distract him. Maybe that was it. He knew he was going to have to try to crack the curse surrounding that bloody box soon, before another stupid guard decided to open it. Gary, the oldest-guard-in-the-Ministry had died not twenty-four hours after Draco had broken the sectumsempra curse. The healers had told him his body had literally caved in. It wasn’t something Draco wished he had seen, despite it possibly being helpful. He assumed that the body’s destruction was something keyed into the curse in order to prevent the victim from ever recovering. It seemed whoever cursed the box wanted to make absolutely sure that they were not tracked.
Draco had tried again today to get more information from Potter about just how and where the box was found. Potter, as per usual, continued to refuse to give any information regarding that. This thing had started out interesting, but now it was just annoying. Draco would give it one go and then give up. He was not lazy, but he certainly wasn’t going to kill himself for the Ministry. Or even risk it.
And the fact that he seemed to be pulling himself into Granger’s orbit whilst also blatantly lying to her was not helping. Merlin, why hadn’t he told her? Why hadn’t he just come out with it on that very first day? Now he was back to feeling strangely desperate to be with her, to have her eyes on him, his hands on her. All whilst he knew he never could or would be able to continue seeing her. It was driving him insane. He had to end it.Either way, this might be the last time he saw Granger. He intended for it to be a nice visit. Quick, but nice.
He walked into the Duke of York at exactly half past seven, hovering in the shadows outside for a good five minutes before entering. The vibe was good, soft music providing a backdrop. The bartender was laughing at something Granger’s friend - the one from the café - was saying. Draco thought he saw Charlotte speaking to a girl in the corner. He nodded when the woman waved over to him. Considering she had made vicious threats towards him not even a month ago, she was certainly being friendly now.
Turning his head, Draco spied the birthday girl, standing at a table with a group of people. Dressed in -
Draco had been stepping towards her, so hyper-focused on Granger that he’d walked straight into a table. He grabbed it quickly to stop it wobbling, gave a quick look of apology to the people standing at it. His eyes found her again, no hesitation, no searching.Merlin, she was dressed in green. That had to be on purpose, surely. A dark emerald that set nicely against the colour of her hair, falling down her back in tight curls. Heels that would bring her closer to his level. Her dress was strappy, leaving her shoulders and upper back bare. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to see what real gold felt like in his hands. Draco noticed - not for the first time - that she was perfect.
He’d known, of course, that he’d found her attractive. At school, he’d noticed she was pretty, had wanted her so badly even Snape had bloody seen it. Granger had been the subject of most of his boyhood fantasies. She had been a curiosity of his, a small obsession.
But as an adult, Hermione Granger was… something else. She was sparkling. The urge to touch her was not new, but it was certainly getting stronger. He would need his occlumency tonight, he was sure.She was laughing at something the man next to her said, throwing her head back and placing a hand on his arm. Draco checked his walls, ensured that the tingle of jealousy he felt flaring through him at the small contact between Granger and this man was locked tight away. It wouldn’t do to be exerting ownership over her after only three weeks of their meetings. He needed her to trust him.
Draco pressed down the burst of guilt that came with seeing her, as well. He was itching to tell her the truth, practically gagging on it every time the words pressed up his throat. But again, he hadn’t found the right time.

Don’t wait too long.
As he watched, Granger shifted on her feet, moving her weight from the right to the left. He watched for a few more seconds, saw her do it again. Saw her wince. Of course. Most witches used cushioning charms on their heels, but not this witch. This witch was in need of a reminder of just who she was. How brilliant and terrifying and important she was.
At that thought, Draco begged a tall chair off of the table next to him and lifted it, carrying it across to where Granger stood. As if by senses alone, Granger felt him before she saw him, turning her head to smile, then frown, at him. His eyes caught on the scar on her arm, facing upwards. She wasn’t ashamed of it - she didn’t have to be, in this world. Here, that word meant nothing, had no power. Not that she should have been ashamed, anywhere. It was him who should be mortified at seeing her scar.“Malfoy? What are you doing?”“For you,” he set the chair behind her, and a smile crept across her lips. “Sit down, Granger, for God’s sake.” He’d heard the saying before, knew it wasn’t very Muggle to be calling to a supposedly-fictional wizard.She did so, and he felt a thrill race through him, just briefly, shoved his walls back up. He’d felt it every time she did what he told her. He wondered if she noticed that he would probably do whatever she told him, too.
“Thank you,” she said. She gave him a smile, one he hadn’t seen before; not directed at him, anyway. He’d seen her direct something similar to her friends, but never at him. It was a sweet smile, full of gratitude and kindness. As if she was happy he had come. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Felt his walls crumbling back down already. Snape’s voice crept though his mind, his advice to Draco at the start of fifth year, stay away from her.“Drink?” he asked her, and she nodded.
At the bar, he ended up next to the friend from the café. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he waited politely for her conversation with the bartender to come to a close before he ordered a whiskey. The friend held her hand out to him.
“I don’t think we’ve properly met before,” she said. “I’m Kate, Hermione’s other best friend.” She said the words pointedly. “The calm one.”“Draco Malfoy.”“Yes, I’ve heard lots about you. Well, not lots. Hermione is strangely quiet about you. You went to school with her, yes?”Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m sure she told you exactly what I was like at school.”She chuckled. “She did. Although the fact that she wanted you here tonight tells me she doesn’t think you’re that boy any more.”“I’m not.” Draco nodded to the bartender. “Bottle of rosé, please.”“How do you know she drinks rosé?” Kate asked. Draco hesitated.“I, uh… remember from school. She still drinks that, right?”“Yes.” She narrowed her gaze on him as the bartender placed the bottle in front of him. “I thought you hated her at school.”Draco heard Granger laughing, looked over to see.He wasn’t sure how exactly he found out what she drank. It had just been something he knew. Perhaps it was during that one party they’d both found themselves at, in fifth year. A few days after they’d arrived at school, in the Hufflepuff common room. Yes, that was it. He’d seen her drinking it and thought it matched perfectly. Yet another fact about her he’d stored away and kept.Then, in another conversation he’d overhead - spied on - between Potter and Weasley, he’d been able to confirm it. They were constantly talking about what the orange-haired prick could get her for birthday presents. Honestly, if you can’t figure out what to get your girlfriend for a gift you’re not worth her time. Draco had usually felt like screaming at him. How can you not know what she bloody drinks? After that he’d had first years bring her bottles of wine for her birthday, just so she’d be given something other than damn books. Of course, he’d only managed to do it twice, before seventh year, when she never came back.“It’s complicated,” he said, reaching for his wallet, “but I intend to clear things up. Soon.”“Good,” Kate said. “I think she needs something clear in her life.”He carried the bottle and his drink back to her table, Kate in tow. Granger shook her head at him. He was pleased to see she was still perched on the chair he had gotten for her. He felt like preening.“You didn’t need to get me a bottle.”“Don’t want you running out, Granger,” he said, “It’s your birthday. Can’t have that.”She surprised him, again, when she began to introduce him to her friends And then, again, when she told him that these were her old friends from university. Draco hadn’t known she’d gone to muggle university.
“Honestly, we graduated six years ago and I still haven’t managed to get rid of them,” she laughed. Draco internally berated himself watching her pour her own glass - he should’ve done that. She probably would’ve swatted his hand away.
Six years ago. So she had been going to university before she ditched the wizarding world. Maybe that should have been the Twatty Twosome’s first clue that their girl wanted out.
Although, Draco had considered muggle university himself. Just so he could get away from the constant awareness around him, knowing that everyone in the room knew who he was. Hated him. The only reason he hadn’t gone was because he’d had to spend so much time looking after his mother when she was sick.
“Don’t say it like that,” one of the girls said, “six years. How was it that long ago?”“I still remember the time Hermione got so drunk she threw up in the Thames.”“No! I don’t want to talk about that night.” Granger put her hands on her cheeks, “I still get sick thinking about it.”“Very classy, Granger,” Malfoy drawled, and her friend laughed.
“How do you two know each other?” It was the man who had been making Granger laugh earlier that asked him - asked Draco, not Granger. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were not. Draco felt like smirking at him.
“We went to school together,” Hermione answered.
That’s right, Draco thought. I had her first.Of course that wasn’t fair - he’d never had her. He didn’t even have her now, although he could feel the start of that yearning opening up for it again. He’d spent the entirety of fifth year trying to beat it out of him, the entirety of sixth year thinking he’d succeeded. Fucking crushes.
“Oh, so you’re from the mysterious boarding school, too,” the girl said, looking at Malfoy. Her eyes trailed up and down, clearly enjoying the view. He knew he looked good, in muggle jeans and a smart shirt. But he hadn’t dressed up for her. “You must tell us what it was like. Hermione never talks about school.”“It wasn’t that special,” Granger said, and he wondered if he was the only one who’d noticed her stiffening. He shifted his weight to his left foot, bringing him ever so slightly closer to her. “Just a boarding school, for kids whose parents wanted to get rid of them for eleven months of the year.”“Don’t say that,” Malfoy said, putting on a crestfallen expression. “My mother hated to see me off each September. Cried every time.”“Those were tears of joy, Malfoy.”“Not true. Narcissa adores me. She had me and knew that no other child would ever compare, so she kept to one.”“She had you and couldn’t bear to bring another version of you into her life, more like.”“You’re rude tonight, Granger,” Malfoy drawled, leaning closer still. “Maybe I should’ve gotten you juice instead.”“I’m sorry, Malfoy, have I hurt your feelings?”“Deeply. I’m heartbroken at the idea that my mother dislikes me. I’ll have to go visit her at once. I do believe if I asked nicely she’d unban me from the South of France where she is currently residing.”Hermione rolled her eyes, but laughed. “See? She had to move to France to get away from you.”She couldn’t know, of course, that Draco had in fact sent his mother to France to live with some distant relative, to ensure she stopped having her episodes. Theo visited once a week, much more frequently than Draco. He just couldn’t look at her without seeing her face in the years after the trials. The night he’d broken her heart.
Granger laughed, bringing him out of his thoughts. He refocused his eyes on her face, turning slightly so he was facing her more. He wasn’t here for all these others anyway. He was here for her.
She was laughing at something else that man was saying to Kate. Did Draco make her laugh that much? He wasn’t sure. Suddenly he wanted to go back through their times together recently, count all the times he’d made her laugh.
But then she laughed again, louder this time, leaning back in her chair, and he suddenly was content to simply watch. She was beautiful like this, free and unburdened and open. Finally Draco could see some of the girl he’d gone to school with, the one who was always making snappy comments to his snarls, breaking his silences with the sound of her laughter, forcing him to look at her.
He noticed that he wasn’t the only one. The man who made her laugh was watching her, too. But he wasn’t standing next to her, was he? He hadn’t brought her a chair, bought her wine. He probably hadn’t brought her some ingenious inventions that were so very Granger.
The drinks flowed, and the conversation was, Draco might admit later on, only half bore-some. Granger was as chatty as she’d ever been, with the wine wiping the usual tension from her body. He knew that she felt more comfortable around him since their time at the coffee shop, but she still didn’t trust him. Maybe he was asking for too much.
All in all, it was going well. And much more enjoyable than that dreadful engagement party last week. He wondered if she knew her best friends were getting married, if he should menti-Granger slapped his hand away from her plate of chips.
“Get your own.”“Merlin, Granger, didn’t your parents ever teach you to share?”He saw her hand slow as it dipped a chip into ketchup, and he wanted to punch himself in the face. Normal people didn’t blaspheme a fictional wizard, idiot.
“Tell me, then,” he said, thinking quickly, as he always did, to change the subject, “if I were to make you fall in love with me, take you to a desert island, and then leave you there, what would you do?”She bit her lip, thinking. Draco willed his eyes to stay away from her mouth, sure that he’d had far too much whiskey to let himself enjoy that sight innocently.
“I’d build a raft and get the fuck back home,” she said, then smiled. “You read the book.”“I read the book.”“And what did you think?”“I thought it was a brilliant interpretation of a myth I had not heard before.”“Well, maybe you need to read some of the original myths, then.”Draco tutted. “If only I had my very own bookseller to order those for me. What a pity.”They were still talking books ten minutes later, when Granger’s name was called out clumsily from the speaker in the corner of the room. Granger looked past him and he turned to see Kate and Charlotte standing atop the slightly raised stage at the end of the pub, a strange-looking stick in hand. Draco stepped slightly away from the table, leaning his hand on the back of Granger’s chair so she could watch them.
“What exactly are they doing?” he asked her slowly.
“It looks suspiciously like karaoke,” she told him.
“Karaoke?”“It’s a muggle thing,” she said, and he rolled his eyes.
“Obviously. What is that stick?”“It’s a microphone. They sing into it, and- oh my god.”Draco hadn’t heard whatever song Granger’s friend’s spent the next five minutes screeching into the microphone, but he vowed never to hear it again. Granger, of course, found it absolutely hilarious, and so he couldn’t really complain. He got to see her laugh some more. Made a mental note to thank her friends.She was on her third bottle of wine - all bought by him, of course, and it made him want to preen and push his chest out even more whenever he reminded himself of that. It was very caveman-like. He kept thinking that he should move away and give her some space, let someone else take his place, but each time he went to step away, she brought him back into her conversation. At one point, she even reached out to wrap her hand around his forearm - his left forearm, he didn’t miss that - and immediately stopped talking to the girl next to her so she could whisper in his ear about Charlotte and the person she was dancing with.
Draco didn’t get a word of what she said, obviously, because Granger’s mouth was, like, millimetres away from his ear and her breath was on his neck and Merlin he’d like to do that again. Charlotte and whoever she was with could dance on forever if it got Granger to whisper in his ear like this. So he put his arm on the back of her chair again, leaned in, stayed exactly where he was.
It was eleven thirty when the pub called last orders, and Kate stumbled up to the table with four shots. Draco frowned at them, unsure anybody should ingest anything so neon in colour. That is, until he saw Granger throw her own back, gulping it in under a second, slam her glass back on the table. He was sure his eyes must have burst out of their sockets. He was sure his grip was snapping the back of the wooden chair. He was sure-“Malfoy!” The fourth shot was shoved under his nose, Kate grinning at him. “Take it, we’re leaving.”She sauntered off outside, and Draco was left with Granger and a few others. Draco eyed the shot glass in his hand.“What is it?” he asked.
“You don’t want to know,” she grinned.
“Will this make me sing like they did? With the stick?”She laughed, and he knew he was grinning at her like an idiot. Like he’d taken one of the Weasley twins’ love potions. He didn’t care.“You don’t have to stay out with us, you know,” she said quietly after he’d taken the shot. He was handing her her coat, wishing she wouldn’t put it on because he liked seeing her in that green dress. “If you have somewhere to be.”He didn’t. He stayed.He thought about telling her that the only place he wanted to be was with her.
Hermione was hungover. Well and truly hungover. It was days like this when she wished she had a pepper-up potion, because she knew she’d be bedridden the entire day.At least she remembered it all. She remembered good drinks and good company and terrible karaoke. She wasn’t sure what time they’d gotten in, but by that point she’d been having too much of a good time to drink. She and Malfoy had spent most of their time watching Kate imitate what she thought was good dancing. Charlotte had left hours before with the girl from the pub.
Hermione and Malfoy had spent most of the time at their table, heads bent towards each other, hands close on the table top. Hermione had never really felt an urge to touch someone before. But she had last night. She hadn't wanted to say goodbye to him.God, she’d thought she was going to pass out when she’d first seen him; thankfully he’d brought her a chair. Ever the gentleman. It only served to make him more attractive. With every glass of wine she’d drank, it had become harder to keep her eyes off of him. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much, even on a night out. He’d been just as drunk as she was, and he was even more witty and charming than when he was sober. Hermione hadn’t wanted him to leave, and he hadn’t. He’d even walked Kate and Hermione home when they’d decided they’d had enough, letting Kate hang onto his arm when she was too drunk to manage the cobbled street up to their building.It was the best birthday celebration she’d had in years. With Malfoy as the prime reason. She considered the hangover worth it.
Hermione sat upright with a groan, rubbing her forehead. Retying her hair into a bun atop her head, she stumbled into the living room, heading towards the kitchen. They kept their painkillers in the top drawer, if she could just-The envelope had been pushed underneath the door, as the last three had been. This was the third just this week; the first the day before her birthday, the second on her birthday, and now this one. No address, just her name.
Hermione was past trying to convince Kate and Charlotte that this was a college boy prank. She was past thinking it was a mistake. She was well past creeped out, more horrified. She wasn’t sure if it was the hangover or the letter that was making her nauseous.
Kate found her around an hour later, letter lying open on the kitchen table. She snarled at it.
“Another one?” she said, and Hermione nodded. “I think we can admit we have a slight issue, Hermione.”“Yes, well, I’m not sure what there is to do about it.”“We need to tell the police!”“Tell them what? That I’m getting letters underneath my door? There’s no way to track them, Kate, they won’t do anything.” Hermione crumbled up the envelope without opening it, stood and threw it in the bin. “We just have to hope they get the hint and move on.”“Hermione, they can get in the building. They know where you live, most likely where you work. Who knows what else they know? We have to tell somebody.”“Kate, just-”“I’m really worried, Hermione. I have a really bad feeling. The last time I felt this bad was when, well…” she trailed off, and Hermione didn’t need her to answer. Kate didn’t know the details about her parents, but she knew enough. That was Hermione’s sign.
“I have to get going.”“Do you want me to-”“No, Kate. I’m fine.”It took Hermione an hour to get dressed, mostly because she spent forty-five minutes pacing, deciding. She didn’t want to do it, but she saw no other way. She knew she couldn’t do it herself, but maybe if she sent a letter to Ginny-Ginny. She hadn’t seen Ginny in seven years. She had been explicit in not seeing Ginny, or the others. And now that she needed something she was going to turn up on their doorstep? No. No, she had faced issues like this before. This was the muggle way, wasn’t it? Not everything could be fixed with the flick of a wand.
She had managed for seven years without magic. She had built a business without using it once, dealt with grief and confusion and overwhelming sadness without it. She could face this.
Hermione spent the drive to York trying to think of something to do about it. Their building had cameras, of course, but without knowing when the letters were being placed under the door she couldn’t very well see who it was just from watching twenty four hours worth of CCTV. She was right in thinking the police wouldn’t do anything; Kate made an online report and they called her during the drive, informing her that there really was nothing they could do without anything more concrete. Hermione shivered at that; what would it take, this person breaking into her apartment?
She just had to hope that they would get bored when they got nothing out of her. God, she had been a muggle for seven years, and now she was thinking of breaking her streak?It had to have been because she spent the evening with Malfoy. All night she felt her magic shifting within her, ready to be explored. It reminded her of how she had felt when she first went to Hogwarts, awakening the magic inside her. She had felt constantly alive then, even when she slept. Buzzing around the castle, running through the corridors, getting lost on the stairs. But then, she had been able to use it, explore it, practice it. Now, she smothered it.
She got to York in record time, parked at the church and walked down to the cemetery. She had considered finding somewhere in the city to stay overnight, but with the letters and Charlotte’s disappearing act last night, she really just wanted to be at home.Her parents were buried next to each other, of course, as they’d always hoped to be. Hermione supposed they’d never expected to have the same dates on their gravestones, as well. She spent the first ten minutes wiping the dirt and dust off of them, replacing the flowers. She knelt in front of them, unsure how to start, as always.“So,” she began, “the bookshop is doing well. Really well, actually, considering it’s a quiet month. I’ve got some brilliant new releases at the moment. I think you’d really like them. Kate’s cafe is expanding…”She never knew how long she was supposed to stay after she had finished updating them. She wasn’t even sure if she believed that they could hear her, or if she wanted to try to believe that. Hermione wasn’t sure she would have wanted her parents to see her how she was. How she’d given up.“I’m seeing someone from school,” she said slowly, twining a piece of grass between ehr fingers. “I mean, not seeing seeing, just… He comes to the shop once a week and he came out for my birthday last night. You would have loved seeing Charlotte and Kate sing to me.” She laughed, as her eyes started to tear up. “It’s nice to have someone who knows me. I mean, knows what I’m keeping from the girls. But I don’t think he understands it. He keeps reaching for his wand or waving his hand like he’s going to do a spell, and he thinks I don’t notice, but then he’ll frown and stop. And now I’m making somebody else give up what I gave up, and I’m not sure it’s fair. But I want him to keep coming.”As she said it, she realised it was the first time she’d thought about it. She wanted Malfoy to keep coming to see her, wanted to keep ordering muggle books for him and introducing him to muggle inventions he thought brilliant. She wanted to see him doing karaoke and have him walk her home. She wanted him as a friend.
But she couldn’t have that, really, could she? Even if she forgot their history, which she was adamant she was going to do, she couldn’t ask him to do what she did. She could never have magic again. She couldn’t do that to Malfoy. His entire being was magic, his blood and his heritage. He was so magical it made her blood sing, the air shimmer. Somebody that good at magic could never give it up.
She stayed at the cemetery for three hours in the end, most of it sat in silence. By the time she got back to her car, it was early afternoon, and her hangover was hitting peak painfulness. The drive home was spent considering pulling over to be sick, so by the time she got home all she wanted to do was lay in bed and sleep. Maybe cry.

Charlotte and Kate were sitting on the sofa watching one of Hermione’s favourite TV shows. She crawled between them, leaning her head on Kate’s shoulder. The tears came easily then.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

part 2: october

October did not begin as Hermione had expected it to. First, there was a random thunderstorm which led to a major power outage, just what Hermione needed. Then Kate was screwed over by the girl she was seeing, and the three of them spent two days holed up in their flat. The letters kept coming, mostly slotted through the door at night. Charlotte was one step away from pulling an all-nighter to catch the bastard.
Hermione was getting closer and closer to breaking her seven year abstinence. She just wanted it to stop. She knew she couldn’t do anything to make it.
Then, somehow, she got sick.

Hermione never got sick. But on Friday, a customer sneezed into her face. By Monday, she was bedridden, lights off and curtains closed, Crookshanks keeping a solid stance at her bedroom door. Charlotte had offered to take the day off of work, but Hermione had sent her away. Her friends were amazing in many regards, but caring for the sick was not in either of their talents.
She managed to make it to the sofa, where the TV was, by early afternoon. There was nothing for it; she was sick, and all she wanted were her parents. She cried through two episodes.
The buzzing of the intercom was cut through the fog of her sickness harshly, making her wince. Her migraine was not getting any better, despite all the painkillers she’d taken. She was going to scream at whoever had pressed the damn button.“What?” she said through the phone, wondering if her words really were as slurred as they sounded to her. She leant her forehead against the wall.
“Granger.” The drawl sent a shiver up her spine; a good shiver, for the first time in a few days. The last time she’d seen Malfoy had been Friday, when he’d shown up at their weekly drinks. He hadn’t stayed long, mostly he stayed for an hour, maybe two drinks. Bought them a bottle of wine, and then left.The only time he’d stayed had been trivia night, where he’d promptly got every question wrong. Draco Malfoy wasn’t used to failing. Hermione had had to remind him - in whispers, of course - how close he’d been to beating her throughout school. His smile when she'd reminded him of potions class had been blinding.In the three weeks since her birthday, his addition to their group had quickly become a staple. Charlotte and Kate had decided that, since Hermione clearly no longer hated him, they didn’t have to either, and so the three of them had more recently banded against her to try to get more chairs for the bookshop. As if she wanted Malfoy to be able to sit wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted.
A small part of her wanted exactly that.
“Malfoy?”“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Granger, but it’s pissing it down out here. Think you could at least let me in the building?”She pressed the button to let him in, opened the door to wait for him. As he came around the corner, pulling off his coat, she stared. Lifting his head, his eyes found her, and he paused, hand on the railing. Raised an eyebrow at her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him.“Wow, Golden Girl. I don’t even think my mother is that excited to see me.”He came to the doorway, cocking his head to the side. God, it was not fair for him to look so damn perfect all the time. It was distracting, to be quite honest. She had been finding it harder and harder to focus when he was at the bookshop. Even harder to concentrate on what anybody else was saying after she’d had a few glasses of wine. Last Friday, for instance, he’d shown up later than usual, straight from work. His suit was new, black all over, except for his tie. He’d smiled at her cheekily when she’d noticed it; red. It was not okay that he looked so good in her house colour. She had planned to wear something green on Wednesday, but now here he was. In her flat. On Monday.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I just… It’s Monday.”“Glad you’ve not forgotten the days of the week.”“And you’re here. At my apartment.”“I’ve been here before.”“Yes, but not… up here.”“Are you going to let me in, Granger, or shall I take the cookie cake away?”“I’m not feeling gre- Cookie cake?”“Straight from the cafe.” He shook his head. “But if you’re really not feeling up to a visitor, I suppose I can just take it home with me. Blaise would love it, I’m sure.”“Don’t you dare.” She opened the door wider for him to enter, throwing a quick glance over the living room as she stepped to the side. It was… fairly neat, for a sickness cave, at least.
Her horror at having Malfoy in her sickness cave was taken over by the sheer breathlessness caused by the vision of him in her flat. His suit today was a light grey, a colour which should really have washed him out, but only served to make his light features even more striking. His handkerchief was emerald green, as per usual, and she thought she saw his initials embroidered on it. All thoughts were removed from her mind as he shrugged his blazer off, leaving him in a white shirt that stretched perfectly over his shoulders and back. She had to be hallucinating, surely? No specimen looked like this. Not even Malfoy.
“Are you real?” she blurted out, and immediately raised her hand to her mouth in shock. Horror coursed through her and she pushed the front door closed. Loudly.
He turned to face her, smirking as he hung his blazer on the coat rack. Next to her coat. It was all so… homely.“As real as I was on Friday,” he said. “Although in a much better mood, you’ll be glad to hear.”“I can’t say the same,” Hermione groaned, moving past him. “But I’m glad to hear work is picking up.”“Oh, it’s not.” Hermione watched as Malfoy moved with her, dropping the paper bag from Kate’s cafe on the coffee table as he sat on the sofa. Not even far away from her. If she leaned slightly to the side, she’d be leaning against him.“It’s not?” Hermione said.
She wasn't sure what had shifted, but something had. With Malfoy around, the idea of magic had become less… stifling. It was hard not to think about it when she was around him - he was magic incarnate. And she had quickly got the sense that he wanted to talk to her about it, but was holding back. So, she had listened when he started talking about work, her natural curiosity taking over. And now, their friendship meant that talking about magic was natural, normal.“I tried to break the curse today.” Malfoy was staring at the wall opposite, his thinking face plastered across him. “It shattered my wand.”“That’s… strong magic.”He hummed. “Good thing it wasn’t my actual wand, or I’d have been furious.”“You have more than one wand?”He looked at her, smiling. “Of course. What Slytherin doesn’t?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, maybe that’s why you can’t break the curse. Your magic is at its strongest when you use your wand. Your actual wand.”He tutted, shaking his head at her. “No. I’m not half as prepared as I should have been. When I was in front of it… I thought about opening it.”“Isn’t that the curse talking?”“It wants me to open the box. I’ve not felt dark magic like that. Not in a long time, at least.” He looked down at his lap, tugging the sleeve over his left arm. Hermione leaned back against the arm of the sofa, to face him fully.
During Malfoy’s trial, part of his defence had been that he had been forced into doing Voldemort's bidding, with threats to his family hanging over his head. To prove it, Kingsley had required certain memories. And since his perfect Golden Trio were casting judgment, he'd told the three of them to watch the memories, too. It had felt like a gross misuse of Draco's memories, and when Hermione had leaned over the pensive to watch him take the Dark Mark, she had felt nauseous, disgusting. Wrong.
But not half as bad as she'd felt when she'd straightened, after she'd watched a teenaged Draco try his hardest not to scream as Voldemort's wand traced the mark over his forearm. The Dark Mark only settled when it had been taken willingly. His mottled scar would have been proof enough. Draco Malfoy had not wanted his mark.“You can talk to me about it,” she said, with a sniff, “if you want to.”He looked at her, moving his arm so it rested along the back of the sofa. “I appreciate that, Granger. But it’s not something worth talking about. Besides, I know you saw the memory. During my trial.”She winced. “I wish I hadn't seen it. Not because it was terrible, I mean it was terrible. But I shouldn’t have broken your privacy like that.”“Of all the people who have seen that memory, you’re not one I regret, Granger.” He sighed, chest expanding. Hermione tried not to stare. “Besides, it’s not too similar, I suppose. The dark magic now. It’s more… luring.”“Luring?”“The voice is just a means to an end. It gets the person to open the box, so the curse can be exerted.” He shrugged. “I said I’d give it one go and then drop it. Doesn’t look like I can break it, anyway.”“So, you’re giving up?” She frowned, then shook her head. “That’s not you, Malfoy.”He looked at her then. “No,” he said. “It’s not.”Hermione hummed. They sat in silence for a while, until she noticed that her feet were pressing against his thigh. He didn’t seem to have noticed it himself, but once she saw it, she couldn’t-“What if the voice isn’t a lure?” she said suddenly.
“What do you mean?”“I mean, the curse is acting very similar to the Imperius curse, from what you’re telling me. Right?”He moved his head to the side, thinking. “I suppose.”“What if the curse-maker found a way to record the imperius curse.”“Record?”“Yeah, like… Wait.” She leaned over, too fast for her sick body to cope with, so for a moment her vision swam. Narrowing her gaze at the screen, she pulled up the voice recorder.“Malfoy sucks,” she said into the microphone, before pausing it. When she played it on repeat, he narrowed his own gaze on her, reaching over to snatch her phone from her grasp.
She watched him stare down at the screen, press a few buttons, before lifting the phone to his mouth.
“But he brings good cake.” He pressed play and the whole thing played together, making Hermione smile. He passed the phone down to her.
“How would someone record the Imperius curse?” he asked thoughtfully, and she shrugged.
“I don’t know. It’s just a thought.”“They'd need some kind of technology, surely.” He hummed, and Hermione knew he was back into his own thoughts again. She left him there.They moved back into silence again, before Hermione reached over to press play on the TV once more. Her favourite autumnal show filled the living room, lulling her into a comfortable sense of calm. After a moment, though, Malfoy’s hand reached down from the back of the sofa, landed gently over her ankles. She looked at him, saw he was still staring at the wall. She had found recently that she liked to watch him think. It was not a new realisation; she’d had a fleeting understanding of it after watching him in the Hogwarts library sometime during fourth year. But she’d never let herself come back to it.
But now, his long fingers were wrapping around her ankle, moving her foot so it was laying in her lap. Doing the same to her other foot. He wasn’t entirely conscious right now, she surmised, especially with his face in that thoughtful, distant expression. But she liked that when he was thinking, his hands still reached for her. He’d not touched her before, not really. She wanted him to touch her more. Even though she was sick.“Why did you come to the shop today?” she asked him a little while later, her voice soft. She thought she might fall asleep soon. “You don’t usually come on a Monday.”“Maybe I just wanted to see you, Granger.” Hermione rolled her eyes at him, caught him looking at her. “Is that so strange?”“I don’t know, Malfoy. Is your father happy with you skiving off work to come and see a mugg-““My father is dead, so I don’t think he cares much for anything these days.”Hermione was stunned into silence. She had not known that. It must have happened after she left the wizarding world, or she’d surely have heard about it. Lucius Malfoy would never have gone quietly, in or out or Azkaban. When he'd gone missing, the public had been in uproar. What kind of father escapes Azkaban and leaves his son behind?“I’m so-”“Don’t even think of apologising, Granger.” He started to trace some sort of rune on her bare ankle, where her pyjama trousers had risen up. She had goosebumps all over her. “He doesn’t deserve your thoughts or your words. He didn’t when he was alive and he certainly doesn’t now.”She couldn’t disagree with that. Hermione watched the side of his face, but he didn’t seem to have any emotions about his father’s passing. It didn’t surprise Hermione. She’d seen how Lucius Malfoy treated his family during his son’s trial.“Mine too, by the way,” she said suddenly. When he turned his face to her, she clarified, “My dad. Is dead.”Malfoy was quiet for what felt like a long time, his index finger still tracing her skin. She looked up after a while to find his eyes were drifting over her. God, she liked having his eyes on her. Even when she was sick and wearing Christmas pyjamas. Even when she’d just told him what nobody else in the wizarding world knew, letting him into the start of why she’d left it all behind.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, finally, and she swallowed.
“Sometimes I forget,” she carried on, “Like when I’m sick. I wake up and all I want is for my dad to come in with a pot of tea. He made the best.” She smiled weakly, and suddenly she was crying again, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes so Malfoy wouldn’t see.
Then she felt his hand wrap around her upper arm, pulling her gently so that she was entering his personal space, leaning against his shoulder. His arm over her shoulders, her head in the crook of his neck. Her tears staining his shirt. He was hugging her. Malfoy was hugging her.
“I can’t believe I’m getting a hug from Draco Malfoy,” she said through a sob. She felt the rumbling of his chest when he chuckled.
“Don’t get used to it,” he told her, “Pansy herself has only ever had one.”Hermione smiled, feeling the brief wave of sadness pass. It was like this when she got sick, even harder to forget the holes where her parents had one stood. Unable to keep herself busy. The memories of them watching over her when she was ill as a child, sending her things when she was at Hogwarts and struggling, just being there. Seven years later, and it still hurt.Moving her head to make it more comfortable, she found herself looking at the stretch of Malfoy’s neck as he let his head fall against the back of the sofa. His finger was tying itself into a stray curl, twisting it around idly.
She might have stayed like that for a while, but then he titled his head to the side, just slightly. Hermione thought he realised it at the same time as her, that they had ended up extremely close. Closer than they’d been before. Had she not spent the whole day lying in a pit of tissues, or had dried tears cascading over her face, she might have wanted him to kiss her. She did want him to kiss her, she realised, but not like this.
So she reeled backwards, putting space between them. She watched him lick his lips.
“You know,” he said slowly, “I could do with a cup of tea myself. I haven’t had one in… a long time.”“Tea,” she whispered. Maybe it would be nice to make tea, to build some new memories. To show Malfoy how her dad used to make it. Maybe with him, she’d perfect it.She pushed herself off the sofa, heard him follow her over to the kitchen. She felt his eyes on her as she filled up the kettle, set it to boil. He watched as she grabbed Kate’s teapot from the cupboard, two matching cups. Teabags. She knew he was waiting for her to speak.“My dad always put the sugar in the teapot,” she told him, “My mother hated it.”“Mine would also hate it,” Malfoy said, coming over to join her. “She’s a staunch believer of sugar-less tea.”The kettle boiled, and Malfoy jumped, staring at it incredulously“What is that thing?”“It’s a kettle. It won’t hurt you.”“I'm not sure I trust it. Looks dangerous.”“It boils water, that’s all,” she said, laughing.“Well, if that’s how you want your tea made, Granger, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to make one for you. You’ll have to do it.”Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling. “How convenient for you.”She poured the water in, replacing the lid, and Hermione suddenly realised that she felt so gross she could cry again. Pausing, she pressed a hand to her mouth, fighting the urge to sob. It was strange, really; she'd made tea before, thousand of times. But every now and then, it just reminded her more of what she had lost. Of what she had done.“Grang-”“I’m going…” she started. “I’m going to get changed.”Before Malfoy could say anything, she practically ran to her bedroom. The door closed loudly, and she pressed her palm against the wood, leaning on it heavily. Her breaths were fast, shallow. Closing her eyes, she focused on her breathing, the movement of her chest, the air filling her lungs. It was something Kate had taught her, when she'd first moved in and could barely leave the flat. Mindfulness, Kate had called it. Hermione had never had time for such things before, but she found it helped.She thought she changed quickly, despite the ringing in her head and the feeling that she was going to feint. But when she heard a shaky cry of her name from the living room, she figured she must have been in her bedroom for years. It sort of felt like stepping into an alternate reality, when she came out of her room and saw him.Malfoy was on the sofa again, the teapot and cups set on the coffee table, next to the cookie cake he’d brought with him. Next to him sat Crookshanks, kneading the fabric of the sofa. Hermione smiled; he rarely did that when she wasn’t sitting next to him. She laughed when Malfoy pulled a cushion from the side of the sofa, hugged it to his chest protectively.“He must like you,” she said, moving over to her bookshelf.
“This thing has never liked me. It likes terrorising me, that’s it. It wants to rip my new suit.”“Crookshanks is a he, Malfoy. Just like you.”“Not like me, thank you, Granger. I’m decidedly less demonic, whatever you may have thought about me when we were children. Come here, quick. He’s moving closer.”Hermione laughed at him, passing him the two books she’d grabbed from the shelf. Picking up her cat, she replaced him in the space next to Malfoy, whose arm she felt drop over the back of the sofa. She felt the heat of it over her, behind her neck and above her shoulders. Crookshanks curled up on her lap.“He must think you’ve changed,” she muttered, then looked up at him.“Haven’t we all?” he said, meeting her gaze. “Which one?” He waved the books in his hand. She smiled, reaching across him to grab the one she wanted.
They'd read together before, of course. Well, not together. There had been countless times during school - their favourite seats had, for some strange reason, been on the same table. And in the Hogwarts library, it had often felt that the war and its effects were left at the door. Inside, they were what they should have been; students. Children. They'd both spent hours there, most days. They'd never spoken - Hermione had always felt that voicing it would break the charm.Now, though, it felt different. Still silent, still charmed. Letters and magic and history left on her doorstep. But this time, there was a sense of… She couldn't describe it. One word kept floating through her mind, soft and comforting.
Malfoy stayed with her until Kate got home, then declined Kate’s offer for dinner. Before he left, he nodded to Granger to walk him to the door, her book in his hand.
“First you steal from my shop, and now my home?” she said. “Whatever next, Malfoy?”He shrugged his blazer on, and she tried not to spend too long looking at him. They'd settled into a strange sort of tension, not unpleasant but certainly strong, where her hands itched to straighten his tie, smooth the crease in his forehead, comb through the hair at the back of his neck. She wanted to feel him, know him.
And suddenly it was hard to breath again, but for a completely different reason.“Granger,” he said, and she thought he might have hesitated, “I’m going to ask you to dinner, at some point. I’m not sure when - I’ll have to dig deep and scrape up some of that so-called Gryffindor bravery you lions are well known for. Do you think you know what your answer will be?”She knew she was staring at him in shock, because after a few seconds he blushed and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. She didn’t think she’d ever imagined seeing him bashful, or nervous. Hermione had never imagined Draco Malfoy standing in front of her, asking her if she might go out with him in the future. But her life had not gone the way she'd planned so far, and she'd been forced to rethink her stance on almost everything over the last seven years.“Malfoy,” she said slowly, “I think you’d better ask me soon. You know, just in case my cold becomes the flu and then pneumonia and then… well, you know.”The corner of his mouth turned up in a small smile, and he nodded. She watched him walk away, and started to wonder if she’d made a mistake leaving magic behind. That one word drifted through her mind again.Home.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Draco always forgot just how much returning to the Manor truly affected him. It was as if his occlumency actively blocked out just how deeply ingrained this place was in him, in his bones. In his nightmares. When he flooed to the front hall, he still imagined there would be a Death Eater standing there, waiting to take his name down. In his bloody house. That had always pissed him off.
Walking briskly past the hall, he heard the shadows of screams ghosting over him, one in particular. As he glared at the portraits along the corridor, he remembered all the times he'd acted like an oil painting himself, watching his life and family crumble to pieces and doing nothing to stop it. He hadn't been brave enough, smart enough. Whenever he came back here, he felt them being thrown in his face, reminders of how he'd failed those he loved.
Lucius Malfoy hadn’t stayed in Voldemort’s good graces. He had failed in his duty, and so he had been stepped down. Draco had taken his place, of course. It had been either that, or watch his mother writhe under the Cruciatus curse. Draco hadn’t hesitated, and he'd never regretted putting his family first. So, the summer before sixth year, he'd taken the Dark Mark. It hadn't accepted him, not for one second. It knew he would have made a different choice, had there been one.Perhaps that was the beginning of Draco's true resentment towards his father. Before that day, he'd always held out hope that Lucius would save them, that he would cart them away and protect them. But Lucius had simply watched as his son took the Mark, screaming under the pain. If anything, he'd been jealous of Draco after that, the position Voldemort had given Draco, simply because of Lucius' failings. Draco had never forgiven his father. But by the time he'd worked up the courage and skill to tell him, it was far too late.That was over ten years ago. But it was still hard to look his mother in the eye. Especially when her hand would shake as she was stirring her tea, her spoon clinking gently against the side of her cup. Draco waited, patiently.“Theo tells me you’re seeing someone.”Draco stopped himself from rolling his eyes, lifted his cup to his mouth instead. He knew she would start with this. Draco was nearing thirty. It was his duty, in his mother’s humble opinion, to start producing some heirs. Or at least think about it.
“I’ve asked repeatedly for you and Theo to cease talking about me in your letters.”“Which is why we continue to do so, darling.” Narcissa raised her cup to her lips, paused. “So…”“So what, mother?”“Who is she?”“I’m not seeing anybody.”“Theo seems to think differently.” Theo needs a swift kick to the throat.“I can’t imagine why.”“He says you’ve been missing from your Friday meet-ups for the past month. And according to your other friend, the one who’s currently living with you, you’re constantly out of the flat. What else could have you so busy?”Draco was going to kill Blaise. And Theo. He was sure he only needed one close friend anyway. Pansy would never talk to his mother about him, not without express permission. She was considerate like that.
Plus, she hated writing letters.“I’m working a lot at the moment.” It was only half a lie. When he wasn’t with Granger, he was at the Ministry. He’d asked if he could take some of his notes home, but he’d been expressly - and repeatedly - forbidden from doing so. Aside from the fact that it just made him want to take his files home even more, just for the sheer thrill of breaking the rules, it only served to piss him off. It also meant that all his time spent on the box had to be in that godforsaken building. He had vowed to give it up after one go, but Granger’s face when he’d told her that…
That’s not you.

It was the second day of the month. Right now, she’d be lifting boxes much too heavy for her. Draco had gone over again last night, only briefly, to check if she was better. She wasn’t. But he knew she’d never leave Olive to unpack it all on her own. He knew she’d be at the store. He wanted to be there with her. Helping her.
I’m going to ask you to dinner. Merlin, he was an idiot. What kind of lovesick twat told said that? It wasn't supposed to go like this: Draco didn't have the right to even think of asking Hermione Granger out to dinner. He barely deserved to be in the same room as her. He was asking for too much. What made it worse, was that she hadn’t outwardly said no, but she hadn’t said yes, either. Typical Granger.
He wasn’t seeing her. He wasn’t. She’d never want him that way, despite what he did. They were friends, at least. He knew she’d never let someone who wasn’t a friend sit on her sofa or stroke her ankles, even when she was sick. He was content being her friend. It was more than he'd ever thought he'd get, so he would take it. And if they did go out to dinner, it would be as friends.But he would not be telling his mother. Or Theo, for that matter.
“I wish you wouldn’t strain yourself, Draco,” his mother said. “You know we don’t need the money.”“I don’t do it for the money,” he reminded her. Neglected to tell her that they weren't even paying him. “I do it because otherwise I’d be incredibly bored.”“You should come to France. I’ve told you, you’re more than welcome.”“I know, mother.”“In fact, I’d love it if you would at least visit. Perhaps you would meet someone there-”“Mother, please.”“Alright, alright. So, tell me, have you rethought your stance on redecorating the Manor?”“No.”“I know that Pansy offered to help.”“She did.”“I’ve heard brilliant things about her skill at interior design.”“She’s very good. You’ll have to come and see the flat sometime.”“Yes… the flat.” His mother’s face fell. “It worries me, you being so isolated.”“I’m hardly isolated, mother.”“But-”“We’ve spoken about this before.”“I know. I just…” she sighed deeply, and Draco gave her a look. “I miss you, you know.”“I know, mother. I’ll try to come to France. Soon.”“Before the end of the year?”“Depending on work.”Narcissa left the manor around lunchtime for an appointment. Draco knew what that meant; she was going to visit his father. Draco had never been to his father’s resting place, not since the funeral. He’d never felt the urge, and even if he had, he probably still wouldn’t go. Narcissa was welcome to his father’s ghost.So he was left in the dining room, alone. He had spent a lot of his childhood in the Manor by himself. Most of it had been in the library. Draco had tried, after Azkaban, to adapt: to learn to love his ancestral home. But Merlin, he hated it. The place made his skin itch, his mark flare. The dark magic had been ingrained into the foundations, and no matter how much curse-breaking he did, he would always feel it. After Voldemort had taken up residence, the Manor had stopped feeling like home. It felt more like a mausoleum, a lavish reminder of his trauma. Rolling his shoulders, he grabbed some floo powder, headed straight to the Ministry.Returning to Malfoy Manor always left him in a strange mood - the dusting of dark magic layered over him made his stomach roll, his head ache. Seeing the Weasel in his office, staring at his wall of post-it notes, just made everything entirely worse.“Get out.”Weasley looked side-long at him. “Harry said you thought somebody had recorded the imperious curse.”“Get out of my office.”“How did you come up with that?”
Draco didn't reply, pressing the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Get out, before I charm my carpet to eat you.”“How would they do it?” The Weasel muttered it to himself, looking back at the wall.Draco fought the urge to hex him right there for just standing in his office. Of course he'd been wandering the same thing; there were ways of recording sounds with magic, like having a newspaper read itself out to you, or sending a howler. But to embed magic itself into the sound was unheard of - at least to him. Draco couldn't think of any other way than the one Granger had shown him, using her phone.It didn't make sense, though, for somebody to curse people into violently murdering their closest muggle-borns, using Muggle technology. It was a paradox. More than that, it was starting to annoy him.
“Seriously, Weasel. Get the fuck out of my office.”Potter appeared in the doorway, frowning at the two of them.“Ron, Padma’s downstairs.”
With one last glare in Draco’s direction, the Weasel left.“Consider yourself forbidden from entering this room,” Draco called out after him. “A lifetime ban. The next time you enter, I swear it, you will be incinerated.”Draco leaned back in his chair, took deep breaths to try and let out some of the tension. He stared at the paperwork on his desk, notes on the imperious curse, the way it felt, how it worked. Draco had never been imperiused himself, but he had used it on others. It had been part of Bella’s training, to prove himself to Voldemort.
The curse required focus. It required intent. You had to mean it, just like the killing curse. If someone had instilled it into the box, it would've taken unbelievable skill. Draco wasn't entirely sure it was even possible. He couldn't even practise, without using the Imperius curse.He made it an hour before he stormed out of his office, slamming the door closed behind him. He should have waited before visiting her, really. The visit to the Manor, alongside his brief-but-infuriating conversation with Weasley had left him in a terrible mood - certainly no mood for entertaining a sick-but-working Hermione Granger. But damn him, he wanted to see her. He was doing an awful lot of wanting to see her at the moment. Too much of it.
She wasn’t on the ground floor when he got to the shop, but Olive was. He’d met Granger’s assistant a few times recently, what with his visits to the store becoming so frequent. She gave him a small smile, motioned up to the first floor.
“Perhaps you’ll be able to stop her,” she said cryptically. Draco rolled his eyes - as if Granger answered to anyone but herself.She didn’t notice his arrival when he first got to the top of the stairs. She had her back to him, in those bloody jeans… He’d been picturing her in those jeans recently. At night, in the shower. It was ridiculous, really, how unraveled a piece of clothing could make him.
The effect she had on him was unimaginable. She'd always drawn him in, even before the Yule ball, when everything had changed. Now, though, he knew what it was like to feel her brightness drifting over him like gold-dust, a smile she reserved only for friends directed at him. She let him touch her - only lightly, of course, nothing more - and she had seemed happy when he showed up unannounced at her flat. Granger had always been a part of him, compartmentalised and set behind stone walls. Now, she was creeping out, seeping into his every thought. Taking over.
Draco didn't mind. He'd wanted this. What form a relationship would have with her had never been the focus; just being near her, around her, without glares or snide comments or hate sitting between them. He'd imagined talking books with her, laughing with her, studying at the ta-His fantasies were interrupted when she sneezed, dropping the book in her hands. He shook his head when she put her hand to her forehead, clearly in pain. Sighing, he did what she wouldn’t, and reached into his blazer for his wand. Waving it ever so slightly, the book levitated from the floor and back into the box it came from. Granger dropped her hand, sent a glare in his direction.
“You should be at home,” was his way of greeting. He kept his wand in his hand. If she noticed, she didn’t show it.“I don’t have time to sit at home and whinge,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. Draco took a few steps closer, then stopped. Even sick, she looked like a goddess. Hair twisted up into a complicated bun, held only by a pen. The light sheen of sweat on the back of her neck. Merlin, he wanted to touch her. He wanted to run his fingers down her arms, read out that bloody list he had written for her, all his apologies, ensure she knew exactly just how sorry he was. How special she was.
“You absolutely have time to sit at home when you’re sick.”
“I’m feeling better today, really. It’s just these books that are making it difficult.”“Why?”“They’re on the top shelf. I usually grab the ladder to help me, but-”“Move out of the way, Granger.“Malfoy, they’re heavy.”“Which is exactly why I’m going to use the gift given to me, to make my life easier.” He looked at her, waving his wand in his fingers. “If you have an objection, speak up now.”“Olive is he-”“You seem to have forgotten about certain charms, Granger. You know, the ones that repel muggles?”“The idea is to get people in, Malfoy."Draco shrugged. “But what will the muggles buy if all the books are boxed away?”
He saw her swallow, her eyes caught on the object in his fingers. He wondered if he’d done too much, too soon. But for Merlin’s sake, she wasn’t fragile. She was Hermione bloody Granger, and she did not break at the sight of a wand. She had magic flowing through her veins, even more than most, and she needed reminding of it.
“Alright,” she said quietly, and he couldn’t help but smile. That she trusted him enough to start taking steps made him want to mark the date. Tattoo it on his skin. Suddenly his bad mood had disintegrated, pulled apart by her trust.He was sure, now, that her abstinence had something to do with her father. The way she’d cried after telling him… It had been heartbreaking to witness. He’d vowed never to see her cry again.
But now, he was watching the twinkle in her eyes, as he waved his wand over the boxes of books, lightening the tomes inside. Draco recognised that sparkle, had seen it every time she waved her wand in school. She had loved using magic, and he'd loved to watch her. Granger was beautiful as a woman - she was enchanting, captivating, incredible. All the words he could think of. As a witch… she was indescribable.He grabbed one of the wrapped books from the box, carefully, under her shrewd gaze. Shook his head slowly. These weren’t books, surely - they were thicker than his arm. Draco knew books - some of the ones he'd read had been thousands of pages long. These looked bigger; even larger than some kept in the Hogwarts library.
“Merlin, Granger, what are you selling here?” He picked up a black-covered book. She grinned.“That’s an encyclopedia. It gives you the definition of words.”“I know what an encyclopedia is. I just thought muggles had that way of searching for things like that.” His lightening charm allowed him to pick it up with one hand, but without it, there was no way he’d be carrying that thing up a ladder. How did Hermione do this every month without magic? “What was it, the interset?”“The internet,” she said with a laugh. “You do remember Muggle studies, don’t you?”He did. He remembered all of it, including the bizarre fact that she, a muggle-born, had taken Muggle studies. Draco had spent most of those lessons trying to figure her out, secretly enjoying her reactions, her excitement. But he liked to hear her laugh more than he liked to show off what he already knew.“Who would buy one of these things?”“Some people like them. I bet you have quite a few in your library.”He shook his head. “No. I know all the words I need.”
“Oh?”“I’m as educated as I could ever be. Look at me,” he stood at the top of the steps, arms held out on either side of them. “A man of academia, at your bidding.”“Had you not gifted me a stack of post-its and called them “revolutionary” I might have believed you.”It took them two hours to finish putting the books away - well, it took Draco two hours. He did, in the end, manage to convince her to sit in the armchair in the corner and observe from below. The freedom allowed him to use his levitation charms with ease. Her eyes on him, assessing him - he liked it. Liked her watching him, knew that the more he used these charms around her, the less tense she became. He just had to get her used to it, before…Before he told her that he needed her help. The real reason he’d found her. How he’d tracked her down. He had to tell her the truth before he asked her to dinner. There was no way he could take her out and then… He was dreading the way she was going to look at him.
But it had to be done.
Maybe if he started at the beginning, all the way back in fourth year, she'd understand. If she knew everything he'd done, the choices he'd made. He could finally tell her...They were pressing the boxes flat when he felt the urge rise in him, like a wave of truth. If he just avoided looking her in the face, he was sure he could get it out.
“Granger, I have to-”“Hermione!” Charlotte’s voice called from downstairs, interrupting him. Granger gave him a panicked look, even as he placed his wand back in his blazer pocket. It was like she thought she’d been tainted, that she was now covered in a light glow. He could tell her that she was; that he saw a golden aura around her, brighter than ever before. But not because of her magic. That was just her.
She pushed past him, heading back to the ground floor. After a moment, he followed. He watched her whilst she conversed with Charlotte, listened to them trying to make plans for sorting Kate’s new café. He knew Charlotte noticed him watching. He knew Granger didn’t.
He was just trying to memorise her. Before he lost her, for good.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hermione had always imagined owning a shop - of course, she had known that building a business was hard, but she'd also known, as a child, that her magic would make it easier. Building a business without magic, though, felt impossible. Hermione spent her evenings over the next few weeks helping Kate get the café ready to be opened, and, in typical muggle fashion, everything went wrong. First the plaster was peeling under the paint so they had to find a plasterer on short notice who wouldn’t charge Kate a couple grand. Then, the wiring was shoddy so they had to find an electrician on short notice who also wouldn’t charge Kate a couple grand. Two days ago, there was a hole in the roof they hadn’t noticed, so when it rained, the café flooded. Kate was on the verge of a breakdown.
The letters kept coming. The worst part was that they had started acting as if she was replying, like they had some sort of secret relationship. Like she enjoyed it.
I know you said you enjoyed living with two girls, but I know you…

I really think you should consider what I said yesterday…

If you can get away from the shop on Tuesday, I want you to meet my mother…
Each time, without an address. Kate had installed a camera above their door and for a few days, the letters stopped. Then, another came. On the video feed, all they could see was a figure in a black hoodie, cap, and jeans. Again the police said what they could do about it; nothing. So, they installed better locks, noted down the police report, and buried the letters in a drawer, just in case.

It was the end of October before Hermione finally snapped. She’d barely left the house recently, exhausted from work and the feeling that she was being watched, constantly. Charlotte was in her usual chair, and since it was first day of the half-term holidays, the shop had been busy. She hadn’t sat down all day. She’d barely been able to speak to customers for more than five seconds before having to move onto the next one and as much as she loved it, it was draining. They were an hour from close when she finally found herself atop the stool behind the counter, counting the day's intake.
Olive came out of the office, pulling her coat on. She was almost out of the shop when she seemed to remember something, turning and pulling something out of her pocket.
“Oh, Hermione,” she came back to the counter, “someone dropped this off for you but you were so busy. I told him I’d pass it on, he seemed like it was pretty urgent.”She placed the envelope on the counter, in a rush to go and grab her granddaughter from nursery. Waving goodbye, Olive disappeared, although Hermione didn’t see her go. She was too busy staring at the envelope. Another letter. In her place of work.
Charlotte strode over, picking it up before Hermione had a chance. Not that she wanted it. Hermione didn’t want to touch it. She wanted to burn it. How dare he-She found that she couldn’t breathe all of sudden, like the air had been sucked out of existence. Her heart was beating so hard she could hear it in her ears, drowning out whatever Charlotte was saying. She could feel her magic fizzing through her, centered on that letter. She might transfigure it into something different, something less terrifying. Or maybe she could charm it to return to its writer, she could follow it and obliviate her from their memory, make it so that they never saw or thought of her aga-At that thought, she knew she was going to be sick. She had enough self-awareness to know that, but not enough to know where she was or how to get somewhere more suitable for it. Hermione felt like she was falling, like she was dying. Her chest hurt, was she having a heart attack? She felt fingers clutching at her chest, nails digging into her skin through her jumper.She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. Where was she? Everything was blurry and loud, and she thought she might pass out, or maybe that had happened already. What was happening, she-
Granger
-wanted to scream, shout, burst into flames. She wanted to find him and kill him, how dare he come here-
Granger
-to her place. He’d already invaded her home, wasn’t that enough? When would he stop? Once he’d taken over every aspect of her life, every place and person-The smell of orange invaded her senses, a flash of platinum through her blurry vision. Her face was cold against a sudden, gentle heat. She realised, with a modicum of self-awareness, that her cheeks were wet, her eyes stinging. Something brushed over her face, wiping away her tears. That smell strengthened, and then there was the warmth of a coffee mug in her hands, the murmur of soft voices in her ear. Charlotte’s voice, a panicked tone. And then…“Granger.”That platinum streak sharpened, for a moment, until she was able to focus on Malfoy’s hair, in its usual artful messiness. Her gaze drifted down to his eyes, sheltered by a frown, closed off. His walls of occlumency wavered when their eyes met, but only slightly. He was holding it together. Hermione had the sudden urge to touch him, to push her hand through his hair, to feel the warmth of his skin on her palm. She’d always thought red was her favourite colour, but now… She tightened her grip on the mug.
A flicker of flame caught in the corner of her gaze, and she looked at the candle next to her. Set atop a small stool to protect the carpet, the flame was quickly rising, rising, rising. Hermione swallowed.
“Five things, then,” he murmured, and her eyes snapped back to him. She faltered. “Five things you can sense, Granger. What can you see?”She swallowed. “Blond hair,” thought his lips twitched, before her vision blurred again, “something orange. A book, I think.” She looked down. “My hands. Is that a candle?”“Now four things you can touch.”“I do-”“Come on, Granger, use those observation skills you claim to have.”Hermione took a deep breath. “Four things… The mug. The… floor?” She reached up. “My hair. My jumper.”“Three you can hear.”“Your voice. My voice. My breathing.”“Good. Two things you can smell.”“Orange. Your cologne.”“Now one thing you can taste.”She swallowed. “Blood.” Her tongue hurt, like it was swollen, her throat was dry. It felt like that blood in her mouth was boiling, incinerating her from the inside out. Her vision, now clearer, let her see the flame of the candle, flickering higher and higher.“Granger.” Malfoy’s voice made her look at him again, and she faltered.
“I’m fine,” she said, “Please stop.”He sighed. “I’m not doing that, Granger. It’s all you.”His voice was low, his words murmured, but she got the message. It was her magic imbuing itself into the flame, her magic finally leaking out. She remembered this from when she first left, the stubbornness of her craft, wanting to be wielded. Completely stepping away had been difficult but necessary, suppressing her magic until it was stifled inside her. Trapped. Hermione was lucky it had been a candle set alight and not a book, or even the whole bloody shop.
“Just breathe,” he said. “Tell me about your latest read.”“Charlotte-”“I sent her to the café. I just came from there - she’ll be queuing for at least five minutes. We have time.” Time for you to sort yourself out. Hermione groaned, dropping her face into her hands. “Come on, then, Granger. You said you were reading some big fantasy novel. Tell me about it.”So she did, stuttering at first but then her voice became stronger. Her breaths evened out, the flame dwindled until it was barely more than a spark. She should have known more of her magic would dart through, being around him so much.“So, what, you’re reading about wizards? The ones you know not enough for you?”
“The ones in the book are nicer.”“I’m always nice to you.”She gave him a look. His grin started out sheepish, then turned blinding. She heard the flame roar to life again when she saw it, her magic sizzling through the air between them. She knew he noticed it, too, saw the silver in his eyes darken to a stormy grey. They'd had a few moments like this in the weeks since her birthday. Something between them had shifted, so that each time their eyes met Hermione had started to feel more and more like the floor was falling from beneath her feet. She didn’t think it was her magic doing it, or his. She thought it was something else, something older.“You all good now?” She wondered if she was imagining the huskiness of his voice, the way his eyes were searching hers. She knew she didn’t imagine how the distance between them was heated, how now that the air had returned to the room it was thicker, full of intent.
“Did you put a warming charm on me?” she asked him, and he frowned.
“No charms here, Granger. Not from me, at least.”So it wasn’t magic. It was something though, wasn’t it?The bell of the door chimed, and the moment broke. The flame sizzled once, burning down into a small flicker. Malfoy leaned back as Charlotte came around the corner of the counter.
“What’s happening? Is she okay?” she asked, eyes wide. She held a small take-out box from the cafe.“I’m fine,” Hermione answered, “How did I get on the floor?”“Well, that was sometime between Olive leaving and Malfoy appearing,” Charlotte curled her arms around her chest, “You were freaking out. I didn’t know what to do, all the things Kate told me you used to use didn’t work. I was one second away from slapping you when your white knight here strode through the door.”Malfoy straightened into his tall frame, holding out a hand to Hermione. She took it without hesitation, slipping her palm against his, his fingers wrapped around her as he gave a gentle tug. She hoped she wasn’t making it up, the way his hand lingered in her grip for a moment, before letting go.
“Where did the candle come from?” she asked, clearing her throat.
“I found it yesterday,” Malfoy said. “Thought of you, so…”“Hermione does love everything orange,” Charlotte nodded, still pale. “Good choice of candle, very autumnal, very-”“Charlotte,” Hermione said, “are you alright?”“Am I alright?” Charlotte scoffed. “No, Hermione, I am not alright. I’m scared for you. He was here, Hermione. He was here, in your shop, and at our house. Where else might he have been?”“Who?” Malfoy asked. “What’s going on?”Hermione placed the mug on the counter, righting the stool that she had knocked over as she fell off of it. Wincing, she rubbed at her elbow, testing out her arm. Dabbed at her split lip.“It’s nothing,” she murmured.
“It is not nothing,” Charlotte exclaimed. “Hermione’s been getting letters under our front door. Creepy letters, with weird poems and passages. And today,” she pointed at the letter on the counter, “he came here. Just handed it to Olive like this is normal!”“Granger,” Malfoy looked at Hermione, his eyes stern, “How long have you been getting these letters?”Hermione shrugged under the weight of his stare. “Two months, I guess. It was around the same time we… you started visiting.”“Yeah, at first we thought it was you, but then-”“Charlotte,” Malfoy interrupted, his gaze not waving Hermione, “could you give us a moment? Please. Take my change and go grab a coffee. Another one."Charlotte blinked, and looked at Hermione, who gave a small nod. Her friend disappeared out of the shop for the second time, looking the smallest Hermione had ever seen her. Charlotte hadn't been there for when Hermione's panic attacks had been the worst, in the years after her parents deaths. Kate had, though. When Charlotte had moved in over a year ago, she had been adamant that she know exactly what Hermione would need, even though she hadn't had an episode like this in... a long time. God, what was she doing?“When were you going to tell me?”Hermione sighed at Malfoy words, moving the candle so it was atop the counter. She really did like the smell.
“I didn’t think it was important.”“Are you kidding, Granger? Mysterious letters to your house and place of work, and you didn’t think it was important?”“I just didn’t see what you could do, Malfoy.”He scoffed, reached his hand up to press against his forehead. “You know, I’ve been really patient with you, Granger. I’ve been considering writing to the Minister to ask for an award for the levels of patience I have shown these past two months. But this is ridiculous.”“Excuse me?”“There’s nothing we can do about this, is there? Nothing at all?”“I’ve already spoken to the police and they sai-”“The police? Granger, do you hear yourself?” He came to stand on the other side of the counter, put his palms either side of it so he could lean down, so they were face to face. It was similar to his first visit here, although his face was angrier. The angriest she’d seen him since their reunion. Not angry, though, more... sad. Almost desperate. His occlusion was breaking.“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Malfoy,” Hermione said carefully.
“Stop it.”“Stop what?”“Stop,” he waved his hand around her, the air starting to burn now, “this. This pretending. This is not you, Granger.”“Malfoy, enough.”“You know,” He was staring her out, daring her, “what we could do with this letter, right? We could send it straight back to whoever wrote it, we could-”“I know, Malfoy,” she snapped. “I know what I could do. But I’m not going to do that, because I…”
“Because what, Granger?” He was staring her out, daring her. “I’ve not asked, this entire time. I’ve not asked because I want you to want to tell me, but this is important.”She wanted to tell him. The urge to say it was sudden, because nobody knew. Nobody except for her, and it was so painful being the only one to know what tore you apart. Almost excruciating. She wanted to scream it at him, to finally explain. Hermione wanted someone to know, exactly what she'd done. She wanted to see the way he looked at her after he knew, get confirmation that the last seven years of penance still hadn't been enough. Or maybe...She could tell him. If there was another person on the planet who might understand, it was him. Harry and Ron never would have, and Ginny wouldn’t have known what to say. They would have all skated around her if they’d known, as if she was fragile, breakable. And maybe she was, but she hated being treated like glass.Malfoy wouldn’t do that, she knew it. Maybe he had been holding back for her, but less so recently. And aside from that, he would understand. The decisions she’d made, the darkness that enveloped her. He had the same thing. She could tell him.
But she wouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter.”He seemed to get the hint, unwilling to push her. Still, he said, “Then let me. Let me help you.”“No.”“If you give me the letters, I can sort it "“No.”“But-”“Absolutely not,” she said, “I don’t want that.”He sucked in a harsh breath, waited, eyes never leaving hers. It was disconcerting, how even when he was thinking, he was watching her. As if he was mapping the contours of her face, memorising it. She swallowed, looked away.“What about telling Pot-”“No.”“But he would help, Granger. He has the whole bloody Ministry at his fingertips, he could fix this-”“No, Malfoy. You said you wouldn’t tell anyone.”“I haven’t.”“You swore I was safe with you.”“You are. But how can I keep you safe if I can’t use ma-”“I’m starting to think you lied.”He reeled back, frown deepening. It was as if she’d slapped him. Maybe she had - this entire encounter was becoming quite blurry to her. She was suddenly exhausted, as if she could sleep for days. Her chest still ached, like it was missing something, and her hands shook as she messed with paperwork on the counter-top.
“You are safe with me. I know you know that.”“Then you won’t tell Harry. You promised. If you can’t keep my secret, then I want you to leave me alone.”
He paused, pushed back off of the counter. "That's what you want, huh?”She nodded, tried not to look at him. Failed. His eyes were blank pieces of slate, dark grey, like the sky before a storm. Hard and unyielding. Occlusion, again. He was breathing heavily, angrily. She thought he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. The smell of orange wafted around them, the air heating and heating until she thought it would set alight. She wanted him to do something, not about the letters but about her. Wanted him to touch her cheek again, maybe, or grab her hand, or hug her. Never had she wanted a man’s touch like she wanted his, something innocent and comforting. She wanted him.
In perfect timing, they were interrupted again. This time by the dull vibrations of her phone on the counter. She picked it up, ignoring the heaviness of his stare on her face.
“Charlotte.” Her voice was throaty, as if she had been screaming. Had they been shouting? She couldn’t tell.
“Kate and I are headed to the new place, the electrician showed up and is waiting outside.” Charlotte paused. “Do you need me to come meet you first?”“No,” Hermione said, “I can get there. Let me just close the store.”“Are you sure? I can-”“Charlotte, I’ll meet you there.” She hung up, taking in a deep breath, glanced up at Malfoy. His eyes were dull, and she almost gasped at the emptiness in them. She always forgot just how good at that he was, at building his walls in the space of seconds. She wanted to know what was hidden behind them, wanted to dig at the bricks until they crumbled under her touch. “I have to close early,” she said quietly. “Kate needs my help at the cafe-”“Fine,” he said, “Let’s go.”“I- I’m sorry?”“Get your shit,” he said slowly, “and let’s go. I told her I’d have those shelves up by the weekend didn’t I?”He did. Malfoy hadn’t been to the new cafe yet, but he and Hermione had been stopping by Kate’s cafe for coffee each time he’d come to the shop, extending their time together. It had become a sort of unspoken ritual between them; he would show up at the store an hour before close, disappear onto the second floor to find something new to read. At closing, they would walk to the cafe and have coffee and cake. Sometimes they talked, last week they read. So, he had heard Kate’s complaints about the issues she was facing, and had sworn he would get the shelves up for her. Hermione assumed he’d go in under the cover of secrecy and simply spell the shelves up, if he did it at all. She never thought-“Granger,” he said, “you wanted to go, so let’s go.”She closed the store and they walked to the new cafe in silence. The letter felt heavy in her coat pocket, and so, despite the chill, she left her coat off. If Charlotte and Kate were surprised when Hermione showed up with him at her side, they didn’t show it. Charlotte only watched as Malfoy opened the door for her, watched Hermione watch him look about the space. Watch as he shrugged his blazer off and uncuffed his sleeves. When he started to roll them up, she had to look away.
Kate was busy with the electrician, so Charlotte and Hermione got started on the painting without her whilst Malfoy started on the shelves. Hermione forced herself to look everywhere except for him, even when she heard how hard he was hammering the nails into the walls. She wasn’t sure how he knew all these muggle ways of doing things all of a sudden - she wasn’t even sure he had charmed up a shelf in his entire life. Yet when she glanced at the wall behind her, where he was putting the shelves up, he was wielding a level as if he’d done it forever. Damn him and his sheer talent at being good at fucking everything.They stayed there until eleven, and Malfoy didn’t speak a word. He got all the shelves up, though, and then, when Hermione turned to face him, she found he was tugging his sleeves down.
Hermione wasn’t sure when she realised that Malfoy was walking them home, but she guessed it was about five minutes into the twenty minute walk from the new cafe to their building. She knew he was angry with her; she knew she was angry with him. She didn’t like it, this state of not-talking. He didn’t even say goodbye when they got to their building, just waved and stalked off. Hermione was sure he was going to the nearest apparition point.“Jesus,” Charlotte said, and Kate whistled, “what did you say to the poor boy?”“Nothing,” Hermione said. They watched her as she followed them into the building. She felt their stares, threw her hands up in frustration. “I didn’t say anything.”“Then what did he say?”Nothing I can tell you. “He was annoyed I hadn’t told him about the letters earlier. He wanted to do something about it, and doesn’t like that there’s nothing to do.”“Well, I get that,” Charlotte tutted.Kate sighed. “I hate to say this, because I’m fully of the opinion that the man should do all of the work in a heterosexual relationship but… Don’t you think you need to give him something back, Hermione?”“What do you mean?”“I mean, this guy is coming to see you every single week, buying you coffee and cake and candles that smell like you. He's putting up shelves in your friends café. He's there, every week, waiting for you. He makes you laugh, more than I've ever seen you laugh before.”“That’s… It doesn't mean anything.”
“So Malfoy looks at everyone the way he looks at you, does he?”“I can attest that he does not,” Charlotte said as she unlocked their front door. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a murderous expression when he heard about the letters. He looked like he could kill somebody.”He could. He has. Hermione wasn’t stupid: she’d heard the rumours about his activities after getting out of Azkaban. Malfoy had been dark, at one point. It was how she knew he would have understood, if she’d told him…“That’s just Malfoy. That’s his face.”Charlotte laughed. “It’s not his face when he looks at you. Honestly, how can someone so brilliant be so blind?”Hermione dumped her bag on the chair. “Kate, do you have the number for the police report? I need to update it after today.”“Hermione-”“Kate, please.”Hermione took the piece of paper from Kate, shoving the newest letter into the drawer, unopened like the ones from the past two weeks. She walked into her room, closing the door behind her. It wasn’t until she heard the click of the door shutting that she fell back against it, sliding down so she was curled up on the floor. She felt fingers crawling underneath her skin, her muscles tense, her blood boiling.

This is not you, Granger.
She wished she could have told him. Maybe then he’d understand, why she couldn’t place a tracing charm and why she couldn’t let him place a tracing charm and why she couldn’t let him tell Harry. His face when she'd accused him of lying... God, why had she thrown that in his face? Of course, she knew she was safe with him. She felt it, in the way he stopped himself doing magic around her when she asked, in the way he came to her, always. She felt safe, more than she had in seven years.
And now he was probably tired of it. Tired of dealing with the pathetic ex-witch. Tired of holding himself back. If he never came to the store again, she wouldn’t be surprised. In fact, it would be for the better. Malfoy needed a witch. She was sure his ancestors had been turning in their graves over the past two months. They could rest easy now.
Malfoy was done with her. And it was for the better.Everything could back to the way it was. The letters would stop, wouldn’t they? Whoever it was would get over it, they’d realise she was just a normal muggle. Her magic would fall back to sleep again, and she wouldn’t spend her days in half-fiery bliss, feeling as if she was on the edge of a precipice. She could go back to trying to make amends for what she did, what she caused. She hadn’t earned the sort of happiness she felt when he was there, the feeling like she was exactly where she was supposed to be, as if everything that had happened had done so for a reason. She couldn’t have that.
She didn’t deserve it.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Draco couldn’t concentrate.
For two days, he'd been trying to link up the counter-curses he had so far figured out. The post-it notes with each one written in neat, spidery handwriting were stuck to his office wall, a mosaic of spells he had been practicing over and over, repeatedly, without a break. He still hadn’t figured out how they had embedded the imperius curse into the box, but he’d asked those who had experienced it before and the pull was similar. The very same dizziness, the need to follow through, the disregard for any and all consequences.
Over the past month, he had tried twice to enter the room with the box, just to get close enough to it. The second time, he had gotten near enough to really look at it, the dark magic turning his stomach. But then he had reached for his wand in the inner pocket of his robes, and a wave of intent had pulsed over him. He hadn’t heard the voice, so much as felt it.
Let me out.
Having been under the wash of dark magic for most of his life, its effect was not new to Draco. He was an expert at occlusion, a professional at ignoring the pull of curses. He knew the feeling of it writhing against his skin, like a layer of oil being poured over him. It had been vital to survival, living as a Death Eater in Voldemort’s court, to know how to wave it away. Had he been constantly pulled under the sway of dark magic, he would have faded within a month, like all the others did. So, Bella and Snape had trained him, under the request of his mother - and their Lord - to ignore it, that urge. To control every aspect of his emotions and thoughts, slotting himself into boxes, shoving the urges into their own filing cabinet so he could work around it. To become the perfect dark wizard, unable to be conquered. A pet, for Voldemort to wield whenever he wanted.So, sure, the box was tempting. Especially with the latest strain on his occlusion. It wasn’t quite tempting enough for Draco to be pulled under.But he knew that without another wizard - or witch - to help him, the forces of the curse would be too strong for him to break on his own. Organising his mind didn't mean that urge was non-existent; that distraction still crashed into him every time he opened the door to that room. Potter, the ever-willing sacrificial lamb, had offered to help him. Draco, the realist, had known that The Saviour With The Hero Complex would never take a verbal “no”, and had taken his offer. Within five minutes of being in the room with the box, Potter had reached out to touch it. Draco hadn’t slapped him nearly hard enough as he should. Potter hadn’t offered since, and he hadn’t suggested anyone else in his place.As if that wasn't enough, there was the constant irritation of not being in the know. His request for information about the finding of the box - and the Death Eater with it - had been denied repeatedly. Clearly, the meaning of upmost importance was superceded by the meaning of confidential.So, in a way, Draco was stuck.
And not just on the box, either. He was stuck on something else, too.
Or, rather, someone else.
Because whilst Draco was absolutely brilliant at ignoring dark magic, it seemed he had never practised ignoring Hermione Granger. Six years of school and ten years of avoidance and he was still unable to stay away from her. It had been two months since he had strolled into her book store with the aim of getting her to help him with this bloody box. Did he have her helping him? Of course not. Did she have him bringing her coffee and cake and bloody candles? Yes, she absolutely did.
Did Draco mind? No.
He did, though, mind the wash of guilt that he was carrying around with him lately. He knew he wanted to tell her the truth. Lying to her felt almost unnatural, despite him having done it practically their entire acquaintance. But the timings... Draco was too busy liking things. Things like seeing her smile when she saw him, or hearing the way she now said his name -Malfoy - with amusement and happiness and contentment all at the same time. He liked reading the books she gave him and watching her use the pen he’d bought her to write his order on the post-it note titled with just his name. He liked being with her.
Liked it too much, he knew. He should not have been so comfortable avoiding using magic. The whole point, after all, had been to get her using magic again, not showing him a life without it. But Draco had always found a challenge in testing his limits, how far he could push his self-control; and she had always been a subject of failure on that part. His term-time training under Snape had focused, mostly, around her, and now he could test it in person. The feeling of magic between them, the sense that it was desperate to be freed, crafted. He liked the thrum of it under his skin, the buzz of it in the air. He really liked leaning closer to her, so he could test out just how much he could make his blood simmer before he exploded, before he finally reached out to touch her.He had been planning - again - to tell her this week. The box was getting out of control. In just two weeks, five more people - all dark magic experts, used to the pull of a curse - had reached out to the box. Draco had been called from his flat each time to try to stop them, seconds late. Within a matter of hours, they would be squirming under the sectumsempra curse, the effect getting rapidly stronger each time. He had broken each one and gone onto the next. As much as he hated it, it was the only real lead he had.But he couldn’t do it without her. It wasn't just her magic, it was her - the sunlight she would bring into the room, the distraction from the dark waves of magic. She'd always been a focus for him. He needed her. But he also needed her, separate from her curse-breaking abilities.
Well, he had been going to tell her. Until he’d entered her shop to find both Granger and Charlotte in states of panic, the latter trying desperately to shake Ganger out of her clear panic attack. Draco had extensive experience with this; both he and the rest of the snakes had had to draw each other out of them plenty of times. He also knew that, what with Granger’s blockade against her magic, it was only a matter of time before some of it leaked. It had been suffocating, practically set the air alight. So, he’d sent Charlotte away, brought Granger back to herself.
And then, the bloody letters. Merlin, why hadn’t she told him? Didn’t she trust him? Wasn’t that the whole point? He thought this, and then that ocean of guilt crashed over him again. She shouldn’t trust him. He was lying to her.
Her face when she’d accused him of lying… He knew what she’d seen in him. He knew he’d pulled back, had done it on purpose. His anger at her, for not protecting herself. His anger at himself, for failing. Draco felt like they were back at Hogwarts, his constant fear that something would happen to her, that he wouldn’t be able to stop it. Like he was on the edge of a precipice, no option but to follow her over, just to ensure that if she crashed, he was with her.So, he couldn’t concentrate. Because he was lying to her, and because he couldn’t keep her safe. She wouldn’t let him.
But he would help her. He’d do whatever he had to, to keep her safe. If that meant finding her stalker and ensuring they could never lay eyes on her again, he’d do it. However he had to. He was already lying to her. If he had to continue doing so to keep her alive and safe, he’d do that. No matter what it did to his sleeping pattern.
Draco knew she’d never forgive him when she found out. He’d brought this very option up, and she’d shut it down. Here he was, doing it anyway. But he had to protect her.“Malfoy,” Potter said tiredly when Draco entered his office. Draco shut the door, cast a wordless silencio, and fell into the spare seat just as tiredly. For a moment, they both sat, equally exhausted and frustrated. Draco never thought he’d find himself on the same wavelength as the Chosen One. Eventually, Potter ruffled some papers on his table.
“The latest victim seems to be doing well,” he said, “The stasis charms you showed the healers are working a treat, although they’re having to be placed more and more frequently. The diagnostics on their brain are not looking good, though, and I’ve scoured the archives for anything simi-”“She has a stalker.”Potter paused, looking up at him. “Excuse me?”“Granger.” Draco tried to keep his facial expression neutral, walls up. “She has a stalker.”Potter sighed, shaking his head. “How many times do I have to tell you, Malfoy? We’re not stalking her. And even if we were, why do you even care?”“I’m seeing her.” He tutted at himself internally. “I mean, not seeing seeing her. I’ve seen her. Weekly.”He brushed some lint off his trousers, waiting for Potter to start interrogating him. If there was one thing Draco could commend Potter for, it was his protective nature. He would understand why Draco was betraying her. To keep her safe.
“Why?”“Why what?”“Why are you seeing her?”Draco met his gaze. It was not a subject they had ever approached directly, although they had come close. Back when they had still been at school, the start of fifth year, after he’d spent a full day listening to the Weasel throw around ridiculous ideas for a birthday present for her. Draco had waited until the Weasel had left and gone up to Potter himself to make a suggestion. He hadn’t stuck around, but he’d seen her open what he’d told Potter to get from across the Great Hall. It had probably been the only moment of decency between them - it had been one of the few moments that Draco had actively broken one of Snape’s rules regarding Granger. He’d gotten a nice, long legilimency session for that one.Even before that, there had been the Yule Ball, of course. Potter hadn’t been the only one who noticed how Draco hadn’t stopped staring at her. A few weeks later had been the time Potter had opened the Gryffindor portrait in the dead of night to find Draco trying to wrangle Crookshanks back inside after the little demon had gone on a week-long trip to only-Mlerin-knows-where, leaving Granger to stumble about the castle looking for the damned thing. Draco had had to tell the other snakes that he'd scratched his face in his sleep.Then there was the time in sixth year, when Draco had known that Potter was probably not coming back to school and without him, neither would she. When Draco had cornered Potter and told them that if he let Hermione get hurt, Potter wouldn’t need to wait for the Dark Lord to kill him. Draco would have found him and done it himself.Didn’t matter, though. Draco had let Bellatrix harm her, and he had watched. He didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as her. Even his actions following his trial weren’t enough to make up for what he’d let happen to her. The things he’d done, almost landing him straight back in Azkaban. To his father, and Dolohov… Because he knew they would never stop, and she’d never be safe. Because he wanted to protect her.“She has a stalker,” he said again, “and she won’t do anything about it.”“That doesn’t sound like Hermione.”“Yes, well, she’s not exactly been herself these past few years, has she?”“Well,” Potter moved his papers to the side, clearly aware that Draco would not be talking about the box any time soon, “tell me about it.”Draco told him what he knew, which, really, wasn’t much. The argument had started before he could get much out of her, her tendency to avoid confrontation and hard truths too strong to let slide, even for him. Letters. What kind of muggle sent letters? Didn’t they have those ridiculous little boxes to send things? It would have been much easier to find out who it was if he hadn’t been sending bloody letters.“You need to get a hold of those letters,” Potter said, leaning back in his chair.
“I can’t do that. She won’t give them to me.”“You’ve stolen things before.”“Not from her.”“What if-”“No, Potter.”“Maybe if I spoke to her, she’d-”“That’s not happening.” Draco stared at a spot above Potter’s head. The Saviour paused.“She doesn’t know you’re working with me, does she?”“No. And I’d prefer it to stay that way.”“Why?” Potter raised an eyebrow when Draco glared at him. “If you want my help, Malfo-”“It’s her,” Draco reminded him. “She was your best friend. You’re going to look into this whether or not I answer your stupid questions.”“Are you in love with her?”Draco pushed himself out of the chair, too frustrated to sit still. He found himself looking out of Potter’s window, the glass pane stretching from floor to ceiling. He could see the Thames, imagined he could see the bookshop even further away. It was about this time that he would usually be heading over there, stopping by the café to grab her a coffee. He wondered if she was waiting for him, if she still wanted him to come see her. He hadn’t failed to notice her avoiding him after their argument, especially when he had rolled his sleeves up. That had been stupid, he’d quickly decided, but couldn’t take it back. How dare he destroy the air between them by allowing his Dark Mark to show.“Malfo-”“It doesn’t matter, Potter,” Draco stopped him. “It doesn’t matter what I feel or think or do. All that matters is that she is safe. Do you understand?”He heard a sigh, and then Potter joined him at the window. “I understand. I’ll have it looked into. We checked on her just last month. Nothing’s been seen but…”“How could a muggle stalker get past her wizarding stalkers?”“Unless it’s not a muggle.” Draco frowned at him, and he shrugged. “Just a thought.” Draco hummed, headed for the door. “Draco.” At his given name, Draco paused, hand on the door handle. “If she finds out you lied to her, she’ll never forgive you.”Draco checked his walls, found that even at the mention of it, her hurting, they had crumbled, just slightly. Fixed the cracks, straightened.
“Funnily enough, I’m fully aware of that, Potter.”“Is it worth it? You’ll never convince her to come back. You won’t convince her, but you will hurt her. So is it worth it?”Draco turned back to face the Saviour, the boy who he’d hated at school. The boy his father had told him to either befriend or destroy. The boy Draco had depended on to protect her, threatened when he thought he wasn't doing it well enough. Draco had spent most of his school years jealous of Harry Potter - first, for being so bloody beloved, despite constantly breaking the rules. Then, for being so good at everything and so damn lucky. Then, for getting so much time with her, for getting to be close to her without sneers and glares, for having her. His jealousy had always outweighed his hatred, until it had been physically painful to watch them together, until he'd had to try and avoid them, the sight of her smiling at that pathetic ginger twat making him nauseous.
And now, jealous that Potter could so easily let her go. Because Draco could never do that.“If it keeps her safe,” he said, eventually. “I’ll have her hate me if it keeps her safe.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

She must have known it was him when he arrived, because he had to buzz four times before she answered. Her voice was sure through the - what had she called it, the intercom. Sure, despite the shakiness of it. Gryffindor bravery, peeking through. He wondered how long it would take for it to set alight, for her lioness claws to scratch him, how hard he would have to push to see her how she was before.“Hello?”“Granger, let me in.”“Who is this?”
“Are you-” He placed a hand on the wall, leaning into it. Pulled all the determination he had in him, every cell that made him, not to lose his mind at her. His mother would be proud - she'd always hated his outbursts, his lack of patience. “Let me in. We need to talk.”“Sorry, I’m busy.”“If you don’t open this door, I’ll depulso it open myself.”“It’s a Muggle building.”
There was a tap on his shoulder, and he nodded at the person waiting behind him, a large box in their hands. Draco smelled food, his stomach churning. He hadn't eaten since that morning, when Blaise had shoved a pastry under his nose. If he was honest, Draco had only eaten it to get his friend to shut up.“Think I give a shit?” he said, eyeing the box. “Try me.”“I’m not sure what you think I can do for you.”“I just want to talk. Preferably without screaming at each other.”“We didn't scream at each other.”“Really?” he murmured. “Felt like it.”“I think you should go.”“Granger, just let me- Will you fuck off?” He turned to the person waiting after another quick tap on his shoulder. “Can’t you see I’m talking to somebody?”“Just leave, Malfoy.”He heard the click of the phone, swore. Let the man holding the box of food past him with a quick glare. He watched, carefully, as the man pressed a button, called through the intercom for pizza. When the door clicked open, Draco followed him through.
Did she think he would give up, just like that? He was angry at her, sure. He wouldn’t leave her, though, open and exposed. He’d done that before, ended up forced to watched as she writhed on the floor of his Manor. Never again would he depend on somebody else to protect her, to watch over her, to fail her. He had vowed, seeing her standing at his trial, to do whatever it took to keep her safe. She didn't have to like him, she didn't even have to see him. But she had to live.Granger opened the door when he knocked, and, just like every other time, he had to take a moment to make sure his walls were in place. She unraveled him so easily, with just her gaze. Even when she looked at him like they did now; vulnerable, almost scared. Not of him, he knew, but what he would say. The truths he would throw in her face.She’d have to get used to it.“How did you get in?”“I told you to try me.”“You did not depul-”“Never heard of an unlocking charm, Granger?”“That doesn’t work on automated locks, I- hey!”“What the fuck is this?”He’d pushed past her, knowing she’d close the door on his face at the first opportunity. Draco held the envelope up between them, the entire reason he’d instantly forgotten his vow to give her space. He hadn’t been planning to come over here today: he didn’t think he’d be able to look at her, knowing he’d done exactly what she’d begged him not to. The guilt that had weighed down on him as he'd left Potter's office was suffocating, but necessary. He'd bear anything, any emotion or weight or curse.Then he'd shown up at home, opened the mailbox charmed to bring any letters from the Manor straight to his flat. He had used the same charm he had in sixth year, when he'd fixed that stupid wardrobe. At first, he'd been confused, the logo of Granger's bookshop stamped haphazardly across the cover, as if she'd spent barely a second writing it. Then he'd opened it, seen the invoice, knew exactly what it was; a send-off. A goodbye. And now, it seemed he could absolutely look at her, his anger writing over his guilt.“It looks like a letter.” This bloody witch.
“Did you owl this to the Manor?”She rolled her eyes. “I sent it in the mail, Malfoy. The Royal Mail? It do-”He let out a groan, the urge to rip his hair out suddenly strong. “I don’t care, Granger.”“Well, you asked.”“Are you taking the piss with this?” He held it up again. “One argument, and you want me gone?”“You owe me money!”“As if I wouldn’t pay you?”“You aren’t paying me!” He rolled his eyes, and she gaped at him. “This is my livelihood, Malfoy.”“This isn’t about the money, and you know it.”“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”“You really tho-” At a sudden pain in his ankle, Draco grimaced, let out a hiss of pain. Looked down to see Crookshanks, swiping his ankle again, hackles raised. Swearing, he stepped to the side, fighting the urge to kick the bastard thing away from him. She'd never forgive him for that, certainly.
“This fucking cat.” It followed him, letting out a strange, scary sound, and Draco flinched backwards, memories of running through the corridors of Hogwarts flashing through his mind. He hadn’t been overdramatic when he’d told her that her cat had tried to kill him, on multiple occasions, even that time he'd saved it from being snatched up by a wild dog on the outskirts of the forbidden forest. As Granger swiped her familiar up off of the floor, he made sure the cat was looking in his direction when he sent his best glare.“He doesn’t like that you’re shouting at me.”Draco gaped at her. “What about you shouting at me?”
“He doesn’t care about you.”Draco felt like telling her everything then, and not just the times he'd kept her stupid demon-feline from being killed or lost. He felt like screaming it at her, the years she'd spent oblivious to him, the things he'd done to keep it that way. Draco had never felt so emotionally charged, so willing to let his walls crash around him. Snape would have been sick at the sight of him, now. Undone because of her.“Put the fucking demon down, Granger, and talk to me.”“No.”“I’m not going to leave. You can’t push me away just because you don’t like what I say to you.”“That’s not what I’m doing.”“Funny, that’s what it feels like.”“Why are you here?” She dropped Crookshanks on the floor as he squirmed, reacting to the volume of her voice. “You have an out, Malfoy, I’m giving you one.”“I never asked for one!”“I don’t care!” she screamed now. “I don’t care what you asked for! You think I asked for this?”“You think I did?”He hadn't. Asked for this, that was. Seeing her now, sure he had. His actions had led to this, the strange, unlabelled relationship he had built with her. But before that, his obsession with her, his need for her. He hadn’t asked for it. He hadn't worked particularly hard to fight it, but he certainly hadn't wanted it. She was his penance, his punishment. Not having her was the hardest thing he'd ever done, especially now he knew her.“You came to me, Malfoy.”“Why do you think I did that?”“I don’t know, books?”He knew his occlusion was wavering, knew she saw it. Draco’s desperation, his anger, was rising to the surface, pressing against his skin and the backs of his eyes, words settling on the tip of his tongue. It was almost painful.
“Is that all you think this is?”
Don’t say it. Draco wasn’t sure what he'd do if she said yes, of course that’s all this is. That she didn’t want anything more from him. Suddenly the need to have her, after all this time, was stronger than all else, just in this room, in this moment. He knew he’d regret that later, when he was present and calm enough to remind himself of what truly mattered. That he’d had more of her than he’d ever deserved, and to beg her for more would be wrong.
But it was more, wasn’t it? That look in her eyes… he’d never seen her look at anyone like that before. She wasn’t an actress, was barely a liar. Even if the depth of his feelings were one-sided, there was certainly something pulling them together. Draco didn’t need a label for it, or a name, it felt older than that. Something intrinsic and fateful, like they should have been doing it the whole time. She was the first thing he thought of when she woke, different now than before. Back then, the knowledge of her had been somewhat distant, just a constant part of him. Now, she was like a lifeline, like something he needed, desperately and acutely.
“I don’t know,” she said again, and he felt his blood slowing, felt his heart failing. “I don’t know what this is, I don’t know what you want from me.”“I don’t want anything from you, Granger. I just want you to be safe.”“I don’t need magic to be safe!”“You do right now!” He was throwing his hands around, he noticed, in case physical movements shocked her back to herself. “Maybe you didn’t a few months ago. I wasn’t here then, but I’m here now. I can protect you.”“I don’t need you!”“I know,” he said. He forced his voice to soften, even as his hand reached up despite himself, even as he stepped closer, slowly. “I know you don’t. But you have me, anyway.”The feeling of her against his fingertips sent a spark through him, and when she didn’t pull away, he took it further. Wrapped his hand around her wrist. Stepped so he was close enough so that when she titled her head to look at him, his breath hit her forehead. Draco bowed his own over her, needing her gaze on his, silver to amber. Knew his breathing quickened, the closest he’d ever been to what he’d always wanted.“You have me,” he said once more, words whispered against her skin. “I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to. Hermione, I ca-”She kissed him, he was sure of it. He’d never have taken advantage of her like that, not when he just wanted to talk to her. He’d planned this moment practically every time he’d seen her at school, after that bloody ball. The things he’d do, say. The confessions he'd commit to her, the truths he'd allow. The way he would touch her. It wouldn’t be during an argument, after words of anger.
It felt just like he’d imagined it would, though.Like the word finally put into action. As if they had been running away from the wrong things, in the wrong directions. His hands landed on her hips, letter forgotten. Her own drifted up his shoulders, over his jaw, holding him in place as she titled her head. At her touch, a long-awaited groan escaped his throat, his tongue reaching out to test her.When she opened for him, letting him deepen the kiss, he knew he gasped into her mouth. The taste of her… mind-altering. Life changing. He would never be the same.Finally.Running a hand to the small of her back, he pressed her into him, felt her take that step. Felt her move her own grip, pushing her fingers through his hair, his breath faltering at the feeling of it. She swallowed his moans, molding her body against his.Finally.Twisted his fingers into her curls, the ends of them, pulling her head back so he could kiss her harder. It was passionate, hard, unending. There was no hesitation, or doubt, or fear - they didn’t have time for that. They had lost so much already.Finally.He wanted her all over him. He wanted her hands in places that already had her name on, written in imaginary ink. He wanted to feel her, ingrain her into his memory so he knew-“Wait,” he murmured it against her lips, even as he was stepping back, just an inch. Kept his hands on her hips to hold her as he searched her face. Close enough to see the wash of hazel through her eyes.
“I didn’t come here for this,” he told her.
“Why did you come here?”Because he was angry. Because he wanted to make sure she didn’t think her letter would work on him, that he wouldn’t let her push him away like the others had. Because he wanted to save her.
“To try and talk some sense into you.” When her hands fell from his jaw, lightly moving to press against his chest, he thought his heart stuttered, broke at the feeling of it. “I just want to understand. I don’t need all of it, just… Give me something, Hermione.”At his words, something flashed in her eyes. Draco, designed and trained to detect emotion, couldn't read it. Couldn't place what it was that she was keeping from him, the haunting that was hanging over her like a shroud. Dimming her golden light, just slightly.
“My parents…” Her eyes started to glisten, and his breaths came faster, for a while new reason. No, no, don’t cry. “It’s my fault they’re dead.”“That’s not-”“Its true. The magic I used on them went wrong, and they died. If I hadn’t… They would still be alive if I hadn’t…”
She trailed off, and he didn't know what to say. Knew there was nothing he could say, even if he knew what she meant. To hold such guilt, he knew what that felt like. The crushing weight of it, the constant shadow of self-hatred. The words that split you in two every time you so much as thought them.
“I don’t want to use magic,” she reminded him.“You won’t have to,” he said. “Let me.”
She watched him for a moment. “If I were Muggle, it wouldn’t be an option.”“You’re not Muggle, Granger. You’re a witch. One of the best. And you have the second best here, trying to help you.” His words were soft now, his hand reaching up to push her hair back from her face. She was clutching his shirt in her hands.
A sob wracked through her body at his touch, what he’d longed for. What he wanted, right there in front of her. But not how he’d imagined it.“I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.” She swallowed; he saw her throat move before she looked down, bowing her head.. “You should go.”
The first crack splintered his heart.“Don’t tell me to leave if it’s not what you want, Hermione. "“It’s…” She stole her touch back from him, wrapped it around herself in a hug. “It’s what I want.”
The words that broke him, finally. It felt a little like watching her sneer at him across the classroom, but worse. So much worse. Draco didn’t know what to say, what to think. He knew she was lying; he always knew. But she had said it, and it couldn’t be taken back.So, he dropped his hands. Let his touch linger as her curls drifted through his fingers. Ensured he commited the feel of her to memory. Tried not to break as her eyes fluttered open, to force himself to step back even as the tears started to fall over her cheeks. As he knew that he wasn’t giving her what she truly wanted, just what she had asked for.He turned away, before he fell to his knees in front of her. Left her flat, before he begged her to let him save her. Disapparated, before he told her everything, from the start. Crashed into his own apartment, the eerie silence leaving a ringing in his ears.He might have feel to his knees, had he allowed it. But he was his father's son, Snape's protegé, Bella's toy. He might be feeling his heart ripped from his chest, but that's all it was. A feeling.
Finally.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“They’re getting worse.” Kate bit her lip as Hermione shoved the latest letter into the drawer, opened her laptop to add it to the police report.“I see that.”“When did you last leave the house?”Hermione didn’t want to answer that; she hadn’t left the flat, aside from work. On the days where Charlotte couldn’t stay with her, she closed it, figuring it would be quiet enough. Not wanting to risk him showing up when she was alone. She had enough in savings that she was covered, for now.
Hermione hadn’t felt this vulnerable in years. Not since school, really, or during the war. After her parents, she’d been grieving, of course. But it was a different sort of feeling to being physically scared of something, knowing that she couldn’t protect herself. Then, she had felt sort of distant, like there was a rift between her body and her self. Now, she just felt… exposed. Shadowed.
Let me help you.Malfoy hadn’t been back to the shop since he’d found out about the letters - since he’d come to her and she’d told him to leave. It was as Hermione had expected. She was determined to let him move on; it hadn’t even been two months since his first visit. She refused to get hung up on him, especially when she had asked him for this. She knew she wasn’t being fair on him, but she had to do this. She had to put some distance there, before he became too… real. Before she was so hyper-focused on him that everything else faded into colourful, silver blurs.Difficult, though, to distract herself when she couldn’t go anywhere without feeling eyes on her. Without having to check over her shoulder every five seconds. It felt similar to seventh year, when they’d been on the run, living in tents, fighting for their lives. Always wondering if there was somebody behind them, or around the corner, or past that door. Going to sleep wondering if you would be allowed four hours of rest, or maybe even five, before having to move again. Spending hours and hours on wards and protection charms, only to have Harry tell her they needed to leave. It had been exhausting then. It was draining now.
It was horrible. Suffocating. So she’d been staying inside. And Malfoy had not come back.Kate sighed. “I think we need to discuss what we do next.”“There’s nothing we can do, Kate.”“You still haven’t told us what Malfoy suggested to get you so angry at him.”“He…” Hermione groaned, moved to fall on the sofa. Crookshanks hissed but clambered onto her lap. “He wanted to call an old friend.”“Which one?”“Harry.”
Kate tutted. Hermione had told her how she’d left things with Harry and Ron - not the why, of course, and not without too many details to raise suspicions but enough. Kate also knew that Hermione’s time at school hadn’t been exactly normal - all the summers of sleepovers where Hermione just didn’t sleep, or the times Hermione would go months without getting back to her, or how she’d come home during the holidays looking thin and anxious.Then there were the years after the war, before her parents died. The daily panic attacks, the paranoia, the fear. Kate didn’t need to ask; she was just there.
But it did give her a skewed impression of Hermione’s old friends. Kate and Malfoy would probably have a lot to talk about.“Why Harry?”“He has connections.” Hermione gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Guess Malfoy thinks he has enough to do something.”“Find the guy?” When Hermione have another shrug, Kate said, “What’s the problem, Hermione?”“I don’t want Harry involved. I don’t want anyone from school involved.”“Why?”“It doesn’t matter why, Kate. It’s how I feel.”“But we can’t do nothing! I’m worried, Hermione. More than you are apparently.”“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”“We have to. You can’t only leave the house to go to work, that’s not okay. What about next weekend, for instance?”“Next weekend… oh, shit!” Hermione groaned. “I completely forgot. I'm sorry, Kate."“I really want you there.”“I’ll be there.”“But you can’t spend weeks holed up in fear and then come to a party, Hermione. That’s not healthy.”“I’ll be fine. It’ll be busy, there will be people there and…” and no stalker will out themselves at a party.“I want you to enjoy yourself.”“I will.”
Kate shook her head slowly. “If you don’t feel safe coming, then-”“Kate, it will be fine. It doesn’t matter. I’ll go out tomorrow, and it’ll be fine.”Hermione stood, grabbing Crookshanks and moving towards her bedroom. She was exhausted anyway, strangely so considering she hadn’t left the house or done anything or worth today.
It was early; she got into bed anyway. With Crooks laid up at her feet, she felt somewhat homely, even with her heart racing. She hated having these conversations, especially when she couldn’t be fully honest. Kate couldn’t know why Hermione didn’t want to chase this stalker down so badly; ten years ago, she would have done just that. Even seven years ago. Not for herself, but to ensure the safety of those around her.But she wasn’t that witch anymore. She wasn’t throwing herself into the face of danger, or fighting her enemies, or risking her life. She had spent years fighting a war that wasn’t hers. All she wanted was safety.Peace.
*“What in Merlin’s name is wrong with you?”
Draco glared at Potter, just as a stapler flew into the wall by the door. Potter looked at it, stared at Draco in shock.“Was that on purpose?”“Maybe.”Potter tutted, shutting the door behind him. “I take it this is to do with Mione.”“You know, I don’t recall inviting you into my office.”“Until the Ministry hires you as a permanent employee, this isn’t your office.” He sighed. “Did you tell her, then? About working with me?”“No.”“So it’s not that.” He clicked his tongue. “Did you try to steal the letters?”“No.”Potter hummed in thought. “Clearly something's happened.”“Not sure it's any of your business.”“When it's affecting your work, and that of my colleagues, it's my business.” He paused. “You pushed her too hard, didn’t you?”“No!” Draco almost snarled it, then sighed in resignation. If the Saviour wasn't going to leave him alone, he might as well use him. “I’m barely pushing at all.”Potter shook his head slowly. “You know, you might have spent years watching her, but I was with her. Every day. I know her better than you.”“Do you?”
“She’s stubborn.”“Shocking. Your best friend for ten years and all you can say is that she’s stubborn.” Draco scoffed. “You really are a prat.”Potter shook his head. “You think you know just how far it goes, but you don’t. When she chooses something, she sticks with it. Even more so than you know. She made this decision, and she won’t budge. Mione won’t just give up because you ask her to.”“I didn’t ask her to-” He took a deep breath in, steeled himself. “You know, I really don’t need you advice, Potter "The Chosen One shrugged and Draco wanted to hit him. “Well, just take it from me. The harder the push, the less you’ll get.”“If you're not going to be useful, get out.”Potter paused at the door, hand on the frame. “You won't like this, but I'm going to say it anyway. Maybe you should tell her the truth. I know apologising isn't really your strong suit, but if you just tried. You could practise with me, if you wa-”Draco threw the stapler again. Potter left his office, finally, and Draco waved his hand to lock the door after it closed. It hardly mattered what advice he got now; she’d been clear with what she wanted.
Draco didn’t go to the shop that week. He couldn’t face her, not after that kiss. At least, not until he’d placed her in her pretty little box in his mind. Until he was sure she couldn’t see through him. He’d been stupid to go to her flat, stupid to think she’d still want to see him. Maybe he had pushed her too hard. Either way, he was determined to stay away this time, no matter what she sent him.That is, until he found Kate standing outside his building talking with Blaise.
He had left work late tonight, more practice on the counter-curses. Draco had reluctantly allowed Potter to listen and learn, with the small chance of the Saviour becoming useful enough to help him break the box. He was exhausted, run-down. He hadn’t slept properly all week, and his mood… It was somewhat worse than when they'd been at school, when he'd not know what it was like to be near her.Anyway, he’d decided to walk home rather than floo, to try and clear his head. Didn’t work, of course. His mind was full of her, his skin heated despite the chill of the air, and he almost took a left when he was supposed to go right. Almost headed straight to her flat to see if she was there, to tell her everything, to get on his knees and beg her for forgiveness. Beg her for something, anyway. Potter had told him he’d had some of his men check on her more regularly, staffed up her watch to ensure that nobody could get close to her. But he wasn’t sleeping, couldn’t eat, for the thought of something hurting her. For the thought of hurting her himself.Blaise’s laughter drifted up to him as he turned the corner onto his street. The snake had been staying with him since the engagement party, an unspoken agreement they had come to. Draco could admit to himself that it was nice to have the company. When Draco saw Kate standing opposite him, waving her hands around like she did when she talked, it was almost enough to have Draco turning around and apparating to anywhere else on the goddamn planet.
Instead, he walked up to them, glaring a little at Blaise over Kate’s head. His so-called friend grinned.
“Speak of the devil,” Blaise said. Kate turned to face him. She did not look happy. “We’ve just been talking about you.”“I’m sure.”“Where have you been?” Kate asked him immediately. He fought the urge to roll his eyes, stalked straight past her and used his fob to open the doors. “Malfoy!”
Ignoring her calls, he stepped into the elevator. Damned Blaise, he stopped the doors from closing, motioning for Kate to step inside and followed her. Draco wanted to punch him in the face.“Hermione’s been waiting for you all week-”“I’ve been busy. Besides, Granger has never waited for me.” He glanced over, saw Blaise’s eyebrows raise at the mention of the witch. “She doesn’t need me.”“If you truly think that then you’re even stupider than I originally thought.”“Did you come here for a reason, Kate?”“She’s still getting letters. They’re getting worse-”Draco stormed out of the elevator and up to his door, the only door on the floo. The door itself was charmed to open only to the touches of those allowed through the wards, so he didn’t need to use a key. He was too tired and annoyed to wonder if Kate noticed.
“Granger made it clear that she doesn’t want me involved.”“She might have said that, but she didn’t mean she wanted you gone, Malfoy!” Kate let out a strange cry, sort of like a groan, and Malfoy faced her. She stood in his doorway, Blaise leaning against the doorjamb, watching her. Draco suddenly wondered if that was how he looked at Granger; hungry. Dangerously curious.“That’s exactly what she said, actually.”Kate hesitated. “She didn’t mean it.”“What do you want from me, Kate?”“She’s miserable, Malfoy. She’d never admit it, of course, but she’s barely leaving the flat. I’m worried about her. I know you must be, too.”“Kate-”“Just come and talk to her.”“Tried that. It didn't work. She doesn’t want me there.”“The cafe is opening next week,” she said quickly, “I’m having a party, obviously. You could come and see her. Or… see the shelves you put up.” Draco saw Blaise’s eyebrows raise again. He was definitely going to punch him. “Please. You can bring-”“Sorry, Kate, I’m busy.” He wasn’t. “I hope it goes well. Blaise will see you out.”He went into his bedroom, closed the door. That wasn’t enough space, so he went into his bathroom, closed the door. Turned on the shower and undressed, stepped into it. His muscles were tensed, so much so he was shaking. Leaning his palms against the wall, he bowed his head, forced his breathing to even out. Imagined his frustration leaking from him, spilling into the wall. Heard the tile cracking under his touch. A trick Sanpe had taught me later in school, when his emotions had been getting out of control. When he'd felt like he was losing.
Blaise was waiting for him, glass of whiskey already on the coffee table when Draco sauntered into the living room. Draco downed his drink, grabbed the bottle from the drinks cabinet and fell back into the sofa.
“She seemed lovely,” Blaise said with a smile. Draco started preparing plans to bury his body. “I take it she’s a friend of Granger’s?”“Yes.”“You know, I knew something was up with you this week. Why didn't you say you were seeing her?”“It’s not important.”“Nothing regarding Hermione Granger has ever been not important with you.” Blaise watches him for a moment, face passive. “So, tell me then.”“Tell you what?”“She's obviously said something to upset you.”“Blaise-”“You haven't been in this shitty of a mood since she let Mclaggen escort her to Slughorn’s part in sixth year.”Draco rolled his eyes. “That was just ridiculous. Everyone was annoyed."“Come on, then, out with it. What, did you disagree on who the best Hogwarts founder was?”“It’s none of your business.”“I see she’s hanging out with muggles more nowadays.”“How observant of you.”“I shouldn’t be surprised - if I’d spent seven years being Harry Potter and Ron Weasley’s lapdog, I think I’d-”“Don't fucking talk about her like that.”
“Alright, alright,” Blaise held his hands up, “Maybe that was a bit too far. I’ll admit, I always go to Granger when I’m trying to get a rise out of you, but you make it so easy, Draco.”Draco closed his eyes, leaned his head back. Imagined his walls being coated in molten iron, resilient to any touch, even hers. Especially hers.“Draco, mate,” he felt Blaise sit down next to him, “talk to me.”“She hates me.”“Yeah, what’s new?”“She hates me, that’s fine. But she won’t even let me help her. This guy could be anyone, Blaise, and she doesn’t even care. She’s in danger and she just doesn’t care.”“There’s a guy?”“Someone’s been sending her letters, to her house, to the store. I suggested doing a tracing spell and she-”
“She what?”“She freaked out, obviously.” Malfoy stood up to pace. “I’m lying to her, constantly. She has no idea that I’m working with Potter, no idea that he knows where she is, even though she told him to leave her alone-” He paused, let out a small laugh. “O guess there;’s no point in keeping her secret any more, she already thinks I’ve broken my promise.”“What did you promise?”“I told her I’d keep her safe,” Draco murmured. Took another drink.
“You’ve managed it well so far.”Draco laughed again. “Tell that to Granger. Or her friends, who are convinced she’s about to be murdered by some creepy stalker.”“Why wouldn’t she just do the tracing spell herself?”Draco sighed. “She doesn’t do magic any more.”“What?”“She doesn’t do magic. So I don’t do magic around her. I mean, I’ve done some light charms, but nothing massive. And she still goes all tense and funny. So when she’s being stalked, there’s nothing I can do, save from stapling myself to her side every second of the day, which I obviously can’t do, even if she wanted me to.” Draco groaned. “She isn’t safe. I’m lying to her, and she’s not even safe.”“So, tell her the truth. She already hates you, why not give her another reason?”“I can’t tell her. I can’t see her face when I tell her.”“So, send her a letter.”“I think she’s avoiding her mail right now.”“Well, I don’t think avoiding her has ever done you any good. Besides I want to see more of this friend. What was her name, Katie?”“Kate. Since when were you over the She-Weasel?”“Since I told her that I was in love with her.”Draco sat up spilling some of the whiskey as he did so. “You told her?”“Yes.”“And what did she say?”Blaise paused, Draco looked over to see him working his jaw. Tensing.“She said she knew.”“She knew?”“For years, actually.”“So, she knew, and just did nothing?”“More than nothing, really. She kept me, just in case her and the Chosen One didn’t work out.” He laughed once, shook his head. “Like I was on a chain, or something. Like seventh year."“Blaise, I-”“It doesn’t matter, Draco. It gave me what I needed. I can’t love someone who would do that to me, for so long.”“So, what now?”“Now, I find somebody else to latch onto. I’ve already chosen somebody.” Blaise grinned at me. “She said I could come with you next week”“Well, you’re going alone. Granger wouldn’t want me there.”“When have you ever cared what Granger wanted? The whole point has always been to keep her safe, hasn’t it?”Draco paused, finished his drink. “Yes.”“I doubt she would have wanted you to traipse across the globe scourging Death Eaters in her name, but you did that.” Draco glared at him. “Or direct all of Umbridge’s attention onto you every time she was around. Or cause trouble on her prefect rounds so she-”“I get it, Blaise, thanks.”“I’m just reminding you.”“Of what?”“Of the fact that staying away from her is no good, is it? We’re going. And if you don’t get your girl, I’ll certainly get one of my own.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hermione didn’t want to admit it, but the shelves were her favourite part of Kate’s new café, now aptly named House of Joe. The dark wood contrasted nicely against the pale grey walls, the forest green of the ivy plants Kate had sat atop them. Some of the books propped up on those shelves were from Hermione’s own shop, all greens and brown spines. There were even printed out publications of Charlotte’s first and most recent reports, snippets of the people Kate loved most.
Kate’s first cafe had come with conditions; the previous owner, although old and wanting to move to the coast, was happy to sell it for cheap, but under one condition. He’d wanted the décor to largely stay the same, his very own legacy, a haunting of his and his wife’s time there. Kate had taken the offer reluctantly, but kept true to her word.House of Joe, however, was all Kate. She’d taken the little bits that she’d been allowed to do to her first café, and imploded within herself. It was chaotic and lovely, filled with all the things Kate had wanted. They had spent the last two months putting everything together, and it had turned out perfect Hermione felt just as proud as when she’d opened up her own bookshop.
And yet, when Malfoy sauntered through the doorway, Hermione thought she might like to stab her best friend in the hand with a pen. Hard.
That feeling intensified when Malfoy was followed by none other than Blaise Zabini. She hadn’t seen Blaise since school - he hadn’t been at the Battle of Hogwarts, and she hadn’t heard he’d been charged or tried afterwards. In fact, she didn’t hear anything of Blaise after school. It was like he’d broken down into oblivion, into quiet and calm. But then, he had always been the silent one of their group.
If Malfoy was going to betray her to somebody in his circle, she supposed it could have been worse.
Still, she vowed to ignore them until they left.
Malfoy’s loss had a left a far bigger hole in her life than she'd ever intended. Her shame had built inside her, infecting, pestering. The more Hermione had thought about him, the more it hurt. She'd had to hide away the candle he bought her, placed his post-it note in a cupboard. When the cheque came to the shop, settling his account, she had burst into tears. Not for the first time that day. She felt emotionally unstable, like she was walking a tightrope over a canyon, ready to jump or fall. Of course, the letters didn't help, the feeling that she was a target. That she couldn't leave her home without looking over her shoulder.And now, he was here. Seeing him was like a kick in the stomach, a swift punch to the throat. Her magic lifted to settle just under her skin, ready to be crafted. Hermione tried not to gape, tried not to make it obvious that she had been searching for him every moment since he left. He must have known his effect on her, his eyes finding hers even before he was through the threshold. Hermione tried to ignore the feeling of relief that swept through her at the sight of him. Swallowing, she turned away.Charlotte was at her side in a moment.“Do you want me to kick him?” she asked quickly. Hermione considered it. “Because I can kick him really hard. In the shin.”“No,” Hermione plastered a smile over her face. “How’s Toby?”“They’re fine. They should be here soon.” Charlotte checked her phone.
“That’s nice. I’m looking forward to meeting them.”Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Interrogating them, more like.”“Well, what else can I do? It’s not everyday you bring a partner home.”“Yes, well. If they fuck me over I give you full permission to do some kicking.” She pouted. “Can I at least verbally berate him?”Hermione glanced over to where Malfoy and Blaise were leaning against the counter. When the cafe opened, it would moonlight as a wine room, with live music downstairs and a quieter room upstairs. Kate had spent weeks debating over what to serve, had Hermione and Charlotte testing and tasting until they were tipsy, wine-drunk and giggly.
How was he so blasé? Just one brief look at him and she felt herself unraveling, unspooling like a thread, her restraint dropping bit by bit. And there he was, laughing with his friend like they barely knew each other. As if they were nothing but old school rivals, with no fresh history. No new memories.“Berate away," Hermione said. Charlotte grinned mischievously, took a sip of her wine. Moved towards the bar.Fairy lights across the ceiling twinkled gently,
and Hermione couldn’t look up without being reminded of the ceiling of the Great Hall, the dark blues of the paint they’d chosen for the ceiling reminiscent of the night sky. She hadn’t been back to Hogwarts after the battle, choosing to get her N.E.W.T.s from a distance before heading to university, but she’d always wished she could see it again. Replace the memory of the last time she’d seen it, all the people she’d known lying under sheets…Those memories had been coming up more and more recently. She wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion or stress forcing her down memory lane, but she wanted it gone. She hadn’t been sleeping properly, especially with the letters coming more and more this week. Yesterday there had been three; one at home and two at the store, shoved under her doorway. He - because Olive had told her it was a he - had started dating the letters, now reading more like journal entries. All centred around her. They were starting to get more romantic, talking about dates and the colour of her eyes and the curl of her hair. She wanted to vomit each time, so she’d stopped reading them.
“Hey,” Kate came over, placing her hands on Hermione’s shoulders, “You have your over-thinking face on.”“Why is he here, Kate?”“I invited him,” she crossed her arms over her chest, “I thought it was about time he stopped acting like a prat.”Hermione scoffed. “Impossible.”“I also thought it was time you started dealing with your emotions.”“He doesn't want to talk to me.”“He’s hurt because he thought you wanted him gone.”“That is-” She glanced at him, quickly looked away. “I don't know what to say to him.’“I know, Hermione. I told him so. But he is hurt, and so are you, and I think it’s about time some things got out in the open, don’t you?”“Well, I’m not doing that here.”“Why not?”“It’s your night, Kate.”“It is my night, and I want you to be happy. And I can’t see you being happy when you’re moping about like a scorned lover.”“I am not moping about like a scorned lover.”“Whatever. He’s worried about you, and he’s not expressing it in the right way.”Hermione rolled her eyes. “Can we talk about something else? I’m glad you went with this wine in the end.”“It’s perfect, isn’t it?”“So much better than the white at the Duke of York,” Charlotte said, coming up behind Hermione. “That stuff tastes like piss. I think this will be our new Friday night place, right?”Kate laughed. “No. I think after a few weeks I’ll be sick of this place.”“Have you found a good replacement for the café?”Hermione was listening, she was. And she had her back to the counter, so she couldn’t even see him. But she could feel him, watching her. She always could, like a weight on her shoulders. She couldn’t even be mad; it wasn’t uncomfortable. And she knew she looked nice; she had on a baby blue summer dress that stopped about mid thigh, boots that came up to her knee. She had smoothed her hair so the curls sat nicer, pinned some of it back so they framed her face. She looked nice. But it wasn’t for him. It wasn’t.“I’m not sure if I overdid it with the plants,” Kate mused, “Now that I’m seeing it all busy in here, you know? I think I might move some of them back to the flat.”“No!” Charlotte said. “The whole point of the plant wall was to get them out of the flat.”“Yes, but-”“Charlotte’s right,” Hermione ceded. “But we can talk about that tomorrow. You need to go and mingle, Kate. There are eyes on you.”Kate raised her eyebrows, looking pointedly over Hermione’s shoulder. “I’m not the only one.”So they separated, mingled, and Hermione found herself talking to Kate's younger brother, a recent graduate of the university. He was telling her about his move to Peru to dig for artifacts, when the glass of rose appeared. The bartender gave her a small smile.
Glancing over his shoulder, her gaze landed on that of the man she was avoiding, the sheer intensity of him settling onto her skin with just one look. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her, smirked. Raised his glass in a mock salute. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. It seemed she wasn't the only one avoiding an actual conversation.“Excuse me,” he said, “but this is from the man at the bar. He told me to tell you-”“Please,” she interjected, “I appreciate you’ve probably been told not to leave until I take this, but I’m not having it. In fact, I’ll pay you more to go back there and throw this in his face.”The bartender moved away, and she went back to talking about Peru.
“I mean, I’m not too scared of snakes, but the spiders.” He shivered. “I’m not sure I‘m ready for that.”Hermione smiled, thinking briefly of Ron. All of a sudden, the bartender was back at her elbow, looking sheepish.
“He told me I couldn’t move until you took it.”Hermione sighed and took the glass from him, waving it in the general direction of the bar. The bartender moved away, shower Blaise standing on his own. When he grinned at her, she found it almost contagious. He held his glass up to her, across the distance.She drank the wine.
When the second glass came as she was finishing the first, she found herself feeling tipped over the edge. Suddenly, she needed space. Not air, quite, but certainly space. She took the glass of wine, because the poor bartender looked like he might cry if she didn’t, and then headed for the stairs.The café was three floors, the third was roped off from customers tonight. When the roof had flooded, this attic had seen the worst of it, the floor covered in a wet stain. Kate hadn’t decided what she wanted to do with it yet, and for now had just thrown in the extra beanbags from the second floor. Hermione, though, liked this floor the best already. The sloped ceiling and pillars gave it an older feel, like-Really, she should have known he would follow her. Maybe a subconscious part of her had wanted it, wanted this. The end to their separation. Another reunion. But she groaned when she heard the door open, dropped her head into her hands when she turned to see a streak of platinum, flashes of silver.“You could have brought me the wine yourself, Malfoy,” she said. She heard the door click closed.
“We need to talk.”“I don’t want to talk to you right now.”“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Granger, but we don’t always get what we want.”“I can’t believe you!” she suddenly blurted out. “To tell me I’m safe with you and then turn around and bring another wiz-”“I’m going to assume you don’t want me to silence the room? Because every time I’ve gotten my wand out I’ve thought you were going to feint. Anyone would think the Brightest Witch of Ou-”“Do not call me that.”“Why?” He cocked his head to the side. “Does it remind you of something? Does it make you regret something?”She had the sudden urge to rip her hair out. Only he could make her so angry so quickly, so desperate for some sort of feeling.“Fuck off, Malfoy.”“Oh, come on, Granger, I know you can swing better than that. Where’s the girl who broke my nose, huh?”“Enough of this.” Granger went to move past him, to the door, but he stepped in her way. “Let me out, Malfoy.”She made to move past him, stopped when he grabbed her elbow. Hermione wanted to pull away from him, but the look on his face made her pause, an expression of guarded surprise.“Granger,” he said quietly, “I’m not trying to make you angry.""Then you're failing.""Alright maybe I am, but only because… I want to understand.”“What makes you think you could ever understand?”“I was in Azkaban for a year, or did you forget? I know what it’s like to have your magic suppressed, to have it crawling under your skin. I want to know why you would choose to do this to yourself.”“It’s none of your business.”“It is when you won’t protect yourself!” He seemed to have forgotten whatever it was he saw when he was looking at her, because his face twisted into a snarl.“I can protect myself without magic.”“Can you? Because the sheer uselessness of the muggles around you suggests that that’s not the case.”She yanked her arm from his grip, finally. “What would you have me do, Malfoy? March up to this guy and avada him on the spot?”“I’d have you take better care of yourself.”“Why do you even care?”“Because I’ve always cared!” She was starting to think maybe a silencio would have been a good idea, but then his voice lowered. Somehow that was worse, because it made it clear that his words weren’t out of anger. They were real. “I’ve always cared, Granger. I’m tired of pretending that I don’t. Do you know what you’ve done to me? I can’t sleep for the thought of someone hurting you, and you’re upset that I’m scared that you won’t be able to protect yourself."When he pressed a hand to his forehead, she swallowed. He winced, as if he was in pain, as if the confession physically hurt him. She held the hem of her dress to stop her hands from reaching for him, from comforting him.
“It feels like we’re back at school,” he continued, “and I’m watching you run around with those two idiotic prats, putting your life in danger every chance they could get. And I’m just here, doing nothing. I couldn’t stand it then, Granger, and I can’t stand it now.” He looked at her, reached a hand out to press his thumb against the corner of her jaw, just lightly. “I want to keep you safe. It’s more important you being upset with me.”As if his touch erased her flash of anger, as if his presence calmed and awakened her magic all at the same time, she found herself sighing. The step he took towards her was small, almost tentative. The lightbulb overhead flickered, just once.She knew it, then. The words weren't exactly definite, the thought not conscious, the decision still unmade. But somehow, she knew it: that she was done running.“Alright,” she said again, unsure if he was aware what she was agreeing to. “Okay, Draco. I’ll try. I will.” She swallowed. “I want… I want to tell you.”“I know, Granger. You don’t have to explain. I told you, I don’t need details.”"You should. Anybody else would.""I'm not anybody else. I'm not going to leave you just because you try to push me away." Malfoy pressed his palm against the side of her neck, his words murmured, almost as if he didn't think she could hear him. "I'm not them. I won't let you give up."Hermione looked up at him, saw his eyes trailing across her shoulders, left bare by the straps of her dress. Blank, stoney silver; walls of occlusion keeping her out. It was only fair, she supposed.But when his eyes met hers once more, they flickered. The walls shook, and she saw what he was hiding. The desperate need to protect her, without pushing her. Kate’s words came back to her, give him something. Something other than distance and sadness.There was something, suddenly. A lick of heat pressing through her, thawing the cold she had grown so used to. Unsettling but comfortable, unfamiliar but pleasant. The guilt and grief and pain moving aside for something new, something pressing into her skin from the feeling of his fingers laying against the nape of her neck, only gently.
That something, it felt old. Unnamed. Had been missing from her for... longer than she had known. Her magic, brought back to life by this man who, despite all she had said and done to get rid of him, kept coming back to her.“I know what you’re giving up, for me,” she said, in a whisper, “if you do want out-”His hand on her neck pulled her forwards, thumb pushing her chin up so when he bent his head, he could kiss her. Just a quick press of his lips to hers before he pulled away to check her reaction, to see if she would tell him to leave like last time.
Hermione didn’t want him to leave. She wanted to take something, for herself. Prove to herself that it didn’t destroy her to feel something other than guilt or fear. Pressing up on her toes, she closed the distance between them, feeling his hand on her waist, holding her there now he had her consent. Now she had given him something honest.When she curled her hands over his shoulders, into his head, the groan against her mouth made her shiver. Had her pressing her body into his just a little more, his hand moving around to the small of her back. Keeping her there, as if she might fall into smoke and he would lost her.They stayed like that, sharing quiet kisses on the top floor of the café, as the light flickered over them. As Hermione made a promise, that she would tell him. That she would let him in, the way he had done for her. That she would move on. The realisation was almost physical. It thrummed with potential, magic sizzling in the air, in her blood. She knew he could feel it, too.Briefly, she moved back, forcing herself to look up into his eyes, even as he thumb rubbed small circles on the side of her neck. Forced herself to ask."Will you come on a drive with me?" She asked him shyly, unsure if he would say yes after the past few weeks. "Not far, just for the sa-""I'll go anywhere with you, Granger," he said. Eyes honest. "Just give me a time and place, I'll be there."hermione didn’t give herself time to think now. She pressed up on her tiptoes, hard to do in heels, found his mouth with hers again. Pushed a hand through his hair to hold him there, dragging her nails up his neck. She felt his hand holding her against him as he pushed his tongue into her mouth. That hand moved down, just slightly, to sit just above her ass. She bit his lip, made him groan. Pressed herself even closer, so she could feel the hardness of him against her lower stomach. The sound she made herself then was one she hadn't heard before, a keening noise of want and desire, small and quiet."Granger," His words hit her mouth, "if you want to go back downstairs, we sho-""No," Hermione replied, letting her head fall to the side when his lips landed on her jaw, "I don't want to go back downstairs.""Is this too fast?""Too slow."Suddenly he was pushing her back, stepping with her, until her back came up against something strong. He gave her a second to catch some air, before he was on her again, his kiss even harder this time, a hand moving down to her thigh, slowly and controlled. She lifted her leg herself, wrapping it around his waist to hold his body to hers. His fingers delved into her hair, pushing the pins out of place. The sounds he was making… she felt it in her core. He kissed her like he’d planned every movement, like he’d been waiting for it. His hand on her thigh, moving to her knee, his touch on her bare skin making her gasp."Touch me." It was a groan, a gasp, a need."Are you s-""Please."She thought she felt him shudder, his grip in her curls tightening. His tongue pushing deeper into her mouth, his body lining up with hers. Pressure, heat, desire, all over her.“I love this dress,” he gasped, moving his mouth to her jaw. “You look fucking stunning. How could I ever stay away from you?”Hermione gasped when he bit down, just as his touch traveled up her thigh, underneath her dress. His sigh against her skin had her head falling back, her eyes drifting closed.
“Don’t,” she whimpered, “Don’t stay away.”She pulled his mouth back to hers, breath faltering when his fingers strayed closer. So close. Moaned loudly as he stroked her skin. Draco let out a harsh curse, capturing her sounds with his mouth before moving his lips back to her shoulder.
“Bet you’re definitely wishing for a Silencio right now, huh?” he murmured into her shoulder. “Bet you’re wishing I could fuck you right now and not have to worry about your friends hearing you.”Hermione bit her lip. God, she loved his voice. He could say anything to her in this moment and she’d love it. She’d do whatever he wanted her to, as long as he kept kissing her, kept moving his hand closer.
“Please," she said it again, begging him faster than she would have usually allowed herself to. But she needed him, wanted him. He moaned now, pulling her into him, if such a thing was possible.
“I’m going to fuck you, Hermione.” He said it like an oath, pressing the words into the skin right under her ear. She dug her nails into his shoulders, wishing his shirt would disappear.“Malf-"“But not here.” She whimpered, and she felt him smile against her shoulder. “I want you in my bed, in my shower. On my desk. I want you loud.”“Malfo-”“Oh, no,” he moved his hand off of her thigh, and she whimpered again, desperate and ready to beg some more. What had he done to her? He wrapped that hand around her jaw, tilting her face to look up at him. “You’ve said it once, you can say it again.” She frowned at him, and he caressed her jaw. “Say my name and I’ll give you want you want.”He pressed his thumb to her lips, pulling her bottom lip down. Impulsively, she moved to bite the tip of it, liking the way his eyes darkened.
“Make me.”His breath in was stuttered, and then he smirked dangerously. That look on his face, it made her insides flutter, her magic soar. She was sure she should probably check for flames around them, but she couldn’t care less. Hermione only cared about getting his touch back where it was, but a little to the right.
Hand on her thigh again, Malfoy shifted it further up his waist. Moved his free hand to her back again to support her, to press her against him. Thumbed her underwear out of the way. And finally, finally, he ran his fingers through her slit, making them both groan. He lent his forehead against hers, gasping. Hermione fought back against whimpering his name, feeling so pliant in his arms, especially when he did it again, tortuously slow."So wet, Granger," he said. "I haven't even touched you yet."He started massaging her clit with his thumb, so slowly, too slowly, running his fingers over her opening again and again. Moving as if he was going to press his fingers into her and then just missing. Hermione’s head fell forehead, onto his shoulder, and she felt his breath ghost her neck.
“You know what I want,” he whispered. She clung to him, determined not to give in. But then he pressed a finger into her, just so so slightly, stopping his thumb. She thought she might implode, thought she heard something fizzle beside her.
“Draco, please." She dug her nails into his scalp angrily, annoyed he had made her lose so quickly.
“Finally,” he said with a huff with air hitting her ear, making her jolt. Smirked against her neck. Pressed a finger into her, slowly still, rubbing her clit all the way, until she felt his knuckles against her."Don't stop," she pleaded, his finger curling inside her."Never, Granger. Now I've had you, I'll never stop touching you. Not for one fucking second."His free hand was in her hair again, pulling her head back so he could kiss her hard, a promise.
I’m going to fuck you.When she came, it was as if she had finally titled off of that tightrope. Willingly, ready to fall. The pleasure was stifling, heart-stopping, life-changing. It hit suddenly and without warning, washing through her quickly and ending all-too-soon. Malfoy swallowed her sounds, the noises of pleasure from her throat, from her chest. When he pulled back, he did so to look at her, searching for any sign of regret.
After a moment, he pulled his finger from her - God, had he made her come with just one fucking finger? He smirked at her, slipping the finger into his mouth and groaning. When she saw his eyes flutter her legs went shaky, threatened a reminder of that falling sensation.“Better than I imagined,” he drawled, and she buckled. If it wasn’t for his arm around her waist she might have collapsed. With his clean hand he pushed a strand of hair back from her face, letting go of her waist. She leaned against the pillar behind her for support. He glanced down, at her leg around his waist, eyes flashing, murmured a request. “Can I clean you up?”She met his gaze, got stuck. Thought she nodded. And then she saw him wave a hand, mutter a quick scourgify. Hermione felt that heat increase at the wandless magic, the intensity and power of it.And then it was the feeling of that magic washing over her, over her thighs. It was the feeling of his eyes on her, waves of stormy silver seas, and Hermione knew she had failed. She had vowed never to use magic again and she had just let him. Purposefully, decisively, and completely willingly, but still the tears came to her eyes quickly, blurring her vision, turning him into a streak of platinum and grey. When she felt his hand press her head into his shoulder, she let him pull her close for a hug. Felt him wrap his arms around her and hold her.Later, when she was ready to return to the party, she let him use magic again to clean her face and wipe away any traces of tears. If she had already failed, what was the point?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Part 3: November

Draco supposed he could have waited. Could have given her space, time to think. Time to regret. But that would have required patience, of which Draco had little. He could have exerted some, of course; the small amount he kept in reserve, just for her. He'd waited twelve years to have her, what were a few more days?
But he couldn’t wait.When he knocked on the glass window, she looked up, startled, slightly nervous. He wondered if she’d thought it was her stalker, finally brave enough to face her when she was alone, the rising sun casting golden rays across her face through the window. But when she saw it was him, she smiled, and Draco’s heart fluttered in his chest. Smiled at him. Unbelievable.Granger opened the door, and Draco fought that familiar urge to throw himself at her. He’d already done that once, and until he knew for sure that she liked it he wouldn’t dare make it a habit. She had seemed to like it, but what if she regretted it? They hadn’t had a chance to talk about anything after they had returned to the party, although she had allowed him to stay close to her. She’d even spoken briefly to Blaise. Had let Draco hover his hand over the small of her back as they left. Had let him walk her home.
“Good morning,” she said, leaning against the doorjamb. “You do know we don’t open until nine.”“I brought you coffee.” He held up the cups in his hands. “It’s not Kate’s, but it’s almost as good.”Her lips twisted into a wry smile, and she moved to the side to let him in. Closed the door behind him and locked it. He noticed his chair was uncharacteristically empty.
“No Charlotte today?”“She had to go to the office. Big presentation on her latest piece.” Draco turned to see that Granger was pulling her sleeves over her hands, shifting on her feet.“Granger,” he said, “are you going to be okay?”“Of course. I just… got used to her being here, that’s all.”“I can take the day off work if you need me.” He couldn’t, not really. But he would, for her.“It’s fine, Malfoy.” She took a sudden big step towards him. His heart stuttered. He placed the coffee cups on the counter before he dropped them. “I’ll be fine. I have Kate and Charlotte on speed dial and Olive is coming in later. I’m doing interviews this morning, anyway.”He cocked his head to the side. “Interviews?”“Yes, well, the Christmas period is coming up and it’s always hectic, so this year I thought I’d try hiring a temp. Just to get me through the winter months, you know. It’s too much for Olive to be running around all the t- What is it?”
“You didn’t consider that the prick sending you letters might come in for an interview?”Granger opened her mouth, closed it. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” She started to bite the nail on her thumb. “I guess I have to hope he won’t be that desperate to get close to me.”Draco shook his head, amazed that the most brilliant witch he knew could be so oblivious, as if being desperate to be near her was an impossibility. Her sheer unawareness at the way she pulled those around her into her orbit, without even trying. Impulsively, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around hers, pulling her hand into his. The movement brought her another step closer.
“Granger,” She looked up at him when he spoke, “I can stay.”“You have work.”“You are much more important than work.”“Not from what you’ve told me.”He hadn’t told her everything, of course, but he’d told her most of it. She’d become more comfortable with magic over the past month of his visits, enough so that she even started to think about possible counter curses to what he was seeing. He had tried not to show how his blood had raced when she had started talking about the possibility of a curse diagnostic spell, how his heart had soared at the look on her face.
With the last few weeks of tension, he'd thought he might have pushed too hard, too soon. That she might back up, and he'd be back at square one. But then she had let him use magic - twice - on Saturday night. He’d never imagined using a scourgify could have made him so happy.“There are other people to deal with it.” Like your ex-best friends.
“People as good as you?”He smirked, giving her a quick tug - not hard, so she could have stopped herself falling into him. When she didn’t, his smirk deepened. Draco felt his heart rate increase, almost so that he went dizzy.“You think I’m good?”“Don’t try to pretend at modesty, Draco, it doesn’t suit you.”
He sucked in a breath, sure he’d never get used to her saying his given name Especially so blasé, like she hadn’t said it in a moan not two days ago. Like he hadn’t gone home and thought about her saying those two syllables every second since. Just that one word from her mouth had him ready to disregard his oath of having her at home first.
She pressed a hand on his chest, fingers trailing over the logo on his pocket.
“Why have you come now?” she asked him. “You’ve never come in the morning before.”“I wanted to see you,” he told her honestly. If he couldn’t be truthful about anything else, he could be honest about how he was feeling, couldn’t he? “Safer to come here, as well, considering my last visit to your place ended in assault.""I'd hardly call it assault.""Your furry demon attacked me, Granger, there is no other way to describe it. And besides, I thought talking to you in the morning was less likely to lead to another shouting match."She raised his eyebrows. “That’s quite a big assumption.”“Yes, well, a man will do anything for the forgiveness of a woman. Even wake up two hours early and scour London looking for a coffee place that opens at the crack of dawn.”Granger smiled again. “Thank you.”He reached up, watched his hand press against the side of her neck. Stared in awe at his pale skin against the tan of hers, the stark difference. The feeling of her, not pushing him away. Finally.
“I understand why you didn’t tell me about the letters,” he told her, “but I wish you had trusted me sooner.”“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Malfoy.” When she moved away to stand behind the counter, Draco had to press his palms to the wood. Stop himself from reaching out for her again. “I just didn’t want it to become a thing, you know.
“It is a thing, Granger.”“I know. I know it is.”“Can we talk about what you’re going to do if he comes here?”She faltered, biting her lip. “Malfo-”“I’m not trying to upset you, or force anything on you. But…” He rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to find words that wouldn’t upset her. “It’s painful to see you not using your power, Granger. You have so much of it. If you got hurt because you wouldn’t use magic…”“You’re right,” she said softly, and he curled his hands into fists. “It’s stupid, I wish I could…” She shook her head, curls falling over her face. “I’m trying, Malfoy, I am.”He nodded. He should feel elation, shouldn’t he? This was what he had vowed to do, to bring her back to where she belonged. To get her using magic again. But for some reason, all he felt was a strange tension, like a coil tucked in tight. It wasn’t enough for him, he suddenly realised, just to bring her back into the wizarding world. He wanted more.“I got you something,” he said, seeing her eyes starting to tear up. He couldn’t see her cry again. He had seen it twice and that was enough. The Hermione Granger he knew didn’t cry over some pathetic excuse of a man, nor over magic. He had to remind her.
“You really need to stop buying me stuff, Malfoy.”“Well, this isn't quite stuff.” He placed the neatly folded paper on her desk. She raised an eyebrow at him. "Although I don't think I'll beat the post-it notes, truly."“Another list?” she said. “You’ve not accumulated that many more things to apologise for. Yet.”He laughed. “Just open it.”She frowned when she saw the eleven digit number. Held up the piece of paper, wry smile playing on her lips.“What is this, your bank balance?”Draco laughed again, louder this time. “Not even close, Granger. That is my phone number.”“What?”He pulled the black rectangle out of his inner blazer pocket, where it rested with his wand. He’d not quite figured out how to use it yet, and couldn't practice considering he knew all of three muggles, none of which had his number. Until now.“You got a phone?”He shrugged. “I got it last week, actually. I wanted to speak to you more. More than once a week. It’s just…”“It’s not enough,” she finished for him, and he nodded slowly. Granger’s grin widened, and he vowed to only ever make her smile. He’d live the rest of his life a lie if it meant never having to see her cry again. Even as he thought it, he knew it was impossible.
“When is your first interview?” he asked her.
“Ten.”“Perfect!” He clapped his hands together. “Plenty of time. I need a new book.”“We’re not open yet!” she called after him as he headed for the stairs.
“Even better. With what I’m paying, I expect a personal shopping experience.”“Oh? And what might that entail?”They got to the second floor, Draco first, and he pretended to look around sceptically. He knew this room by heart now, had spent all of his time at the bookshop either on this floor or at the counter. There was a reason for that.
He reached out to grab Granger’s hand, pulling her in tight to his body. Her hair was tied up, curls away from her neck, he could lean in and press his nose to her skin. Draw in a deep breath of her perfume.“Did you just smell me?”Smiling, he did it again and she giggled. Like a witch with a crush. He felt his blood heat, his heart race further. Pressing his lips to her pulse point, he dragged his lips slowly up to her jawline, over to her mouth.
“Do you pay for this every time you go shopping?” she asked breathlessly.
“Actually, I’ve been saving up for this particular bookseller I have,” he whispered. “I’ve never read so many books so quickly, just to get the chance to see her again. Up until now though, she’s been absolutely clueless.”“She sounds like an idiot.”He nipped at her bottom lip. “No," he said against her mouth, “she’s bloody brilliant.”

Draco made it to the Ministry early, waltzed into Potter's office. The Chosen One was already there, with reports from the hospital floor. The latest had reached the fifth stage of the curse when unable to carry out the box’s wishes; the flagrante curse was making it impossible for doctors to even come near the patient, their skin burning through any gloves, physical or charmed. A bitch of a curse to counter. Thinking about it sent Draco to the edge of rage, yet another puzzle he couldn't crack.“I wanted to update you on our mutual friend,” Potter said, closing the door to his office whilst Draco perused his notes. Draco waved his hand, and the room was silenced. He looked up to see the Saviour frowning at him.
“You’re getting suspiciously good at that,” the Auror muttered to him, moving to sit in his desk chair. Draco rolled his eyes.
“It's called magic, Potter, you might try it some time. Do you know who’s stalking her? Other than yourselves, of course?”Potter narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t pretend like you’re any better than us. I take it she has still has no idea you’re working for the Ministry?"Draco sent him a look that he hoped instilled as much hatred as he could, and Potter sighed. He must have been losing his touch; that look had frightened people to stone before. Perhaps Granger was making him soft, like Severus had always said she would.“Anyway, we still don’t know. I’ve had people watching the shop and her building, and the café she goes to just in case. But this guy is clever. He hits at the busiest times, when it’s impossible to track who’s going in and out. The only way we can think of is getting the letters and-”“I tod you, I’m not stealing from her.” Draco rubbed his forehead. “The letters are getting worse. She’s getting almost two every day now, and not just to her flat. It’s only a matter of time before it escalates.” He snapped the folder shut. “I’ll need permission to take my notes off-site.”“What? You know I can’t give you that, Malfoy.”“You’ll have to, if you want me working on this.”“What- Where are you going?”Draco had left his office and was headed to his own, much neater one. He knew Potter was following him. The Auror watched as Draco started piling the notes he was working on most recently.
“You can’t take it all, Malfoy. Is that a phone?”“Yes.” Granger had taught him to take pictures this morning, which he was eternally grateful for because he now had a picture of her laughing at him as his… what did she call it… wallpaper? He snapped a quick photo of his post-it curse wall, now building up.
“What if something happens whilst you’re gone?”“The wards on the room are spelled to activate me if anyone enters. Unlike yours, they actually work, too. If I manage to break the flagrante curse I’ll come straight over and deal with the victims. I’m no closer to being able to enter the room myself, so until then, there’s really no point in me staying here.”"But-""Potter, you know I'm not going to sit around here if she's vulnerable. You know that. Are you really going to argue with me?"He paused. “And what are you going to do if this stalker shows up?”“Whatever I have to do to keep her safe,” Draco said, as if it was obvious. Wasn’t it? Potter might be happy sacrificing his loved ones for the greater good, or whatever, but Draco was not. It was the main reason he’d spent his teen years learning the cruciatus curse, the killing curse. Letting Bella use him for her personal games so his mother wouldn't have to.“Malfoy, I can’t allow you to leave with those folders. They're very important papers, you can't just-”“You’ll either allow me, or you won’t. Either way, I’m not sitting in here when she’s at risk. Unless you’d like to come and drag her back here?”Potter glared at him. “You know if she sees me, she’ll know you told me. She’ll know we’ve been tracking where she was the whole time.”“Probably. Like I said, I don’t really care if she hates me.” Lies, lies, lies. “As long as she’s alive.”“Malfoy,” Potter’s voice stopped him as he was leaving, his hand on the door. “What are you doing with her? You watched her… for years. You kept yourself away from her to keep her safe. Can’t you be content with that, still?”It was a fair question. Draco was suddenly realising that perhaps the only person who hadn’t noticed his secret obsession was the Golden Girl herself. But she had that way about her, didn’t she? So worried about everyone else, she forgot to look out for her own skin. She had needed someone to do it for her, and Draco had happily taken it on. He had no practise ignoring Granger, or forgetting her, but he certainly had experience in protecting her.
And no, he couldn’t be content with what he’d had before - if his existence prior to the last few months could be called content, anyway. It wasn’t enough to know that she was out there, living, without him. He wanted to be loved by her, ruined. Friendship, reluctant resignation, glares, smiles, anything. He’d take whatever she was willing to give him, but he wouldn’t leave her behind.Potter didn’t try very hard to stop him from leaving the Ministry with the very important papers. Before leaving, Draco spelled a glamour, hiding the Ministry emblem. Part of his mind settled it as ensuring confidentiality, but the other half knew the truth. If Granger saw it, she'd know. Maybe he was feeling guilty, but he didn't mind. It wasn't new to him, that feeling.
He stopped by the café to grab her usual, Kate raising an eyebrow at him knowingly. When he frowned, she laughed at him. Cut a piece of cookie cake.“Twice in one morning?” she asked, and his frown deepened. She rolled her eyes.
“You do know she tells me everything right?”Well, not quite, he thought. Then wanted to take it back. Granger had confided in him, only briefly, how it felt to have spent her life lying to some of her best friends. To not be able to tell them the truth about who she was, and what she could do. Draco had some experience with something similar, and just as painful.
“Everything?”“Everything,” she repeated. “Even quick trysts in my new café.”Draco swallowed. Both of Granger’s friends were terrifying, but Kate in a more quiet way. He’d have to warn Blaise, if he was still as determined as he was on Saturday. He’d followed her around like a little lapdog. Draco supposed he couldn’t judge - he’d been attached to his witch for over ten years.“Malfoy,” Kate called out as he was leaving. He turned to look over his shoulder at her. “Don’t fuck this up. With Hermione, I mean.”He nodded once, suddenly unable to speak with his throat closed. He couldn’t say he wouldn’t, because he absolutely would. Granger would find out all his secrets eventually, and then she’d leave. Or make him leave. Either way, he had a limited amount of time with her.
He intended to use every second.Granger lifted her head from her inventory sheet when he entered the now-open bookshop. Without a word, she smiled at him, taking her coffee from his outstretched hand. Surprising him, she grabbed onto his wrist, pulling him so he had to lean over the counter.
“Thank you,” she whispered into his ear, landed a small kiss on his cheek.
Draco wasn’t sure he had ever blushed before. It was an unusual feeling, especially since he knew he must look ridiculous with red bursting along his pale cheeks. He swallowed, practically stumbled over to the green armchair chair. He had to spend a few minutes getting his bearings, knowing he’d never be able to work until he had calmed himself down. Built up his walls.Granger’s first interviewee turned up early, and so his witch moved further away from Draco, to the other corner of the room, by the window. Too far for him to hear their conversation, but close enough so she could hear the murmur of her voice. He couldn’t help but think back to Saturday, before she had kissed him senseless. Let me out, Malfoy. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t connected it before; it was her voice he’d heard that first day with the box. Some heard loved ones, some heard enemies. Draco only ever heard Hermione Granger.
None of the interviewees matched the description Olive had given to Granger, although the third guy clearly needed a reminder about deodorant. Draco shook his head at Granger as she led him out, put the paper he was looking at on his lap and leant his chin on his hand, watching her. It was hard not to.
She was wearing her favourite pair of jeans, the dark blue ones that clung to her like a second skin. They were some of Draco’s favourites, too, dresses aside. He wondered what the denim would feel like against the palm of his hands, whether he would be able to feel the heat of her through the fabric. He wondered if the friction would make it easier for her to co-When the bell over the door rang, he dropped his gaze back to his notes, listening to Granger introduce herself. Perhaps it had been a bad idea for him to come here; there was no way he would get any concrete work done. She was far too distracting. And it wasn’t even intentional.
When they had been together as children, Pansy had done everything in her power to ensure all his attention was on her. It had worked, some of the time. Until she’d gotten tired of having to compete with Draco’s true obsession. Pansy had tired of sitting in the library, bored whilst he pretended to read. Tired of ignoring the fact that Draco always wanted to sit at the front, not so he was closer to the professors but so he could be closer to her. Tired of acting like she was the one he wanted, like he wasn’t imagining some one else whenever he kissed her.
He had tried to ignore it, change it, fight it. But then she’d be rushing around the corridor, too caught up to notice it was him she’d barge into, muttering about curses and charms and idiot boys. Or she’d spill coffee over her books at breakfast and curse so loud the entire Great Hall heard her. Or linger behind class to check something with the professor even though he knew she’d gotten every word down. In the library. In the corridors. In the stands at the Quidditch pitch.
Fucking everywhere.And now, here she was again. Embedding herself into his mind, his skin, his blood. All without meaning to. He was sure that, when he’d first started visiting two months ago now, she probably would’ve paid good money to see the back of him. But now she was setting aside books she thought he’d like, making a list of muggle inventions he’d find interesting, saving songs she wanted him to listen to. All so muggle.
No, he thought. Not muggle. Just normal. His and Pansy’s relationship hadn’t been normal. They had felt forced together, knowing they would most likely be married off to each other as soon as they came of age. He’d never had any other relationship, muggle or otherwise.And he wasn’t even sure he could call this a relationship. They’d had - what had Kate called it, a tryst. And some more kissing this morning. She didn’t mind being close to him, and she seemed to be trusting him more. He knew her coffee order, and she knew his favourite muggle whiskey. He knew how she looked when she was overthinking, and how to bring her back. She knew that he now preferred muggle suits to robes, pens to quills, fantasy over historical.
But did he really know her? Or she him? Did he know why she’d left all her magic behind? Did she know why he’d bullied her for years, why he’d had to make such terrible and life-altering decisions as a child? He wanted her to know. But how to tell her?Just as he’d expected, he got minimal work done. By the time she was finished with interviews, he was an occluding mess, his bricks crumbling to ash one by one. He felt on the precipice of something large, something entirely new and unfamiliar. This thing that he'd wanted for years, and never believed he could have.“I really liked the fifth one,” she was saying, looking over papers on the table she’d been sat at all morning, “but the seventh was also promising, I thought. Although, his thoughts on Shakespeare were… different. I suppose that’s not too much of a deal-breaker, but… Malfoy?”He was staring at her calves - her calves, for fuck’s sake. Then he was staring at her shins as she was walking over to him, and he had to rub his hand over his mouth to stop from saying something stupid. Something like, You have the most beautiful calves in the world.“Malfoy,” she said slowly, and he felt the weight of her hands on his shoulders. She was leaning over him, bent slightly so that the scent of her wafted over him in gentle waves. He should have found the strength of her overpowering, the aroma of orange and vanilla, so known to him. He had the sudden desire to pull her hair from its ponytail, to have it wrapped around his fingers, have her all over him.
“Are you okay?”He didn’t answer, not yet. He was trying to think of how to say it without it coming across like he was rethinking their… whatever they were.“Seems like you’re doing a Hermione-worth of overthinking,” she muttered, and he finally found the strength to meet her gaze. It unravelled him, having her eyes look at him like that. So open and full of amusement and kindness and patience. With a sigh, she straightened. Placed her hands on her hips.“Care to share, Malfoy?”Draco felt the corner of his mouth rise, just slightly, and before he could second-guess himself he wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her down. He’d had his hands on her bare skin, had his mouth leaving kisses all over her shoulders, her neck. Had his fingers inside her. But this felt far more intimate, more real. Slower, kinder. More permanent. She settled onto his lap comfortably, legs curled up, arm over his shoulders. He breathed in deeply when she laid her head
in the crook of his neck, her hand rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. He wished he could rip his shirt off and feel her on his bare skin.“This is probably not the most professional thing of me to be doing right now,” she said, her words against his neck.
“You can have a break,” he muttered back to her, keeping his voice low as if there were customers in here. The shop usually got busier after lunch.“Do you want to tell me what’s got you so quiet?”He breathed her in again, bracing himself. She could take this very, very wrong. He could scare her, freak her out. Send her running.“Do you remember the Yule ball?”She frowned against his neck. “Sure.”“There was a moment, during it, that I knew I was doing the wrong thing. Being there with Pansy, I mean. I looked at you, and I thought…” He trailed off, swallowed. “I thought that you were supposed to be mine. I wanted to rip Krum’s hands off you so fast, make sure everyone knew exactly who you were meant to be with.” Draco curved his hand over her ankle, the stripe of bare skin between the hem of her jeans and the edge of her sock. “I’ve never been able to look at you after that, not without feeling like I was making some sort of mistake.”“You look at me all the time.”“It’s different now. We’re away from all the things that kept me from you.” A heavy breath landed on his neck and he fought the urge to shudder. “I don’t regret what we did on Saturday. But I don’t want to rush things.” He found himself tugging at her hairband, letting the curls fall free. Dropping the band to the floor, he dug his fingers into her hair, rub against her scalp. She made a small noise of pleasure that shot straight to an inappropriate place. “I don't want to rush you."She lifted her head to look at him, propping it up on her hand, elbow leaning on his shoulder. She didn’t look angry, or sad. But then, she was constantly surprising him.“I think you’re right,” she said. “It sort of feels slow, though, doesn’t it? Like you were right before, about doing the wrong things.”He smiled slowly. “You know, this might be the one and only time you’ve admitted I’m right about something.”She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “I like being close to you, Malfoy. I like spending time with you, and I want to keep doing it. You’re not the only one who thinks they’re going to mess this up. I’m not exactly the Hermione Granger you knew from before.”“Who says I want the Hermione Granger from before?”“You’re telling me you’re fine avoiding magic around me?”“I won’t lie and tell you I don’t think it’s strange how you are around magic now. Knowing how good at it you are.” He let his hand trail up and down her back. “But you have your reasons, I’m sure. One day I hope you trust me enough to tell me. And I know that you’re trying, and I want to help you, any way that I can.”She smiled again, gently, and he let his eyes take in her face. She wouldn’t always look at him like this, he knew. He wanted to memorise it, for the day she told him she hated him. Her hand found his hair, and he dropped his head onto the back of the chair, closing his eyes, as she scraped her nails against his scalp.
“Do you think you’d be able to get out of work tomorrow?” She asked him suddenly. He paused, gave a small shrug.“For?”“That day trip? If you still want to come?”“Of course, if you want me.” She smiled, slowly, and his heart skipped.“I’m afraid you’re not getting your work done here, either," she said quietly, and he made an agreeing sound.
“Impossible, when you’re in the vicinity. Besides, I’m at a barrier that I’m finding increasingly difficult to get over.”“Tell me about it.”“Really?”“I said I’d try. This is me trying.”He opened his eyes, assessing her face. She leaned down to grab the top folder from the pile he’d dropped on the floor, flipping it open. He missed her hands on him, almost cringed when he thought about the glamour laid over those files, the secret of where they came from. Wondered if she could feel it, the magic on her fingertips.“I told you that the curse draws people to open the box, and then leads them to carry out dark magic.” She nodded slowly at his words, flipping through the papers. “More recently, we’ve managed to grab people who have touched the box before they’ve left to carry out... whatever it wants them to do. But preventing them from doing that has had consequences.”Her eyebrows raised. “The sectumsempra?”Draco nodded slowly. "The curse exerts itself on their body, without needing to be cast. Every time we break one of these curses, another takes it’s place. I haven’t been able to save anyone yet. Eventually their body just.. fails.”Hermione looks up at him briefly before moving back to her paper. “The flagrante curse?”“Yes.”“That’s a difficult one to counter.”“It absolutely is. Whoever the prick is that made this box, he’s not pissing about.”“If the curses are already there, then it must be that the prevention of dark magic is what’s allowing them to appear,” Granger muttered. “I take it the victims who did use dark magic were not afflicted in the same way?”“No.” Draco said simply, and he knew his tone was short. He didn’t want to go down that path with her - he was trying to get her back into the world of magic. Telling her that there was a dark wizard intent on causing others to murder their loved ones was not the way in. Especially alongside the fact that they were targeting muggle-borns. Again.“And the diagnostic charms?”“Only show the effects of the curse currently being exerted. They can’t tell us what will come up next, and they can’t tell us how to counter it. And meanwhile, we still know nothing about what the curse is doing to the victims’ minds, which is the real problem. Until we know that, we can’t begin to counter it, even if I could step in the room with the box.”"Nothing else on the Imperius curse, then?"He sighed. "No. I can't figure out a way to record it, like you said. It doesn't feel possible, but the pull is the same, by all accounts. It's definitely a part of it."She hummed, turning a page, and he got another opportunity to simply look at her. To feel her hair moving over his fingers, her shoulder blade shifting when she moved. The intimacy lulled him into a sense of peace, his fingertips tracing runes onto her ankle. Draco memorised the way she felt, the way her brow furrowed in a slight frown, so similar to how it had when he’d watched her from across the Great Hall, wondering what ridiculous and useless comment the Weasel was making.“What about combining the diagnostic charm with Revelio?” She asked it in a sort of glancing way, as if combining charms was a casual thing. It was, in fact, not. Most people would never think of combining charms. Coming up with their own, sure. Producing charms to strengthen another, definitely, or using them alongside each other. But taking two and putting them together was an entirely different thing. Especially when you hadn’t been practising magic in seven bloody years. “The wand movement might be a bit tricky, but I’m sure with your… talents, it would be a breeze after a few tries.”“Revelio,” Draco murmured, watching her.
“It’s nowhere near enough to help you, really, but it might help you get others working on smaller counter-curses so you can focus on the main thing.” She shrugged. “It was just a thought.”“A brilliant thought.” He tapped his forefinger on her temple. “All I see when I look at you is brilliance, Golden Girl.”Granger shook her head at him, making to move off of his lap, before he wrapped an arm around her waist again. Pulling her in, he pressed his mouth to hers, and she let him. She let him move his hand over her ribs, hold her close, twine his fingers in her hair so he could deepen the kiss. He let her crease the collar of his shirt, mess up his hair, dig her nails into his neck so he was sure there would be crescent-shaped marks in his skin. In fact, he welcomed it. He wanted her to ruin him, mark him. Make him hers.
“My eyes!”
The shriek from the doorway had Granger pulling back from him, and he loosened his grip to let her, though he hardly liked it. He hoped his eyes were not as full of frustration as they could be. He hoped Granger could feel how much he didn’t want to stop against the backs of her thighs. The way she shifted on top of him, he was sure she could.
“And in my chair no less!” Charlotte separated the fingers over her eyes to glare at him. Draco grinned, even as Granger untangled herself from his grip and stood up, straightening her clothes. “For the shame of it.”Draco wanted to remind her of just who it was that had bought this chair. He’d done it to be irritating, but now he was grateful for it. Perhaps he could find a time-turner and go back to thank his past self.“Not your chair any more.” He leaned further back against the cushions, resting an ankle on his knee. “Funny, the colour matches my tie.”Charlotte’s glare increased in intensity. “What is it with you and the colour green?”Draco’s grin widened to almost painful proportions. He moved his eyes back to Granger, who rolled her eyes at him.“It’s a school thing,” he explained. “Granger here should be in gold.” Granger shook her head at him slowly.“Shouldn’t you be at work.” Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him, though not in a hateful way. He thought it reminded him a lot of the way Pansy looked at him when he was being purposefully annoying.“Shouldn’t you?”“Presentation finished about an hour ago. I was just waiting for feedback.”“How did it go?” Granger asked, moving to collect the resumés from the table in the corner.
“So good! They love my idea, although for some reason they think I need to dial down the “pointed remarks.” Draco smirked when Charlotte rolled her eyes. “I mean, what’s the point of having all this witty humour if you’re not even allowed to use it?”“I know the struggle,” Draco said seriously.“Well, lover boy, you can go now.” Charlotte motioned for him to stand. “I’m here so you’re officially off watchdog duty.”“Go?” Draco cocked his head to the side. “Why would I go?”“Get out of my chair, you annoying prat.”Draco laughed, standing and moving over to Hermione, picking up his folders on the way. He stopped in front of her, his body blocking her from Charlotte’s view. He liked that he had to lean down to whisper in her ear.
“Call me tonight,” he said, liking the way she shivered, “I’ll pretend I know what I’m doing.”“Aren’t you always pretending?”“Not with you, Granger.”He placed a kiss on her cheek, smirking when he felt the heat of her blush against his mouth. When he leaned back, she was smiling, and he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t fail to notice that she rose up on her tiptoes to meet him halfway, that when he pulled back after a quick touch of their lips she rose even further to continue. Draco liked that she let him kiss her in front of her best friend.
Draco was liking a lot more than he deserved to

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

During her school years, Hermione had lived in constant fight or flight. She had chased danger, thrown her life and her future to the side to protect others. Had given up her childhood, and watched her friends do the same. Even after the war, she had constantly felt ready for something,
ready to lift her wand at the slightest noise, ready to defend herself if needed. Ready to die, if needed. She had, upon leaving the wizarding world, hoped that it was over.So, when she heard Charlotte shouting, the slamming of a door, a cry of pain, she found herself thrown back into fight mode. Found her heart racing, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Strange, that this was her reaction now, considering she had spent seven years fleeing.
And, for the first time since her parents had died, she found herself reaching for her wand. Her hand twitched when it came up empty, searching for something she hadn't known she had missed.She flew through the bathroom door anyway, leaving the shower running, steam billowing out after her as she rushed into the living room. The front door hung up, the sound of stomping footsteps coming up the stairs. Hermione rushed to the door, preparing to slam it closed, or maybe run out, preparing to fight. It felt sort of like a rush, a spark of herself coming back to life, after years slumbering.
"Charlotte?"“That piece of shit was just here," Charlotte hissed, rubbing her wrist.
“What?” Hermione pulled the dressing gown around her tighter, ignoring the snagging in her hair as it caught on her necklace. “What did you do?”“I chased him out down the stairs.”“What?” Hermione let the door close."Tried to grab him but the fucker slammed my wrist against the wall."“Charlotte, that’s crazy! You don’t know what he’d do-”“Well, I know what he wants to do to you.” She held up a piece of paper, unfolded.
“You opened it? We said we weren't going to read them anymore."“You said you're not reading them anymore. I think that’s stupid. We need to know what he’s thinking. I’m glad I opened this one, he’s officially losing his shit.”“What do you mean?”Charlotte eyed her, made a face. “I think this one will scare you. Maybe I’m hoping it will scare you.”Hermione hugged herself, suddenly feeling her fight desert her. She was no stranger to fear; she had spent her entire life at Hogwarts terrified. For herself, her friends. The entire muggle-born community. She wasn’t too much a coward to admit that the fear rising up in her made feel like a child again, like she was fourteen and facing a war. She hated it.
Hated this feeling, of powerlessness. Of knowing that her mother had not brought her up to be this way, to allow others to make her feel inferior. Jena Granger had been a forcefield, had insisted that Hermione know exactly what she could do in this world: anything she goddamn wanted, no matter what stood in her way. When Hermione had cried over the phone in first year explained why she was still different, that her blood had her cast as something else, yet again, her mother had had to remind her: nobody can take your magic away from you.
But now, there was somebody making her feel that way again. Somebody making her feel small, afraid. Somebody trying to ruin her, claim her.At that thought, she reached forward and ripped the paper from Charlotte’s grasp. Thought she heard her mother's voice in her mind, echoing through her. Urging her to remember just who and what she was.
Enough.This one wasn’t addressed to her like the others had been. No, my dearest love, or my greatest desire. At first glance, she was thankful for it. Then she started reading.
…saw you this morning, with him…
…no good for you, Hermione, not like…

…choose him over me? We belong together…
…I need to take the first step…Hermione crumpled the paper in her fists. God, she was such an idiot. Of course he’d seen her with Malfoy, of course he'd been watching. She had let herself be distracted, let herself fall into a lull of fake peace. The silver of Malfoy's eyes and the feel of him under her fingers had done it, the feeling that she was finally making the right choice, doing the right thing. Now they were both in danger.“I need to tell Malfoy,” she said quietly. Charlotte scoffed.
“Yeah, get him over here. Maybe he can chase this twat next time, I’m not nearly fast enough. He’s tall, I know that.”“Charlotte.” Hermione’s voice was small, like how she felt. She brought her hand to her mouth, trying to push back the sob that threatened to leave her throat, the cry that wanted to burst her chest open.
Her friend took large steps around the island, pulling her in for a hug. Hermione allowed herself one more moment to feel powerless, because she was. She felt crushed, broken. Rusted. As if she had been left in the sun too long, as if the surface of her had dulled. As if she wasn't who her parents had planned for her to be.In her bedroom, she’d left her phone next to the paper with Malfoy’s phone number on it. She’d been intending to text him first, see if he could figure out how to reply. But the urge to hear his voice was immense, impossible to ignore. She sought comfort, the kind only he could give her, the kind she'd been looking for, for years.He picked up on the first ring. Waiting for her, like always.“Granger.”At his voice, just one word, she felt her shoulders loosen, just slightly. It was incredible, really, the effect his voice had on her. Or, the effect all of him had on her. When he’d shown up back at the shop that morning, she’d been indescribably relieved. She'd never known somebody could become so ingrained in your life so quickly, their presence burrowing into your blood and your skin and your lungs, until time was just wasted when they weren't there.
“How did you know it was me?” she asked him curiously, knowing her voice sounded throaty. Torn apart.“You’re the only person I’ve given this number to,” he said, then paused. “Granger, what’s wrong?”She let out a short laugh. “You have good ears.”“I just know you.” He waited, and she could almost feel his patience testing itself. He never had been one to wait, not as a child. She wasn’t sure how he’d become so calm, so even.
“I think… There was a letter. Charlotte tried to chase him-”“Is she alright?”“Yes, she’s fine.”“She’s an idiot," he sighed. Hermione smiled, ever so slightly. “Although, to be fair, if Charlotte chased me, I’d run for the hills, too.”“She read the letter.”“I told you to be reading them.”“He knows, Malfoy. He saw us.”“Us?”“Today, in the bookshop.” She breathed in deeply. “He’s angry, thinks I’m choosing you over him. He said he’s going to take the first step, whatever that means.” She heard ruffling over the phone, a quite curse, a large smacking sound. “What’s happening?”“I’m coming over.”“You do-”“Granger, don’t argue. Get that hot water machine on, I’m dying for a cup of tea. Blaise can’t make a non-alcoholic drink to save his life.”
Hermione heard an outraged cry from further down the line, and she let out a strange sound. Half sob, half laugh. She'd been ready to give him his out, to have their last conversation on the phone. Hermione was so used to under-estimating people, to knowing that she would always do more, be more, know more. Draco Malfoy was surprising her, every single day.“Malfoy,” she said slowly, hearing her voice break. God, was this what she was now? Broken, shattered. Until he came to pull her back to together? She needed to get a grip.Get a wand.“I know,” he said softly. “I’ll be there soon. Make sure the demonic entity you live with is locked away in its cage, alright?” He hesitated. "Crooks, not Charlotte."She rolled her eyes, hanging up on him. Staring at her phone for a moment, she let herself spiral for thirty seconds before she took in a deep breath.
Get a grip.

Get a wand.
The thought ran through her, again. Had her shuddering. She'd left her wand with Harry, determined not to let the temptation break her goal. Commited to her cause. Perhaps it had been a mistake.The buzzer rang not ten minutes later, just as Hermione was coming out of her bedroom in leggings and a t-shirt. Charlotte answered it, pressing the button to open the door.
“It’s him,” she said. “I need to get me a Malfoy.”“You have a Toby.”She waved her hand. “They’d never come here in times of crisis. Not like yours does.”Hermione chuckled lightly, moving over to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She was still getting the tea ready when Charlotte answered the knocking at the door. Hermione looked over when her friend made a strange sound, kind of like a shocked gasp.
“Excuse me,” she said, “But who the fuck are you?”Hermione heard a muffled response, then Charlotte was stepping to the side to let Malfoy past. He came around the corner, eyes finding Hermione immediately, ocean waves rocking over her. His steps were quick, sure, his arm wrapping around her waist strong. Grounded. She couldn’t believe how normal it felt to be so close to hm, so quickly. He kissed her cheek, and she felt the blush rise. Never had she been with something - for any amount of time - so open to touch, so obviously desperate to have their hands on her. She'd never known how much she would like it.“Who is it?"“Blaise,” he said, leaning back slightly to check her expression. “I hope that’s okay. When he learnt why I was coming over-”“You told him?”“I didn’t mean to He just wants to help." He searched her face, eyes earnest. "I can send him home.”“No,” she said, “it’s fine. I just…”“I get it, Granger. He knows there’s no magic here. He’s currently arguing with a muggle, after all.”“Don’t you want to help him?”“No way. It’s somebody else’s turn to talk their way past security.”Hermione smiled, dropping her head onto his shoulder. Felt him sigh, his arms tighten, pressing her body into his. She felt his fingers playing with the ends of her hair, twisting it in his grip.
“How did you get here so fast?”“Apparated," he murmured. “I’ve never moved so fast. I was worried he’d come back. Granger, we have to-”“Not yet,” she said, “Just let me have a few more minutes, before…”
Before what? Before she admitted that her entire life was built on a lie? Before she broke her promise to her parents and fell back onto magic to fix everything? She felt like she was on a precipice, just like she had at Hogwarts, a tightrope over a sea of spikes. Whichever way she fell, she was going to get hurt.
But then Malfoy’s grip tightened in her hair, keeping her head on his shoulder, his own bowing so he could press his lips lightly to her neck, and the feeling dissipated. A safety net, draping himself over her as if he was trained for it, as if he knew everything she needed, even before she did. Standing taller, she pulled back from him, placed a hand on his cheek. His eyes landed on her scar, fingers moved from her hair to wrap around her wrist.
“Thank you for coming.”“Not sure if you’ve noticed, Granger,” he said, thumb rubbing against the blurry letters etched into her skin, “but I’d apparate to the end of the world if you needed me to.”"The letter mentioned you.""And?"“If you want out,” at her words, his frown deepend, and hsi eyes snapped up to hers, “because of the lett-”“Do not finish that sentence.”She didn’t even have a chance to, because two things happened at once. The kettle boiled, and Blaise’s voice came floating over from the doorway.
“For fuck’s sake, I’m not stalking her! If I was going to stalk someone, why on earth would I stalk Granger? She’s not that bloody special.” Blaise shoved past Charlotte, glaring at her. He threw his hands up into the air, dropping a bag on the floor next to Malfoy’s. “Honestly, it’s like talking to a fucking Chimera. Where’s the other one?”“Kate is working,” Hermione told him, stepping out of Malfoy's grip to finish the tea. Charlotte let the door close with a slam, checking the locks before she came over to the island. Hermione thought Blaise should shrivel up into ashes with the heated look she gave him, but the new addition to their group only ignored her.
“Sorry about your stalker, Granger,” he said casually. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. “Figured you’d need an extra hand. Also, Draco said you lived with a baker, so I was thinking she could whip me up something to eat. Draco's terrible at running errands lately, and I'm starv-"“Stop talking, Blaise.” Malfoy’s voice came from just over her shoulder. She felt his chest against her shoulder, the heat rolling off of him. The times she'd thought of him at school - which had probably been more than she'd admit out loud - she had always imagined he would be cold, the chill expressed in his gaze a physical part of him. She'd thought that touching him would feel like dipping your hand in a sea during a storm, painful and freezing. But in reality, he was the opposite; open and calm. Comfortable, safe. She leaned into him, felt his hand on her lower back, over her t-shirt.
“We need a game plan,” Charlotte said.“Actually,” Malfoy said slowly, his thumb moving in circles. “I have a few ideas.”Hermione turned to look at him, and she was sure her eyes were showing her desperation. His own were steady, strong, that sea after the storm had passed. She knew he wasn’t occluding, because she could see a sort of panic in the silver, like the shine of metal. Always so ready to give her everything he had.“We’ve already spoken about telling Potter.”“No,” Hermione said instantly, shaking her head. Her grip on her mug tightened, so hard she thought it might shatter in her hands.
“Granger.”“No,” she said again, looking away from him. “Anything else, Malfoy. Not that.”She felt his chest move against her shoulder when he sighed.
“Fine,” he ceded. “There’s a better option anyway. I have a guy.”“A guy?” Charlotte asked, reaching into a cupboard to grab some crisps. When Blaise tried to reach over her to grab one, she slapped his hand, the sound echoing loudly through the flat. Hermione winced.“He’s sort of a private investigator.” When Hermione looked over again, Malfoy's eyes met hers. She knew what he meant. “He’s helped me before, with cases similar to this.”“Does everyone you know have a stalker?” Charlotte asked pointedly.
"You'd be surprised," Blaise muttered.“He helped me find my father.” Malfoy was talking to Hermione when he said this, checking her reaction. His hand travelled up her back.Hermione remembered the fallout from Lucius Malfoy’s disappearance, the vanishing act he'd performed on route to Azkaban. The scandal has rocked the wizarding world, giving Rita Skeeter plenty of bait to criticise an already-failing Ministry. Everyone had wondered why Lucius had disappeared, and left his son to rot in his place. When she’d left the wizarding world, they still hadn’t found him, but Malfoy had told her that he was dead. She couldn't imagine Lucius Malfoy ever going quietly.“He must be good,” she said quietly, and he nodded.
“He can come over tomorrow morning. Just meet him, and then we’ll decide.” Hermione nodded. “Blaise is going to stay at the shop when I can’t.”“There’s no need-”“Granger, come on,” Blaise said, reaching over quickly to grab one of Charlotte’s crisps, “It’ll give me something to do. Malfoy’s flat is so boring.”“Don’t you work?” Charlotte asked him.
“Being me is a job in itself.”“Blaise and I aren’t enough,” Malfoy said quietly to Hermione. She braced herself for the repeated argument. “I want to tell-”“We’re not telling Harry,” she said.
“That’s not what I was going to say.” She watched him bite his lip. “Theo is also available.”“Theo Nott?” He nodded, and she sighed. “This is unnecessary.”“Granger, please. Only when I can’t be there. Believe it or not, Blaise does work. Theo is ridiculously available. His ability to do absolutely nothing is seriously impressive, and slightly concerning. You'd be doing everyone a favour."“You don’t have to do all this for me, Malfoy.”“Yes, I do. I won’t ask him if you don’t want me to, but-" He cut himself off, glancing in Charlotte's direction. "We have to do something to protect you, if you won't."
Get a wand.
"Granger, I-"“It’s fine.” She knew she was being unfair, knew he was just trying to do everything in his power to help her, without breaking her trust. But suddenly having three wizards watching over her like… like sentries, it was too much. She tapped her finger on the countertop, staring into her tea.
“Look at me.” His words were low, murmured. Blaise and Charlotte were bickering, still, and so they had a quick moment of separation, of blatant privacy. Hermione did as he asked, found his gaze with her own. His hand came up to rest on the back of her neck, holding her there. With his fingers on her bare skin, leeching the tension from her muscles, she felt pliant. His grip was soft, but possessive. Hermione had never been into such things, but she found she liked it, from him.“I’m just trying to protect you,” he said, and she nodded.
“I know.”His eyes searched hers, flickered down to her mouth. Further south. Back up, quickly. Her breaths quickened slightly at the heat in them, the air between them practically shimmering at the look he gave her.“Do you know your t-shirt is green?”She frowned, glanced down, gave a small shrug. “Guess it was sub-conscious. Not everyone has such an obsession with certain colours, you know."It's not an obsession with the colour, Golden Girl," he denied, thumb pressing at the place just behind her ear. "It's an obsession with you in my colour."She hummed. "Maybe next time I'll make an conscious effort to wear green, then. Just for you." His fingers tightened, slightly, on the sides of her neck, pushed so she was closer.“I like that,” he murmured. “A lot.”They each had a cup of tea, which Blaise angrily commented was no better than his own. They ended up sprawled through the living room, Charlotte’s favourite film filling the silence. Malfoy made a small noise when Hermione lowered herself to sit beside him, frowning at the distance between them, reached over to pull her closer.It had barely been two days since their relationship had become so intimate, and yet, Hermione didn't feel rushed. She didn't feel nervous, or unsure. They were moving fast, she knew, but it didn't feel anything like that. He kept his arm around her through the movie, pulled her back to him when she separated to grab the remote later on. Itching to have her, needing her close.Hermione didn't force herself to think on it, the way he made her feel. She knew if she did, she would circle it, poke holes until the idea became unstable, until she pushed them over the edge and into a warzone. She only allowed herself to feel the way he touched her, now: his hand twined into her hair, rubbing small circles into her scalp; his body lined up next to hers; his shoulder under her cheek. She glanced up at him, saw his eyes were focused on the TV, his walls back up. He felt her eyes on him, looked down at her to give her a small smile.
“What are you thinking about?” she whispered. Charlotte was asleep on the other end of the couch, Blaise in the armchair across the room.
“Annoyingly enough,” he said gruffly, “work.”Her lips twitched. “Want to talk about it?”“Not right now, Granger.” He met her gaze again. “What are you thinking about?”She shuffled closer, glanced over at her friend. “I want to do a spell.”He blinked. Nodded his head, slowly.
“Whe- Absolutely fucking not.”
Hermione heard a hiss, moved her head to see Crooks inching his way towards the sofa. Malfoy shifted, trying to put more space between him and the cat.“Stop that.”Hermione laughed when Crookshanks’ batted out a claw, aiming for Malfoy’s ankles again.“Why does it do that?”“He must still be angry with you. For yelling at me.”Malfoy tutted. “You were also shouting.”“I told you, I’m his favourite. He likes me better than anybody else.”He made a small sound. “Suppose we have that in common.”She smiled at him, settled back into the space he was leaving for her, his arm stretched over the back of the sofa. Malfoy groaned as Crookshanks jumped up to sit beside him expectantly. “What does it want?”“Maybe he wants you to pet him.”“After last time?” He waved a hand. “No. Fuck off.”“Come on, Malfoy, be nice. He’s trying to make up with you.”“No, Granger. It doesn’t like me, and I don’t lik- What is it doing now?”Crookshanks’ steps were sure, bringing him over onto Malfoy’s lap before he curled up, eyes narrowed and directed at the face of the man he was tormenting. Malfoy sighed heavily, warily poked the cat with a finger.“I don’t like this.”“I know.”He sighed, slowly pressed a knuckle to Crookshank's head, gave the cat a small stroke."I suppose I should get used to it," he said. Hermione lowered her head again, feeling his breath ruffle her hair. Heard a murmured statement.“The things I do.”Smiling, she closed her eyes to the feel of his fingers in her hair, the gentle increasing vibrations of Crooks' reluctant purring. She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, she was being lifted. She heard murmured voices, Charlotte directing him to her bedroom. Malfoy’s arms were warm beneath her, strong, sure. He placed her on her bed gently, moving away. She reached out in the darkness to find him, to bring him back.“Stay,” she whispered, heard a quick intake of breath.“I’m just closing the door.”As he did, Hermione reached over to turn her lamp on. Turned to watch his back as he closed her bedroom door, suddenly coming to the realisation that he was in muggle sweatpants and a t-shirt. She giggled softly, and he frowned at her, moving back to the bed. Slow steps, giving her time to change her mind.“What’s so funny?” he asked her.
“Just… you, in muggle clothes. In my bedroom.”His lips twitched as he leaned over to press his palms on the mattress. “Clearly we’ve both been thinking about different things, if this is funny to you.”She frowned at him now. “You’ve been thinking about this?”“Of course I have, Granger. My mind is filled with nothing but you. It’s incredibly distracting.”"What have you been thinking about?"Through the dim light of her lamp, his gaze flashed silver, settled to a dark grey. All the things she'd never known about him, all the beautiful parts of him she was finding, his eyes were her favourite. So honest, so expressive, the colour shifting with his emotions. Only for her, she somehow knew."I'm a man, Granger. What the hell do you think I think about?"She rolled her eyes even as her smile grew into a grin, moving over to make room for him. He laid backwards on her bed, one hand under his head, other arm held out for her. She nestled into his side, felt his chest rise with a deep breath. With his breathing, the steady heat of him, the sure feel of his arm around her, fingers in her hair once more, she felt herself falling asleep instantly. Felt that sense of peace threatening to steal over her, to push fear and worry to the side.“Are we okay to keep the light on?” he asked quietly, into her hair. Hermione frowned, but nodded, too tired to say anything.
Too tired to wonder why Draco Malfoy was scared of the dark.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Sunlight broke through the thin curtain, warming Draco’s face. Too soon after he’d fallen asleep, he woke, slowly, with the instant awareness that, for possibly the first time in his life, one of his dreams was coming true. He tightened his grip around Granger’s waist, pulling her closer into his chest, if it was even possible. An hour earlier, as the sun had started to rise, he’d groggily reached back to switch off the light. She’d turned in his arms, pressing her body into him, arm slung over his chest, breath against his neck. He’d slept better than he had in… He couldn’t even recall the last time he'd slept so well. Sober, anyway.
Considering the anxious, angry mess he’d been when he and Blaise had made their way over here last night, he’d never thought he could sleep. He’d been ready to track the fucker down, use all the things Bellatrix had taught him, some of which he’d never even used. He’d been planning his hunt, reminding himself of where he’d left his gear, the strategies he’d used the last time she’d been in danger. Walls strong, coated in molten silver, he'd been ready; he had been prepared. Then he’d seen her, and she had clung to him, using him for comfort, for safety. His walls had shattered.If Granger had wanted it, he would have torn the city apart to find the person hurting her. But her face, her gaze upon him… Draco knew that wasn’t what she needed. His anger had taken a different turn, a calmer, more patient one. He’d wait it out, if it made her feel better.
Granger shifted, turning her back to him, made a small hum of contentment when he pulled her back flush to his chest. Draco dozed off again, arm banded around her, leg between hers. She’d taken her leggings off sometime during the night, and he was grateful that the covers were over them, or he’d lose his fucking mind. Like he almost had done when he’d seen her in that green fucking t-shirt. His colour. He was practically on top of her at this point. He hoped she didn’t mind. He hoped she’d want him to stay again.
Later, he woke to her shuffling, pressing herself back against him. Draco knew exactly what she was chasing, what she could feel pressing against her arse. But he wouldn’t be taking advantage. He pressed his face into her hair. She moved again.
“Granger,” he said into her curls, hoping his tone conveyed as much reluctant warning as he was feeling. “The whole taking it slow thing? You’re making it overwhelmingly difficult when you move like that.”At his voice, she turned to face him, holding his arm to keep it around her. They were so close, he could feel her breath on his chin. Heat against the top of his leg. She was going to drive him insane if he didn’t get out of this bed soon.
Her lips landed on his jaw, softly, before moving up to his cheek. Lifting herself up onto an elbow, she paused, hovering over his mouth. He let her lower self to him slowly, carefully. Their kiss was unhurried, considerate. Draco took his time, learning the way she moved against him, the taste of her in the morning. Savoured the way her touch traced down his neck, over his shoulders, danced along his bicep.
There was nothing for it. He needed her on his bare skin, right fucking now. He’d have Blaise packing him a bag for St Mungo’s if he waited any longer, calling his therapist.
He sat up, only to pull his top over his head before he turned back to her, pushing a leg between hers, wrapping an arm under her back to lift her up to him. He wasn’t sure how she’d feel about his scars; he had plenty of them. From the sectumsempra, from Bella’s training, from his hunts. The war and its aftermath had taken it’s toll on him, mentally and physically. He’d never minded them before but-The second her fingers landed on his shoulders, finally on his skin, he decided he didn’t have to see her look at him. He could keep his eyes closed, if it kept her touch on him. She skated her hands across his shoulder blades, down his back. When he groaned gently, her nails dug in.
Then she was rolling her hips, brushing herself against his thigh, and he was pushing a hand up her t-shirt. She was gasping into his mouth, swallowing his groans. He wasn’t sure he could stop, could feel his mind breaking down, his occlumency falling to pieces once more. All for her.“Do you stand by your promise?” she asked breathlessly, when he moved his lips to drift over her jaw. He leaned back to look at her, lips swollen, eyes amber in the sunlight. He knew what he wanted to say, but his throat had closed. She was too beautiful in the morning, words were an impossibility. Draco sent a prayer to whatever had put him here that it be a regular occurrence, his karma be damned.
“I’ve made a few promises to you,” he said eventually, his voice harsh. He pressed his hips into her, and her own jumped. “Which one are you referring to?”He latched his mouth onto her neck, just under her jaw, and her head fell back to give him better access. Merlin, he loved having his tongue on her, tasting her. Loved the way her back arched when he drifted his fingertips over her ribs. Loved the whimpers she made when he gripped her hip, rolling it against him.
“The one about-” she interrupted herself with a gasp when his touch skated over the underside of her breast, and he smirked against her neck, “-your bed.”He squeezed a nipple between his fingers, just once, before moving his hand back down, to the waistline of her panties.
“I stand by it,” he said, and she made a sound of frustration.
“I think you’re stalling,” she hissed, and he dug his teeth into the bend of her neck. Laved his tongue over the skin to soothe it.“Do you?” He moved to lean on his elbow, giving space for his free hand to press against her centre, over her underwear. Her hips snapped up, and he pressed his chest against hers to keep her still. “I call it savouring.”“I don’t want you to savour me,” she whispered harshly. “I want you to fuck me.”Draco was sure his eyes rolled back in his head. He’d imagined her saying that so many times. For years, he’d dreamed of it. There was a time when he forbade himself from fantasies of her, knowing it was wrong to imagine someone who would never have you, who barely knew you still existed after the things you’d done. But he couldn’t help it. Every thing in him every cell in his goddamn body took him straight back to her.
“I’m going to,” he said again, “But until then…”He rolled them over, yanking her on top of him, her legs straddling his hips. She shuffled, righting herself, her core pressing down on the outline of his cock in this muggle tracksuit. God, he’d send a letter to whoever designed these. He was never wearing robes again. When she moved, he grabbed her hips with both hands, stilling her, opened his eyes to look at her.
Her focus was on him, his face. Moving down, her fingers trailing after her vision, lines of flame erupting on his skin. He winced, before he saw that chestnut gaze fill with desire, felt her touch become surer, palms flattening over the planes of his chest.
“Granger,” he said slowly, “I know I’m not exactl-”“You’re perfect,” she told him, “stop overthinking this.” She paused. “Besides, I have my own.”Draco was sure his heart failed him, as she reached for her t-shirt, pulling it over her head. His brain faltered, his heart failed. When she grabbed his wrist, pressed his palm to a bare breast, he knew she could see his desperation in his eyes. She smirked, forced his touch down, to her torso.He’d never thought about her scars before - aside from the obvious one on her arm, of course. When avenging her, he’d only thought about how she’d felt, how scared she must have been, how angry he was that he hadn’t protected her properly. He’d made sure Dolohov had regretted it. Now, as he hovered his fingertips along the scar across her stomach, he was glad of what he did. For the first time, he wondered if he could tell he-“Draco,” she said. “With me. Stay with me.”He vowed to do so, as long as it kept her eyes on him. She moved herself over him, again, taking control, and he knew he was going to have a heart attack. Merlin, the feel of her, through two layers of fucking fabric. It was insane.
“Hermione,” he gasped out, pushing his touch up her stomach. Over her breasts, catching a nipple between his fingers. Groaned at the feel of her. Brought one hand further up to wrap his fingers over the hollow of her throat, just enough so he could drag her back down to him. So he could kiss her. She moaned into his mouth.
“Take your hair down,” he ordered, and she did.
“Slower,” he told her, and she slowed.
“Look at me.” She did.
"Don’t stop, Granger."He let her take control, dry-fucking him into her mattress, and he loved it. He was sure everyone else in the flat would hear him, he didn’t care. Draco wanted everybody to know exactly who he belonged to, where he was and what he was doing. He wanted her all over him, her scent on his clothes, imprints of her nails on his chest.
“I can’t take my eyes off of you,” he confessed in a hiss. “So fucking beautiful.” Her hips moved faster, harder, and he knew she was close. He’d been ready the second she’d started - how he’d held on he’d never know, but Merlin was he grateful. There was nothing worse, in his opinion, than coming before your witch.
“That’s it, Golden Girl,” he groaned, “make yourself come for me. I want to watch you.”She did as he told her, with just a few more rolls of her hips. She fell forward, leaning on his chest, her hair falling around them. Draco followed her over the edge, catching his groans with her mouth, leaning up to drag her down to the bed with him. They stilled together, her breaths against his neck. Harsh, quick. Satisfied. He felt her smile.
“So maybe I don’t want to slow down,” she said. He huffed out a laugh.“Considering how long I’ve been waiting, I’m taking this as slow enough.”He thought she’d go tense, kept thinking he was going to say something that would freak her out. Push her away. But she only sighed, splayed her fingers over his scarred chest. Pressed a light kiss to his skin.
“I’ve imagined that a thousand times,” he admitted quickly, and she moved so she could look into his eyes, hands cupping his face, “It barely comes close to you.”Granger pressed her lips to his for a moment, and he held her there, against him. She pulled back, a mischievous smirk curling her lips.
“Tell me what else you’ve imagined.”

They made it out of Granger’s room half an hour later - Draco hadn’t been able to tell her what she wanted, not without coming close to officially losing his shit when she offered to carry out the first fantasy right there and then. He needed to get her in his bed, and soon. Fucking minx. She knew exactly what she was doing when she led him out of her bedroom, hips swaying. Those hips had been over him, moving, pressing…Get a grip, Draco.
He felt like a horny teenager. He was sure he was acting like one, unable to keep his hands off of her for more than a minute. He’d been looking for any excuse to come over last night, just to be near her. It amazed him how she let him touch her, hold her, kiss her. It amazed him that she wanted him like he wanted her.
He had come to the disastrous conclusion that he couldn’t tell her the truth, not until he’d sorted this stalker situation out. The guilt weighed heavy, but perhaps not heavy enough. Potter and his Ministry spies were, as per usual, completely useless. Draco had already sent a letter to Leon requesting his services last week, permission from Granger be damned. Leon had replied over the weekend with his phone number, which Draco had used last night to send him the address of Granger’s flat. He was due in ten minutes.
Granger’s personal security services this morning consisted of Kate, who appeared much more open to Blaise’s presence than Charlotte. When they left Granger’s bedroom, she was pulling a loaf of something from the oven, Blaise sat watching from the armchair. He raised an eyebrow at Draco.
“Good morning,” Kate said from the kitchen.
“It certainly sounded like one,” Blaise said, smirking. Draco picked up a pine-cone from the strange bowl on the coffee table and threw it at him. “What time will Leon be here?”“Soon. You’d better make yourself scarce.”Blaise was out of the flat in minutes, and Draco was left with a curious Granger. He watched her, waiting. Despite all that had changed, that endless curiosity still flared in her, that need to know. And he still enjoyed it, still revelled in the idea of having something she didn’t.
“Aren’t you going to tell me?”“Tell you what?” he asked innocently, pretending to check his phone.
“Are you going to make me ask?”“You’re an unending well of questions, Granger. How am I to know which one you want answered first?” He grinned at her, and she kicked him gently. He grabbed her foot, tugging it onto his lap.
“Why does Blaise have to leave before the investigator gets here?”Draco sent his eyes in Kate’s direction pointedly, running finger up the sole of her bare foot. Granger wasn’t ticklish, it seemed. He filed the knowledge away, the list of things about her he could learn now he could touch her.Leon arrived perfectly on time, as usual. A predictable wizard, the private investigator had been working for the Malfoy family since Draco had hired him after his release from Azkaban. The man hadn’t been the only private investigator Draco had considered; but he was the most determined, loyal. Secretive.“Draco,” he said by way of greeting when Malfoy let him in to the flat. “It’s been a while.”“Fortunately.” After Leon had found his father, Draco hadn’t had need of his services. He paid double what Leon had asked for, dealt with his father, and then planned never to use Leon again - except for when Theo had asked. But, needs must. “Leon, meet Hermione Granger. Her friend, Kate.”Draco had already informed Leon about Granger’s circumstances, with a little less information that was necessary. He knew she didn’t want everybody knowing her personal issues, so he’d simply told Leon that she didn’t have the time to do what was needed. Draco tried to give Granger space whilst Leon was there, whilst he told her exactly what he would do - well, not exactly, being that Kate was in the room - to find the fucker who was stalking her.
“I’ve had plenty of experience with stalkers,” he told her, “I’ve found every one.”“That’s all well and good,” Kate said, “but what happens when you find him? The police have been clear that there’s nothing they can do-”“I never leave a job unfinished, Miss,” Leon answered. “Let’s just worry about that bridge when we come to cross it.”Kate had to leave for work whilst Granger and Leon were finalising details, and she passed by Draco, standing guard by the door. She gave him a small smile as she left, and Draco breathed a sigh of relief. It was getting easier to be around Granger’s friends, of course, but now they could be open. He moved to sit on the sofa, leaving some distance between his body and Granger. Trying to give her space, control over what was happening to her.“Leon,” he said, “if this guy is a muggle, we’re going to need to be careful in how we deal with him.”“I’m aware. Believe it or not, I’ve dealt with a lot of muggles in my time. It might be a simple case of obliviating any memor-”“No.”
Granger’s voice was strong, sure. Draco looked over at her, saw her expression was set. She would make a good occlumens, this one. This witch, who still had yet to use magic again. But he could feel it in the air, the heat of it.“Granger, we need to make plans.”“Then make plans. But we’re not using obliviate. I don’t care what else you do, just not that.”Leon watched her for a minute, before he nodded. It didn’t take long for them to agree on the rest of the details. Leon knew Draco expected everything to go through him first. It wasn’t that he thought Granger fragile; she was not, in any way. But she couldn’t deal with this on her own, especially with her aversion to magic.
“Granger,” he said to her after Leon had left. “You know that, aside from the obvious, obliviate might be the only way to stop this.”“I won’t.”“You don’t have to do it.” She stood and moved to her bedroom, entering without checking he was following. He did so, anyway. “If that’s the issue-”“That’s not it.”Draco sighed, sitting on the edge of her bed as he watched her for a moment. He knew he should be heading to work, had never actually told the Ministry that he wouldn’t be coming in today. At the thought, he grabbed some paper from her bedside table, a pen. Scribbled a letter to Potter, informing him he was taking a day off. All the wards were set, the patients cared for as best as they could be. Granger needed him. He smiled ever so slightly when he folded the letter up and sent it off as a Howler. Who needed an owl?As he placed the pen back on her bedside table, he spied a familiar parchment, unfolded it slowly. The ink of his quill had become somewhat blurry with all the times he’d thumbed through these pages, wondered what she would do when he handed it over. Whether she would incinerate it in front of him, whether she would even read it. He looked up to see her watching him.
“I wasn’t sure if you kept it,” he said, honestly. She moved over to stand in front of him head tilted.“Why would I get rid of it?” she said, “It’s evidence.”“Of what?”“Of what I’ve known, but everybody else always questions.” He raised his eyebrows. “That you’re a good man, Draco Malfoy.”She left him, and he watched her grab her bag from beside the door, throwing him a strange look as she left her bedroom. He didn’t give himself time to talk himself out of it; grabbed the pen and scribbled another few apologies on the paper, leaving it to face the ceiling. Maybe a part of him hoped she’d see it and call him out on it, and he would finally be able to tell her everything.
The other part of him, the part that went against everything she believed him to be, prayed that she wouldn’t. Because he was not a good man. And he would die before he let her get hurt again.

Hermione had to laugh when she led Draco to the car park, turning to face him after throwing her bag into the boot of her car. He looked…“Malfoy,” his eyes snapped up to hers, “you’re not scared of my car, are you?”“You know, more people die in these things than from broom accidents.”“That’s probably true. A lot of people drive like twats.”“We could fly to wherever you want to go.”“I hate flying.”He let out a small groan. “I know. I saw your face during Quidditch.”She cocked her head at him. “You watched me?”He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Far too much.”“Maybe that’s why Harry always beat you.”He laughed, rocking back on his heels. “It absolutely was. You didn’t think he beat me because he was better than me, did you?”She moved over to him, fisting the collar of his shirt in his hand. He’d changed out of his suit trousers at her insistence, but the shirt was a must, in his eyes. God forbid Draco Malfoy go anywhere without looking absolutely perfect.
“Don’t worry, Malfoy,” she said, “I’m a very safe driver. I’ll even let you watch me now, if you want.”“Like you could stop me,” he muttered, hand wrapping around her own. Lifting her hand to kiss the back of her knuckles, she saw his eyes drift over her shoulder, to her car. “I’m not even sure I’ll fit.”She grinned, letting a small laugh escape her. He narrowed his gaze, cutting his silvery eyes back to her.
“Dirty mind, Granger,” he said.“Can you blame me, after what you told me this morning?” she breathed in deeply. “If you don’t want to drive, maybe we could go back to my bedroom, and I’ll do what I of-”He groaned. “Get in the car. Quick, Granger, before I drag you back upstairs.”Malfoy had to push the passenger seat all the way back so he could sit comfortably. By the time Hermione pulled out of the car park, he was complaining of cramp in his left leg, cursing as some pop song filled the car. It reminded her of the song Charlotte and Kate had sung on her birthday.
“How do you listen to this?” he asked, and she laughed.
“I don’t. There’s a CD. Press that button there.”It took him thirty minutes to figure out which button she was referring to, and then figure out the volume. He decided very quickly that flying was better.
“But that’s just not true,” Granger said, when he pointed it out.
“Aside from the fact that it’s simpler and less dangerous, the view from up there is so much better. What is this place?”“This is the motorway.”“Well, it’s boring.”“We could play a car game.”“What’s a car game?”“Like, I’ll say an animal, and you-”“No.” He gave her a sidewards glare when she laughed, enjoying his discomfort. He shuffled in his seat. “Why don’t you just tell me where we’re going and I’ll meet you there. You drive, I’ll fly.”“You’d never actually do that, though.”“Wouldn’t I?”“No.”“What makes you say that, miss Brightest Witch?”For once, she didn’t call him out for her old nickname, instead just shook her head. “You like my company too much.”He didn’t argue with that, only licked his lips slowly, raising an eyebrow at her smug smirk. Malfoy watched her drive, she felt his glances, and he didn’t move his eyes off of her when she caught him. After a while, he reached over to touch the back of her hand, almost nervous, as if he wasn’t sure if she was allowed to let go of the steering wheel. She did, twining her fingers with his, letting him pull her knuckles to his lips. The silence became thoughtful.“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going? You’re acting like it’s some big secret.”She glanced at him quickly. “I’ll you tell you mine if you tell me yours.” For a moment, he was silent, and quickly added, “Why can’t Blaise be in the same room as Leon?”He chuckled, a dark sound. “Anyone else might ask me about my father.”She bit her lip, thinking. She had thought about asking, of course. If they had still been in school, she certainly would have. But she wasn’t a child any more, and she could wait.“I thought about it,” she told him, and glanced over to see he was smiling, “But… I want you to want to tell me.”He’d said the same thing to her, a few weeks ago. And now, she did want to tell him. She’d felt that her secrets were a barrier between them, an almost physical wall. It was uncomfortable, like a veil of secrets and guilt pushing them apart. Hermione had always felt it, that thing keeping her separate, even before her parents. It was why she hadn’t ever been able to fully engage in a relationship, even with Ron, aside from the sheer strangeness of being more than friends with her best friend.. But she wanted to, with Draco. She wanted to be with him, completely.“I will,” he said, his tone serious, promising. “Soon. Nobody except my mother really knows.”Hermione squeezed his hand once, to show she understood what it meant. She’d tell him, when they got to York, that he was the only one who knew her, completely. But her story would wait.
“So…” she said slowly, to break up the silence, “Blaise?”Malfoy laughed. “You’ve not heard the rumour, then. I could’ve sworn everybody knew about his mother.”“I guess I was pretty busy during school, you know, what with all the books.”“And the fighting dark lords.” It was his turn to squeeze her hand. “There’s a running joke that Blaise’s mother killed off all of her husbands.”“How does a rumour like that start?”“She was married seven times, and they all died suspiciously. It third year, he was eaten by a tree, supposed growth charm gone wrong.""What?""Anyway, it was Blaise who put me in touch with Leon, after I was released from Azkaban. He investigated his mother after her fifth husband fell out of a window.”“If Blaise put you in touch with Leon, why does he have to be so careful around him?”“If you know your mother is murdering her husbands for their money, you don’t really want to start hanging around with private investigators.”“That’s true.”
“Also, he fucked her daughter at few too many parties at school, and Leon’s kind of had it out for him ever since.” Granger pulled her hand out and smacked him on the shoulder, earning a laugh. “Come on, then, Granger, out with it. I told you mine, now it’s yours.”Hermione gave him her hand again, and he combed his fingers through hers.
“We’re going to York,” she told him. She waited for him to ask, glanced at him to see he was strangely interested in the back of her hand. “Don’t you want to know what’s there?”“I trust you’ll tell me.”“Considering how you were at Hogwarts, you’re very trusting nowadays.”“Not for everyone. Just for you, Granger.”

They arrived just outside of York in the early afternoon, the sky a dark grey blanket overhead. Malfoy had spent the entire drive complaining, although at the same time had become convinced he could drive better than Hermione. Typical man. She watched him clamber out of her car, stretching his long legs. Her mind flashed back to having those long legs tangled up with her own, pressed up against her. She wondered if he’d fit in her car horizontally.
“Is this York?” he asked, frowning at her from over the roof. She rolled her eyes.
“No. York is that way.” She pointed in a direction. “I think. You’ve never been to York?”“My childhood was not one spent travelling, Granger. Anyone my family needed or wanted to see came to us.”“Oh, yes, of course. How could I forget the oh-so-perfect Manor.”He shook his head, strolling around the car to meet her as she opened the boot.
“Not-so-perfect would be more accurate.”“How often do you go back there?”“Only when I have to. So, when my mother visits, which isn’t too often. In fact, she’s getting more and more insistent that I go to her.”“Well, maybe she’s just looking for an excuse,” she laughed.
“Yes, well. I haven’t considered the manor my home for a long time. My flat is much more…” He let out a deep breath, “what I want.”“So when you’ve said about your bed”He grinned, grabbing her hand and tugging her close. “You’re very fixated on that promise, Granger.” Wrapping a hand around the back of her neck, he tilted her chin up so she was looking at hm. “When I say my bed, I mean my bed. In my flat. With none of our friends around to stop you moaning my name as loud as I can get you.” He nipped at her bottom lip. “And don’t worry, I’m just as fixated on it, too.”“Then maybe you should hurry it up and make it happen,” she said, “You know, so we can both go back to concentrating on important things like work and friends?”“If you think I’ll be any less obsessed with you after fucking you, you’re poorly mistaken. If anything, I’m predicting I’ll become even more so.” She smiled against his mouth as he kissed her, before he pulled back. Much too soon. “Is this a date?”Hermione made a face. “No. Come on. If we get this over and done with, I’ll show you York.”Malfoy said nothing, even as they came to the cemetary. She supposed he already knew that her father was dead. If we he was connecting the dots, like he absolutely was, because he was that smart, he was surely just assuming she was bringing him to her father. She hadn’t visited her parents since her birthday, over two months ago. The flowers were dead, and the sight of them caused Hermione to stop in her tracks. She’d let herself lose sight of what was important what truly mattered.Malfoy must have seen what she was looking at, because his hand wrapped around hers. Gently tugging, he led her closer, to where her parents’ headstones stood amongst hundreds. Hermione’s eyes teared up at the sight of the wilted flowers, layers of dirt from the weather. Unloved, forgotten. She swore she’d never let-The flowers transformed slowly, petals coming alive in colour. Periwinkle, bright against the darkness of the day, the stems a healthy green. The dirt over her parents’ headstones was brushed off by an invisible hand. The grass around them become greener, trimmer. The stone shined.
“Thank you,” Hermione whispered. Malfoy’s hand squeezed hers. They stood for a long moment in silence, even when the rain started to fall gently from the clouds above. After realising that she wasn’t moving, Malfoy put a repelling charm around them both, including the headstones. Hermione felt water on her face, anyway.
“I obliviated them,” she started, “during the war. I knew I couldn’t protect them and… I didn’t want them at risk, so I wiped their memories of me, and I sent them to Australia. I stayed away from them, even after the war. With everything so chaotic, even after Voldemort died…
“But then I started to look into charm reversal, and I heard of one that I thought would work. So I went to Australia, and I broke into their lives. They’d been there for a year. They had friends and a new dentistry practice. They had lives. And I stormed in there and ripped it from them, again. Because I thought I had rights to them, as my parents. Because I thought magic would fix everything.“For a while, it did. The reversal charm worked, and even though they were scared, and angry, they remembered me. I stayed with them in Australia for a few months, but they wanted to come back. We picked York because it was far enough away from London that we could have a fresh start. As a family. So, eight years ago, I brought my family back to England.”Malfoy muttered a warming charm when she started to shiver, but she wasn’t sure if it was really from the cold. It felt more like pent up energy, pent up emotions. The story she hadn’t told anybody in seven years.“It started about three months after we came home. My dad, he… he started forgetting me again. One day I flooed home from the Ministry and he was so freaked out he threw his mug of coffee straight at my face. He had no idea who I was. And my mother… she was so angry with me. She couldn’t understand why I’d taken her memories from her. She never forgave me. We argued practically every day.“Six months after they moved to York, I knew something was wrong with the reversal charm. I left the Ministry, told Harry and Ron that I needed to spend some time with my parents, after everything. They understood, but…. I didn’t tell them everything. That my dad was getting violent, when he wasn’t wandering the streets. And my mother was distant, like she was trapped. I know she felt trapped. I wanted to make it right. I thought magic would fix it, so I started trying to change the charm. Find something.”Hermione’s voice broke on a sob, and she covered her mouth. But she was determined to finish it, to get it out. She never had, not really, just let it fester inside her body, her soul. Change her, into something she barely recognised.“I didn’t even get a chance to try anything else, anyway. I spent the day at the Burrow for Ginny’s birthday and when I came back… It wasn’t him, Malfoy.” She turned to face him, and he was already looking at her. She had been expecting pity, but she got just got a listener. His face was open, eyes mirroring the clouds above. “I know it wasn’t him. He was always so confused and scared and… Sometimes he wouldn’t even remember who she was, let alone me. And she must have been terrified. She always knew him.”Malfoy moved his grip from her hand to her shoulder, pulling her closer to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, clinging onto him. His warmth seeped into her, through her clothes, into her bones.
“I tried stunning him but it missed, and he just- I didn’t want to do it… Even during the war, I only used the curse when I had to. But he just wouldn’t stop hitting her, and I- I shouldn't have but I-” She broke off into a sob, pressing her face into his shirt. “I was too late. I killed him to save her, but I was too late."She felt his hand on her back, the warmth of him through her clothes. Let him hold her up, keep her standing. Give in to his support, finally.“I had to confund the police and the neighbours to think that they were an old couple, that they had died naturally. I couldn’t face the idea of an investigation, of them dragging my father’s name through the mud, all because I… It wasn’t his fault, Malfoy, it was mine. All because I thought I was better at magic than I actually was. Because I thought magic could fix everything, when it can’t. All it does is break things. I killed them, Draco. My parents, I killed them.”The tears came easily then, staining Malfoy’s shirt like the rain would have if he'd let it. He kept his arm wrapped around her shoulders, one hand twisting in her hair the way she knew he liked to. He pressed her face into his shoulder, even when she thought he might have pulled away. He said nothing, no attempted words of comfort or empty promises that things would get better.
God, she didn’t think she would ever stop crying. She thought she might die, not of sadness but of dehydration, that she would accidentally transfigure herself into a puddle of salt water, to be soaked into the soil of her parents’ graves. Was this how it felt, to carry ghosts with you for so long and then hand them over to somebody else? The guilt was maddening, saddening, overwhelmingly enraging. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. She wanted to dissipate, to disappear. She just wanted to cry, and cry, and cry.
And Malfoy was letting her, on his shirt that most likely cost more than her rent. Surrounded by his charms, magic that she had forced down for so long, now exploding around her, and she felt safe. To cry, or scream, or vent. Safe to finally unravel, to let herself fall into him. This was it, then. How it felt. To allow yourself time to speak, instead of listening to everybody else. To put yourself and your story first, instead of chasing after somebody else’s.
If this was that, she wasn’t sure she liked it. But she liked being held by him, despite the context. She liked that he seemed to understand what she needed, what she was saying. He understood her; her pain, her context. Whatever they were, he knew her.
He just held her. And that was all she needed.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

There hadn’t been many times in Draco’s life that he had been rendered speechless. They were so few he could remember them clearly, count them on one hand.The earliest example was probably when Granger had walked into the Great Hall in that bloody dress. The next, most likely the first time he’d watched Voldemort crucio his mother because he’d hesitated to use the killing curse. He hadn’t quite been sure what to say after his trial, when the Minister had handed him his wand. More recently, when he’d seen Granger in that green dress on her birthday.Now he listed them, he knew what it was closing his throat. What he was untrained for.Emotions.Granger hadn’t seemed to want anything verbal from him, and they had driven into the city in contemplative silence. The fifth time, in his life, he had nothing to say. He’d been trying to find something that wasn’t completely moronic; something that was empathetic and understanding, without bringing her to tears once more. To see her cry… it was still as hard as the very first time.He’d never done this before, though.
Even before Voldemort had been resurrected, the Malfoy stance on emotions had been made clear to him; they were a weakness. It was bad enough that they had to have them, that they were low enough to be human. To express them was unthinkable, destructive. So, when the opportunity had been presented for him to become something without them, something cold and unfeeling, he’d taken it. To protect his family. To protect her.Had he known that eventually he would need them, that she would want them… He might have observed the others a bit more. Taken notes on how Pansy tried to deal with him, the words she said. Made lists of all of Theo’s attempts at conversation in sixth year. Had Blaise teach him something other than sarcasm or cruelty. But he hadn’t.And now, he was so out of his league it was overwhelming. Not just because she was so much better than him, but because he didn’t know how to do this. This… emotional side of things. Draco had hoped she would open up to him, had hoped she was learning to trust him, but he had never, in his wildest dreams, been prepared for it.
She goes to York every month to see her parents.
Merlin, yet again, Potter proved himself to be absolutely worthless. What was the point of spying on your ex-best friend if you weren’t even going to do it right? Draco made a mental note to throw another stapler at him when he returned to the Ministry.He looked over at Granger as she meandered her car through narrow streets, trying to find space for her tiny little deathtrap. At her gentle request, he’d scourgified her face after her crying, after she’d pulled away so she could look up at him, the vision of her hauntingly beautiful against the grey. He hoped he hadn’t needed to tell her that he understood, that he was never going to force her to do magic, that he should never have thought he would have.
Perhaps he should tell her, now, what he’d done after she’d fought for him to be free. How he’d chosen to spend the years after his release, how close he’d come to ending up back in Azkaban. The hunt. Was it always this hard? Emotions.He’d never felt so vulnerable. He’d never been so emotionally attached to somebody before. Draco had always known she would destroy him; he hadn’t known it would be so fast.“Granger,” he said quietly, when she had finally pulled into a parking spot, “we don’t have to do this today. We can just go home.”“What?” She looked crestfallen all of a sudden, and he wanted to punch himself in the face. “Do you want to go home?”“No! I just… That was some emotional trauma back there, and I… My therapist always said-”“You have a therapist?” She didn’t ask to be cruel, or condescending. Like usual, she was looking at him was if he was in pieces in front of her, parts of a puzzle she wanted to complete. He liked that she was trying to figure him out. He hoped he always had something to surprise her with, that she’d never bore of him.
“Had a therapist,” he corrected. “Part of my Ministry-regulated parole, remember? He always said that part of taking care of ourselves is taking it easy. Especially on hard days.”Granger turned in her seat so she was facing him, searching his eyes. He’d never really liked eye contact before; it reminded him too much of Voldemort using his legilimency on him, of Snape training him to hide the parts of himself away that he didn’t want seen. It reminded him of being exposed, out in the open. Ripped apart. But with her… With Granger it just felt like a chance to gaze into her eyes, to show her what he was feeling even if it made him uncomfortable. To try and express what he couldn’t say.
“You know,” she started, looking out the front window, “every other time I’ve come up here, I’ve driven straight home afterwards. The city… It feels like everything they loved, before they broke. I’ve never tried to make new memories here, or with anything that reminds me of them. I always leave angry.” She looked at him, golden in the fading light. “I don’t want to only be angry or sad when I think of them, Draco. I want to be able to share my memories with them. With you, preferably.”He smiled, opening his car door. “Well then, let’s go. Show me this city, Hermione Granger.”The best part about Granger showing him around was that she insisted on holding his hand throughout - much too busy, she claimed, they would lose each other if not. She would tug him to the left, push to the right, grab onto his forearm with her free hand when she got excited. He wondered if he knew that she was clinging onto his Dark Mark - he wondered if she cared. She certainly hadn’t brought it up, and neither had he. Perhaps he shou-“Oh, this is the best bookshop,” she said, interrupting his thinking. “Come on, we have to see what they’ve got.”The second best thing about Granger, was that every bookshop was the best bookshop. He’d spent so much time - possibly too much - during fifth and sixth year eyeing her up in the aisles of the Hogwarts library, knowing she was too invested in the books to notice. It had been the perfect way to learn her, the way she pressed up on her toes to reach the higher shelves rather than just using a levitation charm. The way she held her quill as she made notes. The look on her face when she was concentrating.He knew her. He wanted her to know that.It was dark by five, with the stores closing, and they ended up strolling through a street that reminded Draco entirely too much of Diagon Alley. Granger had stopped to admire a piece of art in a window, an awful rendition of what Draco could only imagine was the inside of his mind currently; a big mess of grey and black smudges.“Hermione,” he tugged on her hand, spinning her to face him, eyes framed by curls. They were standing underneath a streetlight, the amber flecks in her gaze catching on the light. He had opened his mouth, but found he had forgotten what he was going to say, his mind scattering as she smiled as him.His sixth moment.“Draco.”Lips twitching into a small smile, he raised her palm to his mouth. “Thank you for telling me. About your parents. The trust you’ve placed in me… I know it’s not worthless. No matter what happens between us… you are safe with me.”She smiled gently at him, lifting her hand to his jaw. The kiss she gave him was soft and sweet, and he pulled her to him as she went to step back, so he could rest his forehead against hers. Draco had a sudden itch to never leave this place, to spend the rest of his life ensuring that when Granger thought of her parents, she found only happiness and sweetness. He wanted to remind her of who she was, who they’d brought her up to be. How fierce and powerful and brilliant she was. Under the streetlight, he could see it even clearer. Her golden aura, sparkling around her. Falling over him.“Let’s stay,” he said out loud, and she frowned at him.
“Stay?”“Here. Tonight.”“What about work?”Fuck work. “I’ve left people looking at the counter-curses whilst I’ve been gone. We’ll get back before midday and I’ll check in as soon as we do. Granger,” she looked up at him, “We have one night of peace. Away from creepy stalkers and cursed boxes and fluffy demons who want to kill me. Can we take it, please?”She bit her lip. “I’m not sure we’ll find somewhere to stay this late.”He smirked, pulling her under his arm. “I’m Draco Malfoy. I’ll find us somewhere to stay.”He did, of course, find them somewhere to stay, a small muggle pub off a side street. The receptionist directed them to the bar which, thank Merlin, served Draco’s favourite muggle whiskey. He ordered them some food and wine for Granger, and they sat in the table in the corner of the room. Watching muggles. So normal. So unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.“This is something I don’t get,” Draco told her, their shoulders pressed together, “If cars are so amazing, why don’t wizards use them?”“Some do. Arthur Weasley, for instance. His car flies.”“What? You’re lying.”“I’m not. Don’t you remember second year?”“Second year’s a bit of a blur to me, quite honestly.”“Maybe I’ll ask him to show you someday.” She smiled at him, and his heart fluttered the way it always did. Her remarks about their future were becoming more blasé and frequent. He loved it. Draco had a feeling those instances of speechlessness were going to increase, if she let him stay with her.“I do prefer muggle chips,” he admitted to her, reaching over to her plate. She gaped at him as he stole a handful of her fries. “I’m not sure what it is about them, they must be cooked different.”“You’re cooked different. Get your own chips, for Christ’s sake.”“Tell me about Christ,” he said suddenly, and she chocked on a gulp of wine.
“I’m sorry?”“Charlotte mentions him a lot, as do you. If I remember right, he was some sort of prophet, yes?”It was a reach, she must have known it. She gave him a look as if she knew it, and yet...
She taught him anyway, yet another scenario he had thought about countless times at school. No wonder he'd been second to her all the time; she filled his mind with light, gold against the darkness.“So, if everyone just hates each other, why don’t they just ignore each other?”She laughed, letting her head fall back. “You are not the one to say that. Haven't you spent half your life complaining about a certain old friend of mine?""Might have done.""Didn't you spend half your time at Hogwarts making his life a misery?"He knew he was blushing. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”"Why was that, anyway?""What?""What had you hating him so much? He's pureblood, his family have as much history as yours.""The elitism of pureblood society goes further than you can think, Granger. Arthur Weasley loved muggles, Lucius Malfoy made an entire career out of doing the opposite. My father hated them, so I hated them." He shrugged. "There was also the rumour.""What rumour?" She raised an eyebrow when he gave her a look. "What rumour, Malfoy?"He sighed. "In fifth year, there was a rumour that you two were sleeping together already.""What? Who started that? Malfoy," she said warningly, when he shifted in his chair, "did you start it?""Of course not! I had a life-altering crush on you by then, Granger, why would I start it?""You know who did though.""Obviously. Made sure they regretted it, too.""What did you do?"He swallowed, unsure if she would scold him for what he had done because of a simple whisper in his ear. But at her stern glance, he said, "Oliver Wood was one of the best fliers in school, did you really think he fell off of his broom by accident?""Draco!""Anyway, if I didn't loathe the ginger shit before then, I couldn't even look at him afterwards. Just the idea..." He shivered, and she rolled her eyes at him.Perhaps this was the time, he thought, the time to explain it to her. It seemed a good a time as any; no interruptions in the form of friends or stalkers or customers.
They had moved their chairs so they were side by side, backs against the wall, so they could observe the pub around them. In the low light, she looked like a dark angel, sent from heaven to remind him of his sins. Just like… what was that angel called, the one she’d just been talking about? It didn’t matter. Anyway, she looked… beautiful wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t enough to describe her. She looked… ethereal, like a painting from Hogwarts. Had she been a painting, he’d had have surely missed his classes, for spending all his time staring at her.
It hardly mattered. All his time had gone on her, anyway.
“Granger,” he started, “I want to speak to you about something.”She turned those earthly eyes on him, and he stuttered - actually stuttered, for Merlin’s sake. Ridiculous, what she was doing to him. It really was.
“What is it?”“I know I apologised for everything that happened at school. Nothing I say could ever justify how I treated you, and I don’t want it to. I just… I’d like for you to understand.”She swivelled in her chair, propping her elbow on the back of it, her chin on her hand. This was something Theo had once mentioned to him; active listening. He’d never been very good at it, but he felt she was hanging on every word. Maybe she was.
“Before I went to Hogwarts, my father ensured I knew exactly what I had been bred for. I would be sorted into Slytherin, best of my class, marry the girl set aside for me. Spend my adult days doing nothing, minding the manor, sorting the finances. Buying my way through life. And then, the summer before first year, he told me that Harry Potter was going to be starting Hogwarts. Of course I’d heard of him, but I never imagined… I was too young to fully understand the history of my family and my father’s choices. All I knew was following his orders.“Anyway, I was told what my role would be. I either had to befriend him, or destroy him. I figured it would be easy, you know. I mean, this kid had spent eleven years in the muggle world, no magic. He didn’t even understand how important it was, you know? He didn’t have the pressure to be perfect, he’d be looking for someone to guide him and I could be that. But then he waltzes into the Great Hall, breaks all the rules, wanders round Hogwarts like he owns the damn place, and everybody just lets him. The one time I broke the rules I got detention with him. And he’s followed around by this pathetic ginger little shit, who is just inherently annoying, and the older I get the more I’d like to pu-“ He cuts himself off when she giggles.
“And this girl. A muggle-born girl, everything my father told me to hate. So I hate her, because I’m told to. And I make sure she knows it, knows that I’m better than her just by sheer birth. There’s no way she’ll be worth anything, because my father told me that she couldn’t be. But she’s beating me, in every class. She’s got this wild hair that takes up an entire damn room, blocks the view of the professor in every lesson-“ she swatted him, “-she’s always reserving the books I want from the library and never handing them in on time-“ she rolled her eyes, “-and what’s worse, she spills coffee all over those books-““I do not!”“You did then, right in front of me,” he’s laughing with her, and he never imagined that she would laugh when he told her this. Never imagined she wouldn’t be so offended by him telling her that he hated her. “When my father found out I wasn’t top of our year, he was furious. I wasn’t allowed to see the others the entire summer. I spent six weeks re-learning everything about what being a Malfoy meant. My hatred, my superiority, my blood.“And then you beat me again in second year, and I hated you even more. I guess I should have known my father would be behind everything that happened that year, but I couldn’t see through him. To know your family has a history born in violence is one thing; to accept that that hasn’t changed, and that you are now part of it… I blocked it out, I know I did. And then in third year, not only did you beat me, but you broke my nose.”“You deserved it.”“I absolutely deserved it. I called you names and used slurs and hated you because of your heritage. I deserved more than a broken nose. You should have have used your wand on me that day. Before, even.”‘I thought about it,” she smiled slowly, “but punching you was so much more satisfying.”“My only regret is that the Weasel witnessed it. Then fourth year,” he took a swig of his whiskey, “That was when it started. The Yule Ball, to be exact. You in that fucking dress. Pansy was so mad at me. I couldn’t take my goddamn eyes off of you. I hated you, but I wanted you. I couldn’t make sense of it. I told you it felt wrong, not having you with me, and suddenly, in an instant, I knew I couldn't hate you. It felt physically impossible.“And then I didn’t mind so much that you were beating me, because the look on your face when you got the answer right was incredible. The look on your face when you were wrong was even better. I realised I’d chosen my seat in the library because it provided the perfect view of your seat in the library. The week after, in charms, I suddenly figured out that I didn’t care about being at the front so I could see the board better, but that it put me closer to you. I knew it then.”“Knew what?” she asked him, when he’d paused.
“I knew that I’d been sent to school to destroy Harry Potter.” He tugged at a curl, twined it around his finger. “You were sent to destroy me.”She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “You’re so overdramatic.”“Had things been different, I would have ripped Krum’s hands off of you in a second. The rumour about you and the Weasel would have been smashed to pieces, because I’d make it clear that you were mine, and that the idea of him being anything close to what you deserved was just laughable. I would have worked to make it up to you, earlier. Been brave enough to go against what my family told me. But then fifth year, things were getting worse. And then in the summer…” He finished his drink, realised both of his hands were free. Ran them through his hair, before they were taken in her hands, held by her. He focused on the feel of her fingers wrapped around his. “Lucius was in Azkaban, so I had to take his place. If I didn’t… My mother was all I had left, Granger.”“I know, Draco,” she said softly. “I saw, remember. Your memories. I know what you had to do.”“Right.” It made it easier, that she’d already seen what he’d had to do. Taking the Dark Mark had been agonising when it was willing - but with even a hint of doubt, it was horrific. Draco had had nightmares for years after, just about that one night. He took that little detail, that she already knew, and ran with it. He was glad he didn’t have to relive that night, out in the open. With words.
“Sixth year was a shitshow,” he said truthfully. “I spent every night thinking Voldemort was going to call me home to watch him crucio my mother. During the holidays, that’s exactly what happened. I watched him hurt her, and I did absolutely fucking nothing. At school, I could barely get to class. There was only one thing that made it slightly worthwhile, had me putting off fixing the wardrobe for as long as I possibly could.” He turned to look at her, pulling their hands up to his mouth.
“When I failed to kill Dumbledore, Voldemort was furious. The Malfoys were just puppets to him then, just like the rest of the Death Eaters. If he sensed even a hint of hesitation, he would…“ He paused, unsure if he could tell her just how far it went. The things he’d had to do, to prove his loyalty. The decisions he’d made, the darkness he had let infect him. “I reverted back to what I was before; cruel, full of hate. I didn’t know how to survive otherwise. Especially when I figured out that you wouldn’t be coming back to school for seventh year. I won’t lie, the words Potter had directed his way were decidedly worse than any others the day I figured that out.”“You threatened Harry?”“I warned him,” he corrected. “And then, you were gone. And I was... a mess. Even Snape didn’t know what to with me. I’d spend hours sat by the radio, just begging not to hear your name. I learned every defence spell I could, in case I came across you and needed to protect you. I started arguments with everyone around me, because I missed the way you would glare and shout at me. It was pathetic, to be honest, but I was desperate.” He swallowed, knew he was coming to the worst part. “When they brought you in front of me, I tried to stop it. I didn’t know what to do - I had been practically praying to see you, but not like this. I tried to-”“I know, Malfoy. You don’t have to tell me this part.”“I do. I want you to hear it. I knew I couldn’t let anyone see what I felt when I saw you, but Merlin, Hermione… to see you alive, but there, in my Manor. Nothing good ever happened in that place. To see what she did to you… I wanted to stop it, Granger, please believe me.”“I do, Draco, I believe you.”“If I had tried to-”“Then we’d all be dead,” she reminded him gently. She moved her hand to the nape of his neck, starting playing with the hair there. He made a note to never get his hair cut again. “You did what you could. I know that. Harry knows that. We wouldn’t have said that at your trial if it wasn’t true.”“Either way, I went to Azkaban. Was sure I’d spend the rest of my life in there, but then you showed up at my trial and I remembered… That I didn’t need to. That I could be better, if I tried to be. That even if I couldn’t have you, I could make amends for what I let happen to you.” He licked his bottom lip slowly, watching her, wondering again just how much to tell her. “I assume you heard about the things I did after my release.”She gave him a look. “I heard. I don’t know how much of it I believe.”He sighed, knowing then that he could tell her. Not when she was so sure that he was better than that, not when telling her would dim him in her eyes. He was no Gryffinder, brave just for the sake of it. Destined to do the right thing. He was green and silver, determined to have what he wanted, even if the things he had to do to get it were wrong, or misaligned.He could add it to the list of things he was keeping from her.“Do you know how many times I thought of finding you?” he said instead, focusing on her hand on his, his fingers putting pressure into her knuckles, massaging any tension they found there. “I wanted to tell you all of it. Apologise, maybe…” he tutted. “I don’t know. I guess I thought you would be happy now that the war was over, now you could start your life with the Weasel.”She scoffed. “Ron and I lasted a month.”“Obviously. He’s so incredibly dull, and nowhere near what you deserve. Just thinking about him fills me with rage.” He looked over just in time to see her rolling her eyes. “Anyway, took me ten years to change my mind. To start thinking maybe I could come and see you, just once, just to see if you were safe, if I’d finished. To try looking for you.”She smiled. “And you found me.”Draco’s throat was narrow, he could barely breathe for the guilt that was laying thick in his lungs. The feeling that he was on the edge of destroying what they had made, what she had let him build with her. Her trust, their relationship, his dreams. He could burn it to ash with just a few words.“I wish I’d done so sooner. I hoped to run into you at the Ministry,” he told her quietly, “when I worked there. Had I known you were already gone, I might not have bothered.”She laughed. “They could do with you there.”He should tell her. He should take her up to their room and tell her. This was his best chance, wasn’t it?Instead he let her change the conversation, back to happier things. Kate’s new café, the bookshop, Blaise. He watched her while she spoke, wondering which past version of him had done such good things that he had this chance with her. To watch her, up close, talking to him like she used to talk to them. Teaching him, laughing with him.“Hey, Granger,” he said softly, after a while, “do you want to break the rules with me a little?” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he nodded his chin at her drinks. “The bar is so far away.”She gave him a sideways look when he waved his hand, checking his muggle repellent charm. When he brought his wand out from his blazer pocket, he saw how her eyes landed on it, almost wistfully. He knew she’d never ask, knew that Gryffinder courage had been stifled. For now. But he could see the spark in her eyes, somber but alive. He couldn’t wait to see it burn, to feel it against his skin again.“Do you want to do the honours?” he asked her, holding out his wand, handle first. She hesitated, how could she not, after what she’d told him. But after a few seconds, she took it in her hand, grip light. Expert. Like she hadn’t missed out on seven years of practise. Draco didn’t let himself feel shame at his emotions, the way his muscles tightened at the vision of her holding his wand. He did let his eyes trail over her, memorise her, again.“Malfoy,” she said slowly, “this is your actual wand.”“Please don’t break it, Granger. It’s the only one I own that isn’t illegal.”She smiled at him then, and he leaned back in his seat, watching. She waved her wrist under the table, watching as her glass filled with wine once more. Draco picked up his glass, took a sip. Thought it was the best damn whiskey he’d ever tasted.But then, when she leaned into him, sliding the wand back into his inner pocket and her lips against his, he knew he had something that tasted better. Vowed to keep her, no matter what it took.

“The girl is fucking crazy, Draco, I’m telling you.”The sound of smashing and cursing followed, causing Draco to move the phone away from his ear. Granger frowned at him across the table, where they had been playing with the mini-chess set from the bar. He'd been letting her win, and he knew she knew it. It wasn't hard; she was brilliant.“Try moving away from her, Blaise?” Draco offered, wincing as more shouting followed. “For the sake of my hearing, if nothing else.”He waited until Blaise let out a small sound of frustration, a door slamming.“I’ve had to take refuge in the corridor, like a commoner,” Blaise complained, and Draco knew he was pouting.“There’s nothing common about you, mate.” Blaise hummed. “Has everything been okay there?”“There’ve been two letters. I was here for the second, so I tried to grab him, but he’s started placing them just in front of the door, rather than underneath, so we only noticed it when Kate got home.” Draco sat back in his seat, watching Granger ponder her next move. Merlin, he loved to watch her.The thought reminded him of somebody else who liked to do the same thing, and he grimaced. Leaned back in his chair, rubbing the nape of his neck. Watched her move a pawn with confidence.“Fucker must have figured out they have people staying with them,” Blaise said.“Maybe.”“Hopefully Leon finds something soon.”Draco was sure he would. Leon had never taken long to complete a job, especially when Draco paid him what he did.“Anyway, how’s York?”“It’s… peaceful.”“No tingly feeling from work?”Well, there were tingly feelings. The itchy feeling of guilt and the nagging feeling of having so much work to do and the lovely feeling of Granger’s hands in his hair. But their relationship had taken on an even more intimate feeling since they had both shared some part of their past, so that Draco wasn’t sure if it was whiskey or his witch that was making his vision blurry at the edges.“The wards are holding,” Draco said, by way of an answer. Nudged a knight forward. “In fact, might be a good idea to put some up around the flat, Blaise.” He watched her look up at him as he said it, bite her lip. But she didn’t refuse.“Sure. Well, you look like you’re having a good time, anyway.”“And how would you know what I look like?”“In the picture. Granger posted it.”He frowned at her. “Did you post a picture of me to the flat?”She gave him a confused look, heard Blaise erupt into laughter from down the phone. He hung up, dropping the phone onto the coffee table.“Blaise said you posted a picture of me,” he muttered, frowning, trying to figure it out. “Either the muggle postal service is better than I originally thought, or I’m missing something.”Granger smiled sweetly at him, picking up his phone.“You’re missing something. Let me show you.”Draco was pretty proud of the fact that he was a smart man. He knew arithmancy and could spell charms both non-verbally and, for some, without a wand. He could figure out a riddle in seconds, master a skill in minutes, and read a book in mere hours. He knew he was smart. There was only one witch he would proudly admit was more intelligent than him. But being a muggle was hard.
For instance, understanding that Granger had posted a photo of him drinking whiskey from her phone, and now all of her friends could see it, even though there were miles between them. He was confused as to why wizard-kind didn’t use phones. They seemed, for the most part, useful. Although he didn’t think he’d partake in the posting of pictures, even if they were of Granger. She was all for him.“So, everyone you know has seen this?”“Everyone I like well enough to have on social media. Which doesn’t include creepy stalkers, by the way.”“So, just everyone important enough, I suppose.”
He took the phone from her, locked it, placed it back on the coffee table. He could accept their usefulness, but preferred for her attention - and her hands - to be on him. He briefly wondered if this was what Pansy felt like when they were together, desperate for affection and attention and touch. He couldn’t imagine not getting it back.
Granger definitely seemed to like touching him, and having him touch her. She twined her fingers with his, propping her chin on her hand after moving one of her chess pieces. Draco had never thought about what he’d be like in a relationship; he certainly had never been the particularly loving type before. But he was desperate for her, in every way. To not touch her was almost painful. The most inconceivable part about his life now was that she seemed to feel the same.They still hadn’t had the conversation. Draco remembered the title of said discussion from when Pansy had first met Milly. They’d been dating un-exclusively for ten months before Pansy had arrived at Friday drinks, proudly declaring that they had had the conversation. Blaise had told Draco what it meant; exclusivity. Pansy hadn’t had to worry about her parents not approving; she had disowned them the day after the Battle of Hogwarts. Out of the four, only Theo and Draco had actually stayed at Hogwarts that day for the battle that ensued, and Draco was glad for it. Pansy would have probably stormed Voldemort himself, had the rude twat had the nerve to destroy the Slytherin common rooms.Pansy hadn’t explained exactly what the conversation involved, but she’d told them that it had been long overdue. She’d wished she’d done it earlier, that the ten months of not knowing where she stood with Milly were completely unnecessary. Draco wasn’t sure if Granger was intending on seeing other people - if she ever even had the time - but he didn’t even like the thought of it, let alon-“Malfoy. Are you trying to beat me in the overthinking competition again? Because just like school, I promise you’ll come up a close second.”He blinked, realised he hadn’t made a move in five minutes. Granger raised an eyebrow at him.“I’m just… The picture.”“Don’t you like it? I can remove it."“I do like it. On your profile. I’m just not sure why I like it.”“You know, not everything’s a puzzle to figure out. Sometimes, we just feel things.”He gave her a look. “Everything is a puzzle, Granger. You know that better than anyone.”She let him ponder for a while, and he felt her gaze on him. Watching him, learning him the way he had learnt her. Eventually though, she sighed. “Shall I tell you why you like it, Draco?”Merlin, she was brilliant. “Please, do.”She smiled slowly, eyes lighting up as she pushed herself up from the chair. Walked over to his side of the table slowly, each step purposeful, setting his skin on fire. Her expression calculating, raising his blood pressure. She lowered herself onto his lap, an arm landing over his shoulders. He liked that she did things like this without hesitation now. Things like sitting on top of him, grabbing his hand, kissing his cheek. It felt intimate, real. Powerful.“You like it because it means that everyone who knows me knows that I’m with you. That I’m with you enough to post you on my social media. That I’m enjoying my time with you, and only you, and that it’s very likely to continue. I’m showing you off.”“You are?” Draco smiled when she nodded. “I do like that.”“I know. It’s similar to how I feel when you lean on the back of my chair, or kiss my hand in public.”“You like that?” Draco made a mental note to ensure he did both of those things hourly from now on. When she hummed, pushing her fingers under his collar to trace the tip of a scar, he let his head fall back. She rested her head on his shoulder, wayward curls drifting over his neck. Her breaths became slower, tracing lighter.“Granger,” he said, getting only a hum in response, “just to clarify, I know full well I’ll always be second to you. And I am absolutely, positively thrilled about it. Please never let me win.”“I promise,” she was smiling - he felt it against his neck. “So, how is Blaise doing without you?”“I’m pretty sure I heard some plates smashing in the background. There’s a chance Charlotte will have killed and buried him before we return to London.”She chuckled. “She certainly would try. I’m grateful he’s there, though, whilst we aren’t.”“Until Leon catches the pathetic twat who’s stalking you, you’ll always have one of us with you.”“You don’t have-” She stopped herself when he shifted, reaching his hand up to tap her on the cheek. “Theo, too?”“Preferably.” She took in a deep breath. “I know,” he agreed. “Theo’s worse than Blaise. Although less clingy. I know Blaise misses me.”“I can imagine he does.”“I’ve had to swear to him recently that even once I’m married he will still have rights to an annex on my land.”
Laughing, she lifting her head to look at him. “Of course. What would he do without you? I’m sure your future wife will love him just as much as you do.”Draco frowned at her. “You’re speaking as if I haven’t planned exactly who my future wife will be.” She raised an eyebrow. “Granger, do you really think I’d wait all these years to have you, and then let you go? When I think of the future, it’s ours. Not simply mine. And Blaise’s.”She smiled. “Well, what else have you thought about?”Draco knew he was blushing. “I don’t want to freak you out.”“Tell me. Odds are I’ve been thinking of it, too.”Oh, he’d like to hear that. He’d love to hear it. In his darkest days, he had distracted himself from his horrific reality by thinking of what his life might have been like, had he not been born a Malfoy. Had he not been forced to fight for the wrong side. He’d spent a year in Azkaban, imagining it all. The foundation of his plans were the same as they were ten years prior. The witch was the same. The details were different. He never thought he’d be telling said witch all of this, of course.“I’ve been considering where we would live,” he said first, slowly.“Oh?”“I know you have the shop, and we both like London. But I always imagined us further afield. Near the sea.”“Not the manor?”Draco watched her face. “I only go back when my mother visits. I tend to do some curse-breaking when I go, since the Ministry’s try was so shockingly useless, but work has kept me too busy recently. That, and something else.” He nudged her, and she smiled. “My mother would like me to move back there, obviously, but… I’ve never imagined us there. I want somewhere that’s ours.”“And Blaise’s.” He smiled “Malfoy, you know if you wanted to go back there, I would go with you. If you asked me to.”He swallowed. “You would?”“If that’s what you wanted,” she trailed a finger up his neck, to his jaw. Kissed him, just lightly. “If it was un-cursed. I'd like to think that we’re building is bigger than what happened to me there.”This was definitely it. The day Draco Malfoy would die, the day she would destroy him. He could already feel it happening; his magic was sizzling in his blood, his mind was reeling.“I don’t want to go back there," he said.“It’s your childhood home.”“I don’t know if you remember, Granger, but my childhood is not one I’d particularly like to relive.” He tapped her forehead, grinning cheekily to show her he wasn’t bothered. “We’ve been speaking of it all night. Weren't you listening?”“But-”“I’ve thought about this, Granger. I still think about it. And when I make a decision regarding the manor, you’ll be the first to know, simply because you’re the first person I tell everything. But we won’t be living there.”She propped her head on her hand. “So, the sea, then.”“Yes.”“What else?”He rubbed a hand up her back, back down. From the small of her back, right above the curve of her arse, up to the nape of her neck, where his fingers tangled with her curls. Back down again. She shivered, and he smirked. Leaning closely, dipping his head, he whispered into her ear, “How does Crookshanks feel about dogs?”“I wouldn’t have you down as a dog person.”“People change.” He pressed his lips to her temple, to her cheek. “Besides, if that little demon really is immortal, I need to have something on my side. For protection.”Granger sighed when he nipped at the corner of her jaw. “I’m sure he could be persuaded. No rats though.”“Absolutely not. We’ll ward against rats.” He pressed his lips to her neck. “Ginger haired or otherwise.”She smacked his chest, pushing him back against the chair. “Not funny. What else?”“Most recently I’ve been considering my employment situation. Once my current job is complete. I can’t go back to what I was going before.”“Why not? You enjoy curse-breaking.”“I do.”“So…”“So, prior to my current job, I hadn’t been in one place for longer than a month. I have an excellent reputation, but that means offers come from different places.”“You don’t like travelling?”“Not when my future wife is waiting back in London.” He licked his lips, thinking. He’d never told anyone any of this, of course, but this next part was a step further. His mother’s plans for him.
“What would you want to do instead?”“I’ve been considering opening up a consultancy firm. Not just for cursed items. I think I could do financial consultancy, for businesses and such.”“You’d be good at that.” He wanted to melt under her praise.“Well,” he hesitated, “that’s what my mother always wanted for me.”She frowned. “I didn’t ask you what your mother wanted, Malfoy. I asked what you wanted.”He thought about it for a few moments, turning the idea over in his mind. What did he want? He’d never really thought about it before. He wanted her, he knew that at least. But outside of that?“When I was younger, all I wanted was to be an Auror,” he murmured. “But it didn’t work out.”“Maybe you should try again.”He bit his lip, watching his fingers twist into her hair. “Well I’m stuck with this bloody box for a while anyway.” He paused, thinking. “Granger, I want you to know, whatever happens, I will always have a place for you. In my work, in my home, in my life. Consider yourself embedded into all my future plans. They’ve been centred around you since I was fourteen, and that’s unlikely to change.”She smiled, finally let him kiss her, deeply. Sighed when he pulled her head to the side so he could latch his mouth to her neck, her nails in his skin when he sucked gently, biting as if to mark her. Maybe one day she’d let him, walk around with his claim all over her. Like his deepest fantasies come to life. And he would finally be able to tell everyone what he had known for over ten years; that he belonged to her. That he loved her. That he’d never hurt her.Liar.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“You said you wanted to get up.”“I did. We need to.”"Then stop drawing on me.”“Stop kissing me.”“You started this, Granger.”“That’s not true.”“You woke me up by tracing runes across my chest. I’d be an idiot not to kiss you for it.”“I’ve never known anyone who liked runes as much as you do.”“I love runes,” Malfoy smiled against her mouth, “I love them so much. They make it impossible to concentrate on anything else, and an area distinctly south of where they are being drawn right now.”He nipped at her bottom lip, his fingers wrapping around the nape of her neck, holding her close, hovering over her. Hermione could feel her magic singing, her pulse quickening as he moved his mouth to her jaw, down her neck.
“You have to get back to work.”“That word is a taboo,” he murmured into her shoulder. “You’ll jinx it if you say it too much.”“It’ll take us over four hours to get back to London.” She wriggled her hips as he leaned his body into hers. He groaned.“We could fly. Quicker.” His breaths were coming faster now, deeper. His hips pressed harder.“Absolutely not.”“But it takes so long.”“Maybe it’s karma.”“For?”“You know what for.”Malfoy chuckled against her neck, bringing his lips back to hers. Kissed her deeply, again, before leaning back to look at her. Searched her face, eyes bright and blue in the morning light. Hermione softened under the open emotion in his gaze, something like wonder and awe.
“I enjoyed last night,” he said.“Me too. Except the ending.”
His smile was wide, cunning. “Actually, I think that was one of the highlights.”Rolling her eyes, she pushed him off, standing. She had worn his shirt to bed last night, and now she eyed his wand as he picked it up from the small table beside him, lying with a hand behind his head, gaze plastered to her thighs. When he realised he’d been caught, he smirked. Flexed his bicep, didn’t look away. Damn him.
“You gonna scourgify my shirt for me, Granger?” he asked, twirling his wand between his fingers. “Seems you’d need a wand to do that.”It wasn’t a thing that most people did, lending their wand. But he’d already told her, after the few charms she had done last night, that it was one of his new favourite things to see. Her fingers on what belonged to him, her magic coursing through his wand. His obsession ran deep, she was realising. His need for her, the things he would do for her, unending.“I’m not your dry cleaner.”“You’re certainly not.” His smirk deepened into a grin. “I don’t let my dry cleaners wear my shirts.”“Who do you let wear your shirts?"“Actually, you’re the first.” Malfoy’s eyes dropped to her thighs again, setting her skin alight. “I’ve been saving them for you. Blaise tried once, but I quickly put an end to that.”“Either way, I’d think you owe me after last night.”When he laughed, she knew he’d gotten the hint. They had stayed up late into the night, talking. Malfoy’s confessions around his plans for their future might have scared her, if he were anyone else. But when he was describing it, it only felt right. Just like when she’d waved his wand. And playing chess with him, knowing he was letting her win, knowing he was enjoying it, just being there with her. It had filled her with a peace she hadn’t realised she could have.
But then she'd called him out on his lackluster performance at chess, dared him to beat her. Just once. Just like potions class. The heat in his eyes when she'd challenged him had had her squirming in her seat, ready to launch herself at him.They’d both avoided it, but it was there. The inherent need to take the next step, to connect. But he was stubborn, adamant that they should wait. His self-control was the hard-earned kind, only instilled in a person who had spent years holding themselves back from something they truly wanted. Eventually she'd offered him a forfeit; the game, for a fantasy. Although he'd smirked, although she'd seen the desire flashing dark grey in his gaze, he'd refused.He’d carried her to the bed, anyway. Spent ten minutes caressing her, thinking it would send her to sleep. When she’d finally snapped at him and informed him, probably quite rudely, that it was in fact doing the opposite, he’d set himself a challenge. How long do you think I can keep you on the edge, Granger, using only my hands?She’d wanted to kill him, by the time he finally let her come. Fuck him, then kill him.But she was just as inflexible as he was. She’d wait for him to make the first move. It had been weeks since he’d said he was going to ask her to dinner; since then, they’d had space, shouting matches, time apart. They’d both had time to question whatever they were building; but every day they spent together, it just got stronger.“I was thinking some wards might be useful,” Malfoy said to her as she was getting dressed, gaze still monitoring her every movement.“I heard. Around the flat?“And the shop.”“Surely that would be impossible, with all the people coming in and out. I want customers to enter my shop without being incinerated, remember?”“Shame. I quite like a repello inimicum. Do you remember,” an evil smile played with his lips, “in fifth year, when Weasley walked into the Dark Arts bathrooms?” He laughed, and she straightened, glaring at him. “That was so fucking funny. I think that’s one of my best wards, still, to this day.”“You could have killed him!”“Come on, Granger, it was good.” He held his hands out, and she couldn’t help but smile at the boyish joy on his face. “Nobody does intruder alarms like I do. What if I did something similar t-"“No, Malfoy.”“Alright, well, my wards around the cursed box could be altered slightly. If I just…” He trailed off. She could tell he was already thinking about it, figuring out how he could fix the warding charm to suit their needs. It was insanely attractive, the way he looked at a problem. She knew he hadn’t found something yet that he didn’t think he could solve. As children, she’d thought it egotistical, irritating. As an adult, she found it perfectly brilliant.
“It would make me feel safer,” she admitted to him, biting her lip. “I know it shouldn’t-”“It should, Granger.”He didn’t say anything else on the matter, and she didn’t need him to. Her blood was still stinging from using the wand - Malfoy’s wand - to produce a few charms. Nothing major, something a first-year might do. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed the feeling of it. Or maybe she just hadn’t wanted to admit it.What was worse, was that she didn’t feel as guilty as she’d expected to. It only felt… right, again. Like she’d been tearing herself apart for no reason. Like she’d been ignoring a part of herself that made her who she was. Her parents had always loved her magic, had always wished that she could show them more without breaking the Ministry's trace. Hermione wondered what they would have said, if she’d told them she was giving it all up.She was brushing her hair, watching him button up his freshly-scourgified shirt, when he paused. Stiffened. Reached for his wand.“What’s-”“I have to go,” he said quickly. “The wards at work have been tripped.” He stepped over quickly to kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll call you.”“Draco, be-”He apparated, letting her careful fill an empty room.
The drive home was obscenely boring without him to keep her company, the radio nowhere near entertaining enough. When she arrived back in London to an empty flat, she decided to head to the bookshop, keep herself busy. It would be good to check in, ask Olive how the new starter had done without her there.As she went to leave the building, she realised suddenly that it was the first time she’d been alone in weeks. Outside, and alone. Fighting against the urge to run back inside, she walked with her head high, determined not to turn to check over her shoulder. Determined not to let him make her constantly worried, like she had been. Malfoy had told her, low murmurs in her ear, that she was brave, had told her that her blood ran red, still. If she faked it, maybe she’d start to believe it, too.The bookshop was surprisingly busy when she arrived: it usually got faster-paced as they neared Christmas. Hermione stopped on her way to the counter to help a customer choose between two of the newest releases. Olive had her orange candle burning, the scent filling the ground floor. So normal, like before the letters. Before Malfoy. As the evening crept in, the shop emptied, and Hermione found herself back at the counter, finally with some time to herself. By herself.
That is, until a tall shadow fell over her space, darkening her vision.“What’s-”The man standing on the other side of her till was a walking, green-eyed flashback. It seemed that all he had done since school was get taller; his silly grin was still spread across his face, which had only sharpened with age. His hair, cut the same, falling over his forehead with it’s usually artful messiness, his presence filling the room with a strange sense of energised calm.He went to say something, but her phone rang, vibrating against the counter. Hermione looked down to see Malfoy’s name across her screen, reached for it slowly.“Malfoy?”“Theo’s on his way,” he said, sounding rushed. “I haven’t told him everything, but he knows what to look o-”“Yes, he’s here.” She knew her voice sounded small, and he made a small noise of frustration.“I told him to wait outside. Put him on.”She passed the phone over to the tall Slytherin, who was still grinning like a mad man. He took the phone, frowning at it. Hermione motioned to hold it to his ear, and when she heard Draco’s voice, Theo reared back.“Draco?” He asked, surprised. “Is that you?”Hermione heard Draco over the phone, knew that Theo was too incredulous to be listening, so she grabbed it back.
“Malfoy,” she said, and his voice stopped, “it’s fine. I’m fine.”“I promise I told him to wait.”“I believe you. I told you it was okay to tell him.”“I know but-” Malfoy swore, clearly taking the phone from his ear to shout at someone. “Granger, I’ve got to go.”“Is everything okay?”He made a non-committal noise. “Not really. It will be, when I finish this job and find some people with at least a modicum of magical ability to work with.” He sighed, and suddenly the background noise quietened. She heard the closing of a door. “I’m going to be stuck here for a while. Theo’s going to keep you company, at least until I’m able to leave. Is that alright?”“It’s fine,” she said again, watching Theo fall into the green armchair. “He’s already made himself at home.”“If I can’t get back, I’ll get Blaise to-”“Draco,” she interjected, “I’m fine. I can handle myself, remember?”“I know, Granger. It just… makes me feel better to have someone with you. Until Leon-“ He cursed again, his voice further from the phone. “Will you just fucking wait?”
“Can we go for food?” Theo called out. “I’m starving. Draco said you know a place?”Hermione smiled slightly. “Malfoy, I must go. Theo is hungry.”“Theo’s always hungry. I’ll call you later.”He hung up, and she slowly placed her phone back on the counter. Theo had moved to stand in front of her again, clapping his hands together excitedly.“So,” he said, “food.”

Hermione took Theo to the Duke, where he promptly ordered everything off of the menu and, to her shock, ate it all. He even tried to steal some of her fries.“What is it with you and Malfoy?” She swatted his hand away for the this time.“We’re growing boys.”“You’re almost thirty.”He gave her a sad look. “Why would you say that to me?”They finished eating quietly, Hermione pushing her plate in his direction when she was full. He grinned at her. He never stopped grinning. It was sort of strange.Strange, that she didn’t feel… out of sorts. Theo had been repeatedly ranked third in their year, and despite the rift between their houses, their rivalry had been more light-hearted than that between her and Malfoy. It was hard to dislike him; his joyful and open demeanour was so unlike those he had been around at the time. So opposite to Malfoy’s stoniness and Blaise’s silence and Pansy’s anger. Hermione had never, though, imagined spending time with him.And yet, it didn’t feel strange.
“I just want you to know,” he said in between bites, “I take my job very seriously.”“Your job?”“To protect you.” He waved a hand. “Draco didn’t tell me much, but I don’t need to know details. He asked me to watch out for creepy men handing out envelopes.”“Somehow I don’t think it’s that easy.”“So, you’ve got a stalker.” He shrugged. “Been there.”“You had a stalker?”“For a year. I let it slide for the first six months, but then she broke into my apartment and got in my bed.”“You’re kidding.”“Nope. Naked, too.” Hermione gaped at him, and he gave another shrug. “It happens.”“Not to me. I’ve never had a stalker before.”“I don’t know. Weasley did a good job of it during school. Come to think of it,” he frowned, smiled slowly, “so did Draco. Better even. The ginger was always getting distracted.”“How did you get rid of your stalker?” She asked it whilst tracing her finger over a knot in the wood of their table, but when he hesitated to answer, she looked up. His eyes had gone distant.“I let it go on for too long,” he said. “She thought that meant that I felt the same way for her. After a year, I couldn’t take it any more. I’d started a relationship with someone else, but they couldn’t take the feeling that everything we did was being watched so… Losing the one I wanted because of her, it pissed me off. I hired Leon, found her.”“And?”Theo pushed his last plate into the middle of the table. “I told her what the deal was. Said some things I shouldn’t have, I suppose. I was angry. Furious, actually.”“And it just stopped?”“Not exactly.” He looked away. “My advice would be to let Draco deal with it quickly. The longer you leave , the worse it gets.”Hermione’s sighed. “I don’t think I could handle even another month. When it was just letters I could cope, but now… I’m constantly worried that he’s going to do something, to the girls, to Draco. The letter on Monday…” She glanced at him. “Anyway, if you have somewhere to be, I’m going to head ho-”“Nope,” he wiped his mouth, “Draco asked me to stay with you until he got back. So I’m staying until he gets back. I never break my word, Granger.”They headed back to the flat, where Charlotte was cooking ramen which, of course, Theo immediately grabbed a serving of. Charlotte watched him inhale it with a frown.“Where is Draco finding these people?” she asked Hermione, who laughed.“They’re friends from school.”“God.” She eyed him. “Is it like a school for models, or something?”“Eyes off, thank you,” Theo said form across the room. “I’m taken.”“Oh?”
“Well, I consider myself taken. She has yet to acquiesce to my approach.” Theo suddenly had an idea, snapped his fingers. “You guys have a TV, right?”Hermione nodded, and Charlotte made a face. She supposed it must be strange, someone sat in front of a TV and asking where it might be. Hermione picked up the remote and switched it on.
“I want to watch that show about the friends.”

Draco was going to lose his goddamn mind.First it was the fact that everybody seemed to have forgotten the idea of a cursed box. Cursed as in, bad. Do not touch. No bloody touching.In the two days after he returned from York, four more people had stepped past the wards, called by the box. Three had been prevented from leaving the Ministry, taken straight to the hospital floor to be placed under observation. Two of those three had already died, either from the flagrante curse or the boil-inducing hex that came after it. The fourth was in the wind. It had now been six days: Draco was on the edge.In the end, they - Potter and he - had made the executive decision that the box needed twenty-four-seven supervision, from the few who were able to put up with the pull for longer periods of time. That left Draco, Potter, and, to his disgust, the Weasel. He might admit that the annoying prick had put up with a fair amount of dark magic during the hunt for the Horcuxes. That didn’t mean he had to like it. Or him.They were on a rota. Including nights. So, aside from building his counter-curse wall and trying to figure out how to break the bloody thing, Draco was stuck watching the box. The voice was quiet, drifting over him gently, the pull still there. It did, at least, give him time to consider how the imperius curse had been embedded inside it. He’d examined every fucking inch of the thing, but something was playing on his mind…It had been the third hour of his first shift on the ward when he’d realised it was her voice; the tone, the itch it spread across his skin. But unlike reality, this was uncomfortable. The realisation had him furious, so much so that he’d come close to starting a fist-fight with the Weasel, not too proud to admit that he was wrongly taking his anger out on the man. Whoever had dared to use her against him would pay, as soon as he figured out who it was.Not that he remembered what Granger sounded like. In the week since they’d gotten back from York, he’d seen her once, quickly, to reset the ward around her flat, improving Blaise’s work. He had yet to figure one out for the shop. Other than that, they’d only been able to actually speak on the phone three times. It was now Tuesday night, and she was texting Draco with Theo’s latest updates. Leon had still to get back to him with any information.He was, in a word, stressed.Wednesday night tipped him over that edge. The Weasel had came down to the box, grumpily informing him that Potter was waiting at an address with a team. The family of the most recent, escaped, victim, was being held hostage.
Draco apparated to the street in Lower Hogsmeade, into carnage. Aurors were everywhere, rushing around, waving wands about to try to break the intruder charm around the house. This one was prepared; Draco could feel the ward even from meters away, rolled his shoulders back at the power of it. Wondered if it had managed to incinerate anyone yet.“Merlin, Potter, how many do you need?” he said, after he’d finally found him in the crowd.“What?”“You really think all these people are necessary? I thought it was meant to be kept under wraps.”“This is a hostage situation, Malfoy. We’ll need all the help we can get. These Aurors are experts on these types of things. We need to take Luke alive.”“They’ve never dealt with someone under this sort of curse. I’m assuming these are the people who have been here every other time?” Potter gave him a look, and Draco rolls his eyes. “They can’t even break the bloody ward.”“It’s a difficult one.”He scoffed. “Please. Let me have a go.”The Saviour had a fair point, Draco had to admit; the ward was complex. But he’d been taught resilience, had learned a strained patience, if not a fair amount of spontaneity. When the charm fell, he gave Potter a pointed look.
“Get rid of them.”The house in question was a normal cottage for the area. Lowered into the ground so that there were steps leading to the front door, a path of cobbled stones lined with wildflowers. The windows were dark, save for the flicker of a candle in an upstairs room. Homely, calm. Nothing Draco had much experience with.
But there was that flicker of darkness, one very familiar to him.
He waited for Potter to disperse the Aurors, save a few. The lock was easily broken with a quick alohamora, the silence leaving a pit in Draco’s stomach. He and Potter shared an uneasy look; with such a ward, shouldn’t Luke have realised they were there by now?
Before pushing the door open, Draco waved a quick anti-disapparition spell. This one was not escaping him this time, no matter what it took.It was dark in the cottage, Potter’s disillusionment charm shimmering in the air around them. A quick revelio showed the blurry shapes of people in the attic, too still for comfort. Leading his new-found partner up the stairs, Draco took them to what he assumed was the way up, wand raised. They paused when a floor oars creaked under-foot, waited for something to shift. For something to move.When nothing happened, Potter wafted away their disillusionment charms, the two wizards sharing another look. The room was quiet. Too quiet, too calm.
“Finite incantartum,” Draco whispered. He pushed the door open slowly, not sure whether he would have preferred it to creak, or something. It was just too quiet, eerily so. He thought he could hear his heart beating in his chest, his blood rushing through his arteries.The candle flickered on the window sill, a lone light. Potter lit a Lumos. Draco didn’t stop him. There was no point.The man stood with his back facing the door, shoulders rising and falling heavily with his loud breaths. Still dressed in his Ministry’s uniform, unkempt, hair a mess. It looked like some of it had been pulled out by the roots, scratches down the back of his neck, disappearing into his collar.The body in front of him was still, on their back, head turned away from the door. Hair - brown hair, curly - spilled over the floor beneath her. Draco’s stomach lurched. He raised his wand higher, tried not to focus on the emotions and memories the vision brought to the surface.“Luke,” Potter called out, stepping so he was beside Draco, “lower your wand.”Luke made no movement, no sign that he had even heard Potter. They took slow steps closer, not taking their eyes off of the man in front of them. The woman at his feet did not move.It wasn’t until they were only a metre away, before a second floorboard under Potter’s foot groaned, and that did it. Luke turned, throwing his wand out. Draco didn’t have a second to cower at the Death Eater mask."Glaci-”Potter threw up a shield charm just in time, following with a stupefy. The duel began instantly. Draco stepped around quickly, took the time to check the woman on the floor, cast a diagnostic. It came out blank. There was nothing left to do for her.He sent out an arresto momentum, giving Potter a chance to catch himself before the spell fell, slipping off of Luke quicker than it should have. Draco frowned at that, but didn’t have time to think on it. He sent a slicing hex, almost hit his ally. Made a mental note to try to apologise later, for dignity’s sake.Luke had been a reliable guard, and Draco could see why. His duelling was fairly good. Draco was hitting him with light hexes, knowing that Potter wanted him alive, but it barely fazed him. It didn’t matter what Draco threw at him; Luke only had eyes for Potter."Avada ka-”"Sectumsempra!”Later, he might try to psycho-analyse why he chose that curse. He might even ask Blaise, in an indirect, quiet way, what his friend thought about it. Draco threw it out subconsciously, a strange instinct that sent an involuntarily and ill-timed shiver through him. With all the curses and hexes and jinxes he’d been trained in, all the practice and duels and fights he had survived, and he’d never used it before, not until now. He knew he’d feel that word in his bones until he died, have it carved into his skin. He watched for a second, seeing the blood bubbling under Luke’s uniform.Draco knew, from experience, the agonising feeling of your body splitting from the inside. Of your skin tearing itself apart. Just recalling it had him almost frozen. But the pain did nothing to stop the guard, only just slowing him down. It did though, for whatever reason, finally clue him in to Draco’s presence in the room. And yet, when Luke turned away from Potter to face him, stumbling from the cuts slashing across his chest - cuts which should have grounded him - the killing curse had emptied from his mind. He raised his wand."Bombarda!” Draco’s hex broke through the floor, sending Luke flying into the wall. For a moment, all was still.Draco heard the sniffling, wondered if it had been there the entire time. It was coming from the cupboard behind him, waist-high. He turned, slowly, assuming Potter had Luke covered.The girl was cowering in the cupboard, toy lion cuddled to her chest. Draco noticed, for some reason, that her pyjamas had snakes on them. A strange combination. He held out a hand.“I’m not-”"Crucio!”Pain lanced through Draco’s body, sending him into shock. Distantly, he felt his head hitting the floor, felt his body writhing. Felt his blood curdling, his nails digging into his palms. Suddenly wondered if the past ten years had been a dream, some kind of dissociation from this.He felt fifteen again, and if he wasn’t in so much terrifying pain, he might have seen those memories racing across the backs of his eyes. Might have been able to think of anything other than the excruciating electricity racing through his veins. When he’d been used to it, he’d been able to become somewhat separate from himself during this, think of things that would help him get through it. But be was out of practice; he felt it all.Years past, decades. A century, before the pain eased. Draco wasn’t sure, could have sworn it was longer than mere seconds. He came back to a high-pitched screaming, a cried binding spell. The white flash of a shielding charm. Time was pacing in awful, separate blocks, the lights of spells too bright, the cry of curses too loud.Pushed himself to a crouch, wavering, fell once more, his body failing. Managed to open his eyes, saw his hand shaking where he tried to grip his wand. His mind screamed. Or was that the girl? He couldn’t tell. He saw Luke raise his wand, saw Potter struggling against the snakes from Luke’s serpensortia. Heard the Death Eater start chanting.“Ava-"Avada Kedavra!"The attic might have been silent after that, but he couldn’t focus. There was a ringing in his ears, familiar and haunting. Draco had always found that the moments after the killing curse felt like a still lake, like he was drowning in it and a mere ripple would bring him back to life. He’d never felt less deserving of a ripple. He’d been here before, hadn’t wanted it then, either. There were only two occasions he’d done this willingly; this wouldn’t be added to that short list.Turning back to the girl, he righted himself, forcing his walls into place. It was easier to ignore the shaking when he forgot who he was, what he had to lose. When he pushed himself out of his body, as if he was watching from above.Waving a quick, gentle stunning spell, he picked the girl up in his arms, her body pliant. Ensuring he had her lion, he stormed out of the attic, out of the cottage. Left Potter behind, crouching over the body of the man Draco had killed.The rest of the night moved in a kind of blur. Vague noises and shapes, information he couldn’t absorb. He’d have to give a statement, he thought he heard Potter say. He was certain he told Potter to shove his statement up his ass. There were flashes of moments where he noticed he couldn't hold his wand properly, a pain lancing through his head. Walls falling to ash, mind scattered. He thought he heard himself being yelled at as he moved to disapparate.He landed on the street minutes from Granger’s flat. Minutes from his witch, the one who made his walls crumble into fairy dust instead of broken slate pieces, who shed golden light onto him and made him feel like he could be better. Despite lying to her, omitting information, he felt like he was good around her. Supportive, helpful. Honest. She wanted him: he was worth wanting.But to touch her now… with these hands that had used the killing curse, not to save his family this time. Not to keep his mother safe, but because it had been instinct. Because he’d known he had to, and that Potter wouldn’t. Because he had wanted to punish the man who had hurt him. He was darkness, stained and sharp. All he would do was make her bleed, make her cry. The thought was enough to have him staggering, his heart shattering.He took himself back to the place he belonged. Away from her.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hermione and Theo were having a stare-off.
Or, Hermione was staring. Theo was glancing everywhere but her in a clear attempt to avoid the question. She had been interrogating him for days, on and off, knowing he was more likely to break than Blaise. And yet, he continued to staunchly refuse.“Tell me.”“I- No.”“Theo.”“Don’t take that tone with me, Hermione Granger. It reminds me too much of my late mother. I’ll cry.”“Stop it. You’re deflecting.”“Am not.”“Just tell me where he is!”It had been over a week of silence. Malfoy had been busy before, but since getting a phone he hadn’t left her alone for more than an hour. Now though, the last she’d heard from him had been Tuesday, a series of vague texts from him, snarky, Draco-ish comments about the latest book he was reading. Nothing unusual for the week prior. She’d seen Theo and Blaise more than she’d seen Malfoy.But something had changed; her texts were going unanswered, her calls rang once before disconnecting. His phone was off; he hadn’t been to her flat or the shop. Something was wrong, and nobody would tell her what it was.Theo and Blaise were little help in the communication department. Blaise spent most of his time in the flat either pissing Charlotte of or, in the rare event that she was there, trying to crawl into Kate’s bed. Theo was just constantly scouring the cupboards for food. Hermione was considering putting childlocks on them, just to see what happened. Whenever she asked about Malfoy and his whereabouts, she got a shrug and a muttered “work”.
“You know,” she said, “you should probably see someone about your problem.”“What problem?” Theo didn’t look at her - he could barely take his eyes off the TV when his show was on. She wondered what would happen if the stalker broke in whilst Theo was watching his show. Preferred not to think about it.“Your eating problem. You’re eating your emotions, Theo.”He rolled his eyes. “I’m not eating my emotions, Granger. I’m eating food. Good food, actually. If I’d have known your Muggle snacks were so brilliant, I’d have befriended you in school. In secret, of course.”She nodded. The Nott family history was no secret. His father had been horrific to Theo and his mother. Horrific to his victims, too. Even Hermione hadn’t been able to sit through that trial.Hermione tried Malfoy’s phone again, standing in front of Theo so she could watch his expression. He was an open book, his cheeks going red, the way he shifted on the sofa. He knew. He knew, and he wasn’t going to tell her. There was only one reason why he was being so secretive: Malfoy didn't want her to know.“I’m going to his flat," she said."He's asked for space.""I don't care if he's asked for space, Theo, it's been a week. He didn't give me space..." She groaned, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes, so unsure of what to do. Malfoy's emotions weren't simple, he was deep and complex. If she pushed him, he could move further from her than he already was, like trying to catch liquid silver with her bare hands.
Sighing, Hermione dropped her hands. Took a deep breath, trying not to cry. Sometimes it felt that all she did when he wasn't there was cry, so many things sitting just under the surface of her skin. Her magic crackled, begging to be crafted. If she stayed this way, maybe she'd burn into ash. Maybe she'd melt into a puddle of molten copper.He'd come for her. She knew it. If she was in trouble, or if she was hurting, he would crawl over shards of glass. Run into a burning building. Sacrifice himself, as he already had done."I'm going," she decided.“He’s not there.”“Then where is he?”Theo swallowed. With a loud groan, she stormed into her bedroom, letting the door close pointedly. If he wasn’t at his flat, then where was he? And to be ignoring her… He’d made it so very clear that she was part of him, that they were a team now. She didn’t feel like she was on his side, she couldn’t even talk to him.
Hermione was reaching for a coat, determined to visit the apartment anyway, when she heard the front door slam closed. Knowing Kate was sleeping off her three days of twelve hour shifts, and Charlotte was sleeping at Toby’s, she paused. Blaise’s footsteps, so heavy she though he might fall through the floor, caught her attention. With her bedroom door closed, she could only hear the muffled tones of conversation, those footsteps pounding up to her door. Before she could turn, Blaise was in her doorway.“Blaise! Ever heard of knocking?”“You need to come with me.”“But-”“It’s Draco.”Finally. She was moving with him to the front door in seconds, tugging her coat on, although Theo’s worried face caught her gaze as she passed him.“He doesn’t want her to know, Blaise," he said. "We swore.”“You might be able to watch him, but I can’t. She’s the only one he might listen to.”“Draco won’t like it.”“Who cares, Theo? He can’t carry on the way he is now. It’s been a week - you think he’s doing well?”“But the Manor. It might-”“The Manor was de-cursed by the Ministry years ago,” Blaise argued. “He’s just using it as an excuse. You know that.”Theo stood from the sofa, shaking his head. “He made us promise, Blaise. We’ve never broken a promise to each other.”“Well, what else do you suggest, Theo?” Blaise interrupted, “He’s not listening to us. Granger might get through to him.”“I-”“Or she might make him worse,” Theo argued, interrupting Hermione before she even had a chance to speak. It was infuriating, that they were in the know and she wasn’t. That Malfoy needed her, and she wasn’t there.
“If you’ve got any other ideas, please,” Blaise offered. “Or would you rather Draco suffer because you kept your promise?”
“Of course not.”“Right. Granger, with me.”Blaise led her to the apparition point, steps large and rushed.
“He’s been like it since Tuesday night, although we didn’t find him until Wednesday. He won’t listen to anyone, won’t leave the room, won’t sto-”“Blaise, if talking is slowing us down, how about we just get there?”He nodded. At the corner, he wrapped a hand around her upper arm, disapparating them almost instantly. Her first time in seven years. Had she been less focused on Malfoy, she might have let herself go slightly dizzy, step to the side. Take a moment. But she had to get to him. Swallowing the nausea, she forced herself to stay present.It took her a second to first notice where she was. With the high ceiling, even the dark walls weren’t able to fully enclose the space. The fireplace, most likely used for flooing in a corridor like this, was huge and ornate, fancy pots of floo powder sitting on the shelf above. Empty paintings lined the halls. Hermione had the sudden feeling of being inferior, her skin crawling, as if beetles were scuttling through her veins. She was unwelcome here, a stain on the Manor's heritage. It wanted her gone. A second after they apparated in, a house-elf appeared in front of them.
“Mister Zabini! You had been gone so long, Lopsy was getting scared-”“Has anything changed, Lopsy?”“Master is still the same. Lopsy tried to take him some food, but Lopsy could not even apparate inside the room, sir.”“You’ve done all you can. Keep to your wing tonight, Lopsy. He wouldn’t want you to see him like this.”The house-elf apparated away with a soft crack, leaving them to find Malfoy on their own. Hermione followed Blaise down the corridor.
“What happened?” She asked him. “Why didn’t anybody tell me-”“He made us promise not to. The only reason we found him like this is because Lopsy came to the flat. Otherwise we’d be just as clueless.”“You should have told me.”He stared her down. “When you break a promise to Malfoy and see what it does to him, then come to me and tell me to do the same.”They had stopped outside a dark wooden double door, a scene of what looked like silhouettes against a stormy background engraved into the wood. Hermione might have taken some time to appreciate the scene, the colours, before the sound of smashing glass broke the silence. She saw the focus of a painting peer around it’s frame, back away. Blaise pushed the door open, not holding back.
“Wait here,” Blaise said to her. “I don’t know- Just wait.”He entered the room, closing the door so it was just ajar. Hermione backed away from it, wanting to give them privacy before she went in. She felt like she was out there for an age, her silence broken only by the brief sounds of smashing glass. She heard raised voices, the thick wood of the door and small gap not enough for her to make out words. She was about to push through when Blaise reappeared, hair dishevelled, eyes worried.“He’s not himself,” Blaise’s voice broke, just slightly. He ran a hand through his hair. “He just won’t listen. I don’t know-”“Blaise, go. I’ll deal with this.”“But-”“You brought me here for this, didn’t you? Go. Isn’t there like five wings to this place?”
She left him in the corridor, pushing through the small gap, closing the door behind her. It was larger than her living room, spacious and grand, but the colours brought the space in on itself. It felt confining, dark and suffocating. The walls, lined with shelves, held artefacts and books propped open to pages covered in dust. The air smelled musty, old. Not in any good way.Malfoy was sat with his back to the door, in a dark brown armchair that might have once been a lovely antique. It looked like a parlor, a visiting room of some sort. Somewhere you might entertain. Against one of the walls were splashes of liquid above shattered glass, glinting on the floor. The only light was the flicker of lit sconces, a candle burning on the coffee table next to where Draco sat. An orange-coloured candle, she noticed, the scent drifting across the room.She moved slowly towards him. With his head bowed, face in his hands, she never thought she’d seen him so defeated. Even in sixth year, when he’d looked broken, empty. There had always been some sort of spark when he’d caught her eye, a haunting of their rivalry.
Standing in front of him, Hermione lowered to her knees. She knew he felt her there, his breath hitching. The flame in the candle burned higher, his magic igniting the air. She felt it reaching out to her, begging for her touch.
“Draco,” she muttered gently. When he made no reply, no movement, she reached forward to touch the back of his hands, pulling them away from his face. He dropped his eyes, trying hard not to look at her, but when she rested her hand on his knee, he failed. Eyes flickered up to hers.She thought she might say something, anything, but when she caught his gaze, she lost the words. The stony slate had her breath faltering, had her composure threatening to break. Even during their most heated arguments, she hadn’t seen him occlude like this, not since he’d walked into her bookshop all those weeks ago. Not since they were children. She moved her palm over his thigh, just above his knee. Turned so she could rest her head on his leg. Waited.
Eventually, his hand came down, fingers dancing over her temple. Through her hair. When she heard a deep breath in, uneven, she looked up to find him crying.It was a strange thing, to see Draco Malfoy cry. Like watching a fallen angel shatter, like snow falling on sand. He did so quietly, as if not to be burden, as if he thought she might not want to know. As if she wouldn't want to see him so open. Beautiful, cursed, broken. She wanted to be the one to put him back together, to figure out how the shards slotted aside each other. To fix him, like all the times he had fixed her. Save him.
“Draco,” she said again, sitting up straight, her hair falling from his grip. He fell back against the cushions, eyes on her but not seeing her. His occluding was so heavy it felt thick around him, as if his walls had somehow become physical, the air difficult to breathe. She didn’t look at him and see the Draco who had brought her post-it notes and pens. She saw the Malfoy from school, the one who locked himself away to keep her safe from him. The one who’d hated her, and made it clear.“Draco.” This time, she said his name the way she did when he was crossing a line, when she was angry with him, or close to it. In York, he had told her he liked it when she said his name like that, liked the fire dancing in her eyes. He would grin at her, knowing he was doing something she thought he shouldn’t. Usually, he did it again, just to get her expression to deepen, stoke that fire.He didn’t smile now. There was no hint of the mischievous, cunning Slytherin she knew. But he did focus. His eyes snapping onto hers, intense and dark. Silver depths of space, beautiful and haunted. She hated it.Reaching forward, she touched her fingertips to his cheek, where tears were tracing cracks down his face. He snatched his hand up, wrapping around her wrist. His sleeves were folded up to his elbows, his dark mark shocking against his pale skin. Shirt creased, hair ruffled. She wondered when he’d last changed.“Draco,” she said, “you need to eat.”He blinked at her, and she reached over to the coffee table to grab the sandwiches left there. She took a small bite out of one, held it out in the space between them.“Draco, please. Eat or talk to me, or something.”Nothing. Never had she seen him like this, not at school, or since. Even as children, even in sixth year, when she’d seen him walking around like one of the Hogwarts guards of stone, even in his quietest moments… He’d never been unyielding like this, shattered. Especially not with her. She didn't know what to do; a soft approach wouldn't work with him, like it had with Harry or Ron. He wasn't used to it, and he wouldn't want it.A different approach, then.“Draco Lucius Malfoy, eat this damn sandwich before I shove it down your throat.”She thought she saw a crack, then, not in the rivers on his cheeks but in his eyes. A fissure, small but heavy, a hint of the man she knew. He reached out, taking the sandwich. Raised it to his mouth and ate it in one. When she held another out, he took it straight away. Obeyed, quietly and without hesitation now.
When the food was gone, she put the plate back on the table. She looked around for his wand, thinking she could conjure a glass of water for him. When she turned back to look up at him, he hadn’t taken his eyes off of her. Taking the hand he held out for her, she let him pull her up and onto him, hold her body close to his, arms banded around her waist. His gaze was so intense, she couldn’t look away.“I told them not to bring you.”His first words to her, and that was what he chose to say. She sighed, pushing his hair back from his face. Swallowing her pride, her worry and anger and terror, and just shook her head.“I don’t think they knew what else to do.”“Blaise shouldn’t have brought you here. I couldn’t predict how the Manor would react to you.”“Stop worrying about me, Draco. Can we talk about you? What’s happened?”He searched her face, eyes roving over her every feature. She felt his hand rise up to the back of her neck. Press gently, once. Twice. She put a hand on his chest.“Kiss me.”“Draco,” she said gently, “please talk to me.”“I can’t-” his voice broke, and she saw his throat move as he swallowed. “I can’t, yet. I-”She nodded, rubbing her thumb over his cheekbone. Leaned forward to press her lips to his, a gentle kiss, as unbending as his walls. He held her there, breathed her in, as if putting her to memory. Let her slant her mouth over his, the saltwater from his tears pressing onto her tongue. Such a strange, unexpected taste from him, the man she depended on. The one who had saved her.Pulling away, Hermione dropped her head to the crook of his neck, felt him sigh, tighten his arms around her. Quickly, she felt his breath even out. Despite his embrace staying strong, she knew he’d fallen asleep, head tilting back to lean on the back of the chair. Closing her eyes, she melted into him, let her magic thread with his. Felt her fingers tracing runes on the arm around her waist, sub-consciously. Familiar, now a habit she dared not break.Waited, for him to come back to her.

Hermione came to with a sigh, the feeling of Malfoy’s fingers in her hair, the light warmth of his breath on her forehead. She opened her eyes to find he was watching her, searching her face. When he saw she was awake, he reached up with his free hand, traced a finger from her temple to her jaw, slowly. Reverently.
She might have thought that sleep had brought him back, the way he was touching her. But his eyes… they reminded her too much of seeing him at school. As they had gotten older, he had become more and more soulless - still cruel at times, always cold, but never uncontrolled. Never unravelled, or emotional. The emptiness in that gaze, the shadowed look, like the blue of the ocean at night. He wasn’t the man she had come to know.“Tell me,” she said, practically pleading. “Let me help.”He said nothing, drew his fingers down her neck. His eyes followed his movement before rising, to meet her gaze once more. Still, she saw nothing but his past.
“You can’t solve everything, Granger,” he said finally.“I don’t want to solve it. I just want to know what’s hurting you.”Watching her for a moment longer, he shifted, lifting her off of him so he could stand. She fell into his place in the chair, kept her gaze on him as he moved over to the cabinet. When he poured a drink, his hands shook.“I think you should leave.”His words were spoken quietly, to the floor. She’d never seen him stand like this, shoulders heavy, head bowed. He’d never looked so... powerless. His words had her reeling back.“Leave?” Pushing herself to a stand, she hesitated. “I’m not leaving.”“I asked Blaise not to bring you here for a reason.”“He brought me because he thought I could help.”“You can’t. I know it’s shocking to you, that you can’t help everyone. But even the Golden Girl has to fail sometimes.”“Stop it.”“Maybe you thought you could fix me, but you were wrong. I don’t want you to. I want you to leave.”“I won’t," she vowed. "You didn't leave me, even when I told you to."His head fell back, eyes to the ceiling, just for a moment, before he righted himself. Poured a large drink, his movements slow and heavy.“I don’t want you here.”“I know that’s not true.”“What do you know about me, Granger? How could you possibly help me?” He drank his glass dry, slammed it back on the table. “We've never been friends, always enemies. You don’t even use your magic any more, what use could you be to me?”She winced at that. No humour, no snarky Malfoy-ish tone to tell her he was joking. To tell her that he didn’t mean it. It was shocking, how his occlumency changed his entire self. Took the man she knew away from her and replaced him with darkness. It felt a lot, Hermione realised suddenly, like standing in front of his father. Or Snape.“I thought you didn’t mind-”“Then you thought wrong.” Another drink. “I thought you’d be over it by now. It has been seven years, Granger. I mean, it took barely seven days for me to get over my father’s death.”“Don’t, Malfoy.”“And to abandon your friends? That’s not the sort of person I’d want helping me.”“I know what you’re doing.” she said to his back. “I know you’re trying to scare me. I know you think if you’re cruel to me I’ll go running, that I’ll go back to hating you like when we were children. But I know you now, Draco. I know you, and I know you’re better than this.”He reached up to pull his tie off, flinging it to the side. Pushed a hand through his hair. Motions so unlike the calm, sure man she had let hold her as she slept.“I am not, Granger, I promise you that."“Either way, I deserve better than this from you. I deserve more trust from you, that the first sign of trouble I’ll sprint in the opposite direction. I thought you knew me better than that. Even Ron never tried to shield me fro-”“Do not finish that sentence.” That made him face her, finally, made the crack in his walls widen, just slightly. A split in his composure, from anger, from fury. But seeing him enraged was better than seeing him broken. “Do not compare me to him.”“Then stop treating me like I’m fragile!” A sudden burst of anger flew through her, harsh and loud. “You talk about trust, yet as soon as you think I can’t handle something, you block me out. This relationship will never work if we don’t talk.”“All we’ve done is talk.”“Not now. Not when things have gotten difficult.”“You want to know?” He suddenly took a large step towards her. She wondered how far he’d go to try to scare her. “You really want to know what I’ve done, what curses I’ve used?”“I want you to be open with me. You’ve not… This is not you any more.”“Do you think after three months you know me? You have no idea what I’ve done, or who I’ve done it to.”“Then tell me!”“Why should I?” He took another step towards her, suddenly holding his arm between them, brandishing his Dark Mark as if it were a weapon. As if he would curse her just for gazing upon it. "You want this touching you? Staining you?""It doesn't bother me, you kn-""How can you say that? It's a symbol of your worst nightmare, and I let them brand me with it. I let them have me, claimed it was to keep my family safe. You want this all over you, this hate? I can't get rid of this, Granger, ever.""I don't care," she said, taking a large step over the gap, wrapping her hand around his arm before he could pull it back. His skin was warm under her palm, so hot it stung, and Hermione dug her nails into his skin, trying to make him see."You should.""I don't," she spoke with vehemence, “We’re not children any more, Malfoy. I know that whatever you’ve done won’t change what I think of you.”His face twisted, lips curling into a grimace. Pulled his arm from her, her touch poisonous. As if the feel of her grip over his mark was painful.“What would you like to know, Granger?” he asked. “Would you like to know how it felt, using curses I vowed never to use again? Curses my aunt taught me so I could use them against you? What about the fact that I didn’t even care, that I had used them? Not until I remembered that I’d have to see your face when I told you. Or that the thought of touching you when I remember what I’ve done makes me feel sick?” He turned away from her suddenly, as if the vision of her caused him pain. Barely able look at her.“Do you think that little of me, that some curses would change things between us?”“You don’t know which curses I used."“Then tell me, Draco. Please. To see you like this-" She swallowed, heavily, shards of glass scratching against her throat. "I can’t take it. You’re hurting me.”Those three words seemed to do it, seemed to piece one part of him together. The part of him that put her first, always. The part of him that would rather die than hurt her. He turned so he could look at her as she took slow steps towards him. Searched her face when she was close enough. It was that silver hue on her, his hand reaching up to touch her cheek, that made her realise she'd missed the feel of her wand in her grip, comforting and powerful. Not a solution, but an anchor.“I made you cry,” he stated, tracing the path of her tears with the tip of his finger.“Well, when I'm upset, it’s sort of my go-to response.”“I hate seeing you cry.” He rubbed his thumbs over her cheekbones, turning to face her fully. Tilted her face up so he could assess the damage he’d done. "Ever since the end of fourth year."“Then maybe you should act less like your father.” She grabbed onto his wrists, scared he would step away from her again. Scared she would lose him.Wincing, he made a small noise, as if acknowledging her statement. She regretted it, partly, but wouldn't take it back. It felt true."I deserve that," he said, tone low.“You don’t have to push me away any more, Draco. I know why you did it when we were at school, but I’m here now. I want you in my life, and part of that is knowing what you’ve done and accepting it. I don't care about this,” she reached to hold his arm, gently this time, "do you understand? I know what happened, when I wasn't there. I want to be here for you, now."“You shouldn’t have to,” he said. “I’m not good enough for you. I can’t…” He swallowed. Another break in his walls, expressed through a hint of desperation in his voice. “I can’t be what you deserve. It's not just the decisions I’ve made, or the things I’ve done. It's the things I’ll do. I’m not enough. You shouldn't want me."“That’s not up to you. And none of that is true. I don't believe it now, and I won't believe it tomorrow."Hermione reached up to straighten his collar, noticed a streak of red she hadn’t seen before. Tutting, she gave him a small push, moving him so he was sat in his chair again.“You’re hurt,” she said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”“I’ve had other things on my mind.”She sighed, shaking her head. “Where’s your wand?”“Top drawer.”She looked over to the desk. “The furniture won’t try to kill me if I touch it, will it?”“No, Granger. The desk is fully un-cursed.”She went over to it, letting her fingers run over the beautiful engraving on the top. The Malfoy crest, next to the Slytherin house snake. Rich, dark mahogany. She could imagine him sat at it, the contrast of his alabaster skin and pale hair against the shadows of his Manor.“This is beautiful,” she said honestly.“It’s been in the family for centuries.” Malfoy’s voice was flat. “My father used it, as did his father. His father before him, and so on.”“It’s an antique.”“It’s ugly and I hate it,” he said suddenly, “just like the rest of this place.”“Then why did you come here?”He didn’t answer, and she opened the top drawer to find a collection of wands. Narrowing her gaze, she raised her head to look at the wizard with too many wands.“Why do you have so many?” When she got merely a shrug for an answer, she rolled her eyes, picked up a wand of black wood. Slamming the drawer shut, she moved over to stand beside him.“Where are you hurt?” She eyed the dried blood on his neck, saw no cut.
“I hit my head,” he said, “I think.”“You think?” She placed a gentle hand on his head, moving some hair to the side. When he winced, she knew she’d found it. “Draco,” she chided, “you have to be careful. Muggles go straight to the hospital when they hit their head. Why haven’t you gone to the hospital? How did this ha-”“So many questions, Granger,” he hissed when she prodded the cut.He eyed her as she raised her wand, muttering a small episkey. When the cut was healed, she moved over to the drinks table, picking up a napkin. Conjuring some water to wet it, she stood in front of him, between his legs. He watched her as she cleaned the blood off of his neck.“I should have done this first,” she muttered.“I wouldn’t have let you,” he confessed quietly.
“You’re letting me now.”“I don’t want to see you cry again if I say no.”She smiled a little. “Does that mean you’ll never say no to me?”“Have I done so yet?”He let her clean him up, taking her time. She could feel that they were on the edge of a precipice, teetering on the verge of something, yet again. What exactly was waiting for them at the bottom, she couldn’t be sure. Didn't know if she wanted to find out, or stay in the bubble of passion and ignorance they had been in before this week.“Are you ready to talk to me?” she asked him quietly. He reached out to touch her, his fingers landing on her ribs. Flattening his palm, he smoothed his grip over her, running it to her side, down to her hip. His hand shook. She grabbed it, raised it to her mouth, kissing his knuckles gently.“I’m sorry for what I said,” he told her. “I didn’t-" a deep inhale, shaky and broken, "I’d never mean that. Any of it. About your magic, or that I want you to leave. I don't want you to leave."“I know, Draco. I’m not going anywhere.”“Promise me." It was a murmur, a request that he probably wouldn't push if she avoided it. She thought back, briefly, to what Blaise had said, about breaking promises made to Malfoy. Knew that although his tone was light, his words were not.She pressed her thumb into his knuckle, massaging away the tension. Something she'd read once helped with the shakes after extended crucio sessions, a way of easing out the pain in the muscles. He watched her, eyes slightly less guarded, fissures becoming ravines becoming canyons. Slowly working his way back to her, crawling over that glass.“I promise,” she said. “I’m not leaving. You’re not going to push me away. No matter what you try.”The breath that escaped him was long, deep, physically relieving him of stiffness. She watched the dark grey of his eyes shift into something lighter, something more open and honest. More him.
“Your hands didn’t shake last week,” she said to him.
He watched her assess his hands for damage, leaning back into the cushions of his chair.“When Voldemort was living here,” he started suddenly, “I was a shaking mess. So was my mother, and my father. Everyone around me... I shook, and I made others shake. It took me years to stop it, to train it out of me. I suppose I can thank Azkaban for being so utterly boring I had nothing else to do, bar stop my shaking and dream of you.”Hermione frowned. “You were shaky because of the crucio curse. It’s normal, when you suffer it too much.”He hummed knowingly, and her fingers on his knuckles stilled. Looking up, she found his gaze, felt her eyes filling with tears. At the sight, she saw his walls finally crash, crumble to pieces.“Please don’t cry,” he said it in a whisper. “It kills me, don't you know that?"“Who did that to you?” Her voice was strong, angry.
“It doesn’t matter.”“It does matter! You don’t deserve that, Malfoy, nobody does. How can you say it doesn’t matter?”“He’s dead, Granger. I killed him.”The air left her lungs in a quick exhale, and then she found she couldn’t quite breathe any back in. He wasn’t looking at her, instead focusing on the space just above her shoulder. She knew tears were falling now, overflowing from her in a rush.
"Why didn't-" Why didn't you tell me, was what she wanted to say. But he had drifted away from her again, just slightly. Dived back into his own mind.“He didn’t know what he was doing. I killed him because he hurt me, simple as that.”“Draco.” When she sighed his name, his eyes cut to hers. She knew what he would be expecting from her; shock, horror, abandonment. He thought she’d run from him, tell him she never wanted to see him again. Leave him, breaking her promise before she could even start to hold it.She didn’t know how to tell him what she was feeling without shattering.
“I have wanted you for so long,” he continued, “but I’ve never deserved you. Not for one second.”“I don’t believe that.”“It’s okay, Granger. I was alright with it, until now. Now I have you, and the thought of losing you…” His throat moved as he swallowed. “I don’t know how to do this, how to keep you.”Sighing, Hermione reached forward to push her fingers through his hair, down to his jaw. His eyes closed at the feeling, a small noise of appreciation coming from his throat, his hand turning so he could twine his fingers through hers. Still shaking, although less than before.“Did you know,” she said, quietly, “that after I obliviated my parents, I couldn’t conjure a patronus? I couldn’t think of anything happy enough to work. Every memory I had was tainted, with something dark. Something like fear, or hate."Raising the wand, she readied herself. So far, she’d only been conjuring small charms, using his wand, easing herself back into the idea of using magic, letting herself practise. Letting the guilt diffuse from her soul, slowly, each day easier than the last. She wasn’t even sure if this would work.But she waved her wrist anyway, uttering the words as she did so. Thinking of him, of his presence. One of their times in the café, hours spent talking books, language, riddles. Back before they had even taken those first steps, before the cast of stalkers and cursed boxes had taken over them. It had been the first time in years she had thought she might be able to conjure something again, instilling her with a sense of peace, even when that guilt rushed through her later on.Her otter was as beautiful as she remembered, small and sparkling. It looked at her expectantly, before bounding about the room with another twist of the wand. Slowly, she felt Malfoy’s hand wrap around her wrist, looked down to find he was watching her. Face half-lit by the brightness of her patronus, eyes flashing silver through the dark.She didn’t need to tell him that she was thinking of him. She knew he’d know, from the look in her eyes. Instead, she placed herself back in his lap, his arms wrapping tightly around her, pulling her body into his. They watched her patronus together quietly, letting its light fill the room. Hoping it would wash away the stain, and leave them with nothing but happiness.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s a fucking rune.The knowledge woke him, sure and steady despite the shakiness of the past nine days. Draco opened his eyes to find the soft brown of Granger’s curls, took a moment to watch the way they stirred lightly under his breath. Light from her bedside lamp allowed him to be present, to feel her hair under his cheek, her waist under his arm.
He’d never been much of a sleeper. Even as a young child, there had been too much to do; too many toys, too much playing. At school, too many books, too much studying. Then, too much planning, worrying, fretting about how to keep the ones he loved safe. In sixth year, during the holidays, he’d lain in bed, determined not to put the light on lest a Death Eater see the glow of it under his door. But he’d heard them skulking about his home, heard the slither of Nagini on her rounds, the anguished screams of victims from deeper in the Manor. And he had imagined horrors in the dark corners of his bedroom, had felt his hands shake and tremor until he thought he would simply shatter.But alongside it all, her. The idea of her had, until seventh year, held a sort of anchor. Something to hold onto when he was scared he was fading from himself, losing track of what was necessary. But then she’d been caught, and suddenly all he had of her was her pain, her anguish, and every time he closed her eyes he could hear it again, see it, remember it, and remember doing nothing to stop it.After that, he didn’t care if the Death Eaters saw the glowing crack under his door. It became common knowledge that he was awake every moment, pacing the floor of his bedroom, planning his next move to ensure her safety as best he could, despite the physical distance between them. Voldemort would call him to the parlour at random hours, test him, see if exhaustion would make him crack. At school, his training took a desperate, unyielding turn. Snape wanted Draco’s movements catalogued obsessively, his every thought organised and sorted in his mind. And Draco had given him exactly what he wanted, even as he realised that he couldn’t bear to be in a dark room.At Azkaban, the darkness had been suffocating. Overwhelmingly deep and unending; the guards had never offered a lamp or Lumos, and wouldn’t have even if Draco had asked. He’d only had the light of the sun, and the reflection of the moon at night. There had been no consideration of his sleeplessness and nightmares being because of the dark. Malfoys weren’t scared of the dark, Lucius would hiss from the shadows. As if his father had any right to tell Draco what to be scared of, after he’d brought a living, breathing horror-show into their family home.Now, though, Draco had slept. Not through an entire night, of course, but more than he had in the week he’d been at the Manor. And deeper than he could remember; enough for his brain to work out its kinks, to iron out some creases, come to some conclusions.One of the first; that Draco was sleeping in the same bed as Hermione Granger. It wasn’t the first time, and yet, it felt bigger now. Now that she had seen a part of him he hadn’t planned her to; seen it and yet, still wanted him.The second: it’s a fucking rune.Rolling over onto his back, he faced the ceiling, draped in one of his charms to make it look like the night sky. His constellation glinted down at him, a harsh reminder of what he’d been born to be. In another cluster of stars, he thought he could see the rune for Fehu, the very one that had been inscribed on his Azkaban placard.
Runes weren’t easy - at least past O.W.L.s. He’d known this curse-maker was good, but to use a rune in this way… of course, until he could actually get close to the box, there would be no proving it. But if it was true, that would mean there would be no breaking the curse until the rune was removed, or destroyed. Or maybe…He could just wait. Go to the Ministry expert, dive into the Archives. There was probably something in the Department of Mysteries he could use. But they didn’t have what she had.As if attuned to him, Granger turned in his arms, laying her head on his chest. A deep sigh, curls across her face. Looking down at her, he pushed them away, half-asleep and yet hyper-focused on that first idea. Her curls, her bed, her breath. Her, her, her.“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Words mumbled, he felt her frown against his skin. Felt her touch tracing over a scar. Over his stomach, his ribcage.He’d been unsure, at first, whether she would want him practically naked in her bed. In fact, he'd been ready to sleep fully dressed, if she had concerns. But then, two nights ago, she’d crawled under her sheets wearing only one of his shirts - mind-altering - and underwear - life-changing. Set to playing with the hem of his own t-shirt, helping him to lift it off. When she’d moved her hands to his sweats pointedly, giving him a small smirk, he was sure his brain had short-circuited.“Thinking,” he said, quietly. She huffed.“Draco, we talked about this. Daytime is thinking time. Nighttime is for sleeping.”Smiling, she moved so she could look up at him, eyes dark in the dim light of the lamp. Deep and earthy, grounding him. That anchor, once more.The week he had kept away from her had felt more like a year. Like the last ten years of staying away, all rolled into seven awful, shadowed days, where he felt more like a shell of a person, rather than the good man she believed him to be. When she’d kneeled in front of him, a fear he hadn’t experienced in years had rocketed through him, probably the first time since he’d spied her across the courtyard at the Battle of Hogwarts. Wand raised, face bloody. The shadow of Greyback behind her. He’d never run so fast in his life.Through the fear and the fog, she’d diffused into him, into the cells that made him, until all he could see was her. Until the Manor and its ghosts had drifted away, and he had been reminded of what it had all been for. Why he’d spent fifth year directing all of Umbridge’s attentions to him whenever she was around, the backs of his hands scarred bloody. Why Potter had thrown that damned curse at him. Why he’d spent the first few years of his freedom hunting Death Eaters, risking it all.Why he’d gone back to the Ministry, though he’d vowed never to return. Why he’d sworn to find her and bring her home, setting off a domino-effect of lies.During their argument, he’d considered using the truth to get her to leave. Finally proving the Brightest Witch wrong, showing her the truth of the man she was so desperate to save. It would have worked, and for the brief moment that it crossed his mind, he knew if he told her that she would leave him. That he would be free to fade into the darkness of his mind, and she would be safe from him. But then…
You’re hurting me.
Merlin, if he hadn’t been wrapped around her little finger before, he certainly was now. He’d always despised seeing her cry, but to know that it was because of him was something else.

And then he’d known that he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t tell her the truth, and have those amber eyes tearing up because of what he’d done. Hearing the way her voice broke, seeing the way she curled in on herself. Feeling her hand wrapping around his Dark Mark, as if none of it mattered. As if he deserved to breathe her in, or even be within a mile of her. He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t use it as a weapon to sabotage their relationship, and he couldn’t throw it in her face to force her to abandon him. He couldn’t hurt her, not even with the truth.So, here he was, four nights later. Still avoiding it, still lying. Whatever Potter was doing to keep the Minister off his back was working, because they must have known where to find him. But nobody was depulso-ing Granger’s front door open, nobody was sending him Howlers, or demanding he attend a trial. He was sure there would be consequences. Dire ones. He was almost certain the word Azkaban would be thrown in his face, whenever he deigned to return.
At the thought, he leaned down to kiss her, holding her in place with a hand on the nape of her neck. Thumb under her chin so he could get the best angle, work those sounds from her throat. She loved to be touched by him, and he loved to give her what she wanted, swallowing her gasps and using them for air.
She let him push his tongue further into her mouth, deepening the kiss. Despite the nights spent together since she had brought him back, they hadn’t moved further than this, Draco too wrapped up in the barbed wire of his past to feel like it was safe to touch her. But now, with the artificial stars overhead and the lamp keeping the misery away, he wondered if she would let him.
He felt her hand trailing up his torso, to his chest, following the trail of a scar to get to his shoulder. When she dragged her touch back down, she did so with the scratch of nails, a light smirk against his mouth when he stiffened. When she felt him harden against her thigh, slung over his hips.But she pulled away, propping her head on her elbow. Lightened her touch. He watched her watch him, took another moment to be amazed by her once more.
“You should go back to sleep,” he told her. ,“Can’t,” she sighed. “You’re thinking too loud. Always do.”He narrowed his gaze slightly. “That’s untrue. I’ve a quiet mind.”Rolling her eyes, she smirked. “I beg to differ. I used to be able to hear your brain working across the table in the Hogwarts library. Sounded a lot like…” she feigned contemplation, “gears grinding.”“If you think I’m loud thinking,” he said slowly, “wait until I get you in my bed.”Her eyes darkened to a chocolate brown, and he reached up to twist his fingers into her hair. Held himself back, though, knowing that her expression was one of hesitation.“Tell me,” she said. He swallowed.“It’s nothing.”“Malfoy, you promised you wouldn’t keep things from me.”“It’s not… It’s only work.”“Then let me help. They did call me bright, at one point.”Sighing, he pulled her down to him, her head nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder. He felt her breathe him in, chest pressing against his. Leg over his waist now, high enough that he could trail his fingers up to her arse, down to her knee. She shivered.“What do you remember about embedding runes?”She took a moment to think. “Like… embedding with magic?” When he hummed in agreement, she made a shrugging motion. “Not a lot. We didn’t study much of it at school.”“There were a few wizards thought able to produce charmed runes,” he reminded her. “Like a letter to carry out a spell, make it stick to an object."
“It’s very complicated.”“Very,” he murmured, paused. “Which means you managed it.”She smiled slightly against his shoulder. “Only once.”“How?”“I wanted the drapes over my bed to always be silenced.”Frowning, he pulled back slightly, looking at her. “What for?”At his expression, she laughed. “Not that, Malfoy. So I could practice spells without waking the others in my dorm.”“And you tell me about sleeping,” he muttered.
“Yes, well… I think we all had reasons to stay up, by the end.” She licked her lips slowly. “Anyway, I managed to embed a silencing charm into a rune, but it wasn’t easy. Just figuring out which rune would work was one thing, but then making it stick to the curtain... Every time I tried, it would just burn out. It was never permanent.”Never permanent. She said it as if it made the feat worthless, small. Draco had never known anybody who could instill magic into a rune - nor anybody who had even thought of it. And she had done it at school.
“How did you get the rune to hold magic?”“It took a lot of practise. I just had to keep writing out the rune until I knew it perfectly, then when I uttered the charm, draw the rune instead of the wand movement.”“Could you show me?”She took a moment. “I think I could try it again.” She smirked. “You’ll have to be a good student.”“I’m always a good student, Granger.”“Now, that’s definitely a lie. I remember divination.” She made to crawl off the bed.“No, you’re right," he admitted. "Most of my time in lesson was spent watching you, instead of learning.” She paused, and he sat on the edge of the bed, watching her. “Learning you, I suppose.”“Maybe if you’d focused more, you’d have beat me.”“No. I enjoy seeing you win too much.” Her smile was soft now, and he shifted under her gaze. “I’ll be good for you, though, Golden Girl.”She made a small noise, poked him in the forehead. “Pass me your wand, Malfoy.”He reached under his pillow, sliding his wand out and holding it out to her, handle first. Raising an eyebrow at him, she took it, and he found he was grinning at the sight. Her hands on his wand. Fantasy content, come to life. Light enough to banish the demons that had their hooks in him, dispel any notion that he wasn’t exactly where he was supposed to be.“It's sort of a mixture of rune-writing and charm-crafting,” she started explaining, testing the weight of his wand in her hand. Placed her free hand against the wall behind the bed, readying herself. “The rune for the letter s, combined with that meaning to encircle, as well as the silencio charm. It works by trapping the spell in the rune. What object the rune is etched onto should take on the charm.”“So, if you do it on the wall, no sound should get through.”“Until the rune is destroyed or removed. If it was permanent. I never got that far.” He nodded, and she took in a deep breath. “I hope my landlord doesn’t mind a few etchings in the wall.”“I’ll reparo it after for you,” he offered, and she smiled sweetly at him, making his heart skip. Skip, then completely fail, yet again, as she started waving it. Tracing the rune over the wall, slowly at first, then faster. With more purpose. Pressing the tip of his wand into the wall.“Silencio,” she whispered, a quiet uttering of such a common charm and yet, it had him breathless. He should have been watching her technique, see how the magic embedded into the rune, but he couldn’t look away from her. Her face, lit golden through the darkness. Beautiful, angelic.One word passed through his mind, a brief, three-word realisation that had him stilling completely. Of course he'd known that what he felt for her was more than a simple crush, deeper than a mindless obsession. She was part of him, had been since the day in fifth year when he'd realised that crush was teetering on the edge of something more. He hadn't tried to stop it from developing, hadn't thought to beg Snape to teach him how to lock feelings away as well as thoughts. If Snape thought he could, he would have told him, anyway.And now, those words passed through him again, bright and full of meaning. He'd never uttered those words to anyone, not even his parents. There had been no room for love in his childhood. When he'd first felt it, he hadn't even been sure of what it was. But he knew now.After, she pressed her fingertips to the rune, engraved in the wall from his wand. Even across the distance, Draco could feel the magic embedded into it, the simple charm feeling more like a blessing when he touched it himself, gently. He looked back at her, saw her biting her lip.
Moving his hand from the wall, he tugged her lip free with his thumb. Turned her face so she was looking at him, eyes wide and confused.
“It worked,” she said, and he nodded slowly. “I wasn’t su-”“You are dazzling, Golden Girl,” he said, and her mouth snapped shut. “You blind me.”“That doesn’t sound good.”“It’s so good,” he corrected, “So good it’s almost painful. Worth it though, to look at you.” He glanced at the rune. “I’m not repairing that. It stays. It’s the best thing I've ever seen.”“It’s only a rune, Draco.”“It’s my new favourite rune. I’m going to have it carved into my skin, carry it with me everywhere I go.”She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Such theatrics.”“Come here.”She let him help her to a stand, let him slide his hands to the backs of her thighs. Pull her so she was straddling him, her hands on his shoulders, dropping his wand onto the bed.“The brightest,” he turned his head, dropping a kiss to her wrist, “most beautiful,” to her inner elbow, “most brilliant witch.”“And now I’m yours.”His inhale was deep, uneven. She leaned into him as she said it, her arms twining around his neck, her head bowed over his. She kissed him once, while he was speechless, knew she felt him hardening underneath her.“My witch,” he murmured against her mouth, “I’ll never know how I got you.”“It was the post-it notes,” she said, and he laughed.
When she kissed him again, it was a harder press, with more intent. He pulled her close, reached for her when she moved back, stepping off so she was standing in front of him. After a moment, she dropped to her knees, hands on his thighs for balance.“Granger,” he said slowly, tone full of warning, “I don’t think you know what you're getting yourself into.”“I drew a rune embedded with a silencing charm,” she reminded him, and he groaned. “Do you like that?”“You, doing magic? Magic nobody else knows how to do. With my wand?” He groaned once more. Smirked. “I love it.”“Why don’t you show me how much?”“I’m not su-”“This is for you, Draco,” she said, and he faltered, “I want to do this. Will you let me?”“Let you?” He blurted out, laughing. “Granger, letting you isn’t the issue here. I belong to you.”
“So stand up,” she said, words mere gasps. He did as told, pushing up from the bed, tried not to feel ashamed at how his breath quickened instantly at the sight of her, face upturned, eyes on him. When her gaze travelled down his body, he had to glance away, nervous.He felt her touch on his thigh, jolted. Let her pull his boxers down so his cock was free, ready and waiting for her. She didn’t give him a chance to calm or prepare, wrapping her hand around him and leaning forward, her tongue flicking out to lick over his head.
Draco hoped that silencio rune worked, because otherwise the entire flat would hear him.
When her mouth enveloped the tip of his cock, he heard some sort of harsh sound come from his chest, his head falling back. Lifted it again, not wanting to miss the vision of her as she moved her tongue over him in circles. Slow, learning him. When her eyes flashed up, full of mischief and desire,, he pushed her hand back from her face, twining his fingers into the roots. Angled her head so he could watch as she moved her mouth over him.
“Fuck, Hermione,” he gasped, “you’re driving me insane, you know that?”A spark of bright amber in her eyes, and he smirked. Gripped her hair tighter.
“You do know it,” he said, “You see exactly what you do to me. What you’ve done to me. I want you all over me, love. Hold me tighter.” When she did, he moaned again, harsh and throaty. The urge to thrust into her, so he could feel the back of her throat, almost impossible to ignore. But the last thing he wanted to do was scare her, or push her. He tensed the muscles in his thighs, forcing himself to still. She noticed, leaning back to look at him.“You’re holding back,” she said, and he looked for something to say. “Stop doing that. I need this just as much as you do, Draco. Please.”Draco watched her place her mouth back on his cock, hissed as she moved her mouth further down his cock, until he finally hit the back of her throat. When she moaned around him, the last thread of his self-control snapped, setting him free.“You want me to fuck your throat, Granger?” Draco reached down, keeping a hand in her hair, moving her free hand to his thigh. “If you want me to stop, tap twice.”She looked up at him, eyes innocent and open. When he tightened his fingers on her hair, those eyes fluttered closed, and he twisted his grip even deeper into her tresses. She hummed around him, vibrations travelling through him.“I’ve dreamed of this for over ten years,” he reminded her, digging his nails into her scalp, only slightly, “wondered what you would feel like. Knew you would feel better than anything I could imagine.” When he felt the gentle scrape of teeth, his hips jolted, one of her terms coming from his chest so suddenly, more proof of how she had infiltrated his very being. “Christ, Hermione, careful. More of that and I’ll come in your mouth so fast you won’t know what’s happening.”She whimpered, and then, as if she really did want to kill him off, he saw her move her hand from his thigh, pushing the hem of his shirt up, out of the way. Her hand diving into her underwear, fingers moving under the fabric. Brown eyes fluttered closed again, opened to see his reaction.“You like sucking me off, love?” He moved her mouth over him, circling his hips. “If you make yourself come before I can get my mouth on you, I’ll edge you for twice the amount of time I’m already planning. You hear that?”
She blinked once, her whimpers faster and louder over his cock, until he was thrusting into her mouth. Until he could feel the head of him hitting her throat, hard enough he worried that he might bruise her. But she was loving it, taking every thrust, and he was watching her hand move in her knickers, faster and f-“Do I get to come in your mouth, Hermione?” He asked, ready to beg. “Are you going to swallow it like my perfect little witch?”She hummed again, watching him, her hips wriggling, pussy searching for friction. At the sight, he came, her name a mantra from his chest, his fingers tugging at her hair. A low groan, when she pulled away, when he watched the movement of her throat as she swallowed, licking her lips.“Up,” he demanded, and she took his hand. Reaching for the fingers she’d been using, he brought them to his mouth, moaning as he tasted her. “Fucking yourself with your fingers, Granger? That’s my job.”Twisting them, he pushed her, gently, so she was laid back on the bed, legs hanging off the side. Hair spread out underneath her.“Unbutton your shirt for me,” he told her, “I’ve got somewhere to be.”It was his turn to go to his knees, for his witch, for her. Watching as she squirmed on the bed, needing him. As she pulled his shirt open so her breasts were bare to him, so he could watch as she moved her hands over them. The sight had him ready to go again.“You are exquisite,” he said, “I’ve been waiting to taste you. Know exactly what it will be like, as well. You know what my amortentia is?”She cried out when he licked her for the first time, a long, hard run of his tongue from her opening to her clit. Matched with yet another groan from his throat. He would have leaned back to look at her, to see her face as he pushed three fingers into her, but he couldn’t move away.
“It’s this,” he murmured into her core, “I’ve needed this.”“Please, Draco,” she gasped, pushing her hips up from the mattress.“Please what, love?”“Make me come,” she moaned. “Please.”“Such a polite witch. You can come all over my mouth,” he paused, “but only after I’ve had my fill of you.”Merlin, he loved to hold her there. Keep her on the edge for as long as possible, until she was so wet it was dripping. Until he could lick her arousal off of her inner thighs, groan as he tasted her. She was pressing her pussy into his face, gripping the sheet beneath her, hands more like the claws of a lion. With his free hand, he reached up, let her latch onto his write, dig those claws into his skin.“Fuck my face, Golden Girl,” he said. “I want your cunt all over me. Please.”At the demand, she reached down, twisting her fingers into his hair, moving her hips over his face. So erotic, so insanely sexy, how she used his face, how she used him, how she took rightful ownership of him.Finally.“Please,” she was whimpering, “let me come, please.”He hummed, moving back just slightly so he could look up at her. Watch her writhe as he pressed his fingers deeper inside her, curled them, eliciting a loud sound from her.
“You’ve been so good,” he praised, “and you’ve waited long enough. We both have. Come for me, Hermione. Let me taste you.”Putting his mouth back to her clit, he ran his tongue over her in slow circles, pushing his fingers hard, mimicking the way he would fuck her when she was in his bed. It didn’t take long for her orgasm to rip though her, his name from her throat, his tongue lapping up her come. As she calmed, he rose from his knees, leaning over her. His cock, already hard again, pressing at her entrance. She gripped his shoulders, lifting a leg around his waist. Gave a small push to the small of his back.“Dra-”“Not yet, love,” he whispered.“Please.”“I’m having this cunt,” he told her, “in my bed. I don’t want to need a silencing rune to hear my name from your mouth. I have plans.”She groaned. “Fuck your plans.”He smirked, leaned down to kiss her. At the taste of herself, she made a similar noise, lifting her head to deepen the kiss.“I know,” he gasped, pulling away, “so good, isn’t it? One taste, and I’m ready for more.”“I’m ready for you.”He pushed up, titling his head. “I know you want it. So do I.”
“I’m never going to sleep now,” she said, pouting. “You might as well finish what you started.”He sighed dramatically. “I suppose I’ll just have to tire you out another way.”Sliding to his knees again, he pushed his fingers back inside her without warning. And when she called his name, over and over, reverently, as if she were worshipping him, he knew it. He had always been hers, but now… She was his. A golden light, to chase away the dark. If asked, he knew he would say, with certainty, what he was feeling. That one word.Love.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Part 5: December

It was the first of December by the time Draco returned to the Ministry - the day after Granger had stunned him with her silencing rune. He’d still had no word from Potter, no Aurors had arrived at her flat to drag him to Azkaban. Nothing. He wasn’t sure if he’d have rather been removed from it, so he could finally put this bloody box behind him.
His sudden realisation over the magic of the curse had had his mind whirring all night. It had, in fact, felt like the grinding of gears, just like Granger had described it. A painful and harsh process, not unlike stepping back through the Ministry doors. It had kept him up, stopped him from even daring to close his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he ever would sleep again. He kept thinking he was being crucio-ed, seeing flashes of twisty brown hair on a hardwood floor, a small body curled into a cupboard to hide. Kept feeling his body spasming, his hands shaking. Saw Luke, the green fire from Draco’s own wand-So, he wasn’t sleeping. He didn’t mind, not when Granger was there. Not when she relied on him to sleep, cuddling up to his side, nuzzling into his chest. If all he got into bed for was to let her throw herself over him, use him for comfort, then he would end his days happy. But he knew she minded. He knew she was worried. Coming back to work was his attempt to lessen that for her, to show that he was trying. To try to be deserving of her, even when he knew it was impossible. Even when every breath and decision took him closer to disappointing her.Being good for her was made even harder, when he stepped out of the elevator to find the Weasel waiting for him. Arms crossed, face blank. Entire presence as irritating as ever. Draco pushed past him.“They want you upstairs.”“Fuck off, Weasley.” Not today.“Malfoy.”Draco ignored him, going straight to his office. He had expected to be summoned, of course, but he’d never relent to him. Seeing the Chosen Sidekick just reminded him that Granger had almost been comparing them, had almost noticed that the Weasel was much more emotionally mature than Draco was. It filled him with a rage he had, surprisingly enough, yet to experience, a level of fury he didn’t know how to manage. Slamming the office door closed, he almost threw out a jinx when it immediately reopened, Weasley’s body filling the doorway.“Get out.”“This is serious, Malfoy.”“Take one more step and I’ll be placing an incinerating charm on my office. Specifically targeted towards ginger pricks.”“The Minister has been waiting to speak to you. Harry’s told him his version, but-”“I assumed the Saviour’s word was all anybody cared about.”“You used the killing curse, Malfoy. If you don’t explain why, they could send you back to Azkaban.”Draco glared at him. “Let them try.”Weasley sighed, going to step away. “And what would she say when I told her you let them lock you up? All because you wouldn’t sit down for ten bloody minutes.”“Don’t speak about her.”“You’d really leave her, just like that?”
Draco took a deep breath, leaning on his desk. It was taking every ounce of patience he had in him, not to-“I guess you are just like your father, after all.”It was sort of like blacking out; one second he was facing his desk, willing himself to be good. Then, his knuckle was stinging, Weasley’s nose gushing blood. Satisfying, haunting, the sickening crunch echoing through his mind, even as he stepped back. The Weasel groaned, more out of shock, his eyes narrowing as he cradled his broken nose.“I told you not to talk about her,” Draco said, his voice low, “Don’t put her in the same conversation as my father.”Weasley's grimace deepened. “Whatever, Malfoy. It’ll hardly matter what either one of us thinks of her, when she murders us both for getting you locked up.”There was a moment, when his victim leaned his head back to stop the bleeding, wincing in pain, that Draco wondered if he had been too rash. If maybe he was too emotionally unstable; if she’d been here, to see what he did at the simple mention of Lucius, she’d shake her head. Click her tongue. Say his name in that way: Dray-co. It made him think of all the times he’d seen her over the Weasley’s shoulder at school, the pitiful look she would give him, as if she knew something nobody else did. As if she understood him. Suddenly Draco was filled with guilt, the knowledge that she thought he was better than this too much to bear. It wasn’t quite regret, per say; the annoying twat deserved a broken nose on a weekly basis, at least, just for principle. But he didn’t think he’d be telling Granger about this moment any time soon.He quickly episkeyed the Weasel's nose, knowing the useless mouth-breather wouldn’t be able to do it himself for sheer incompetency. Without another word, he headed for the elevator.The Minister’s office was warded to prevent anyone uninvited. So, when he wandered right in, Draco knew Kingsley had heard he was in the building. By the look he got, he was sure he’d heard what Draco had done since arriving. Incredible, how fast information moved in this building and yet, they were still remarkably inept.“I expected you ten minutes ago,” Kingsley said. Draco sat in the free guest chair, ignoring the Auror sat to his left.“I had some business to attend to.”“So, breaking Ronald Weasley’s nose is more important than preventing your return to Azkaban?”Draco stayed silent, heard a sigh from beside him.“Kingsley, please,” Potter said. “I’ve told you that Malfoy had no other choice. If he hadn’t used the killing curse, I’d be dead.”“I’ve heard your account, Harry. Now I need to hear Draco’s. If you would.” Kingsley motioned to the door, and Draco felt the suffocating presence of the Chosen One disappear as he left the Minister’s office. Draco was sure his shoulder muscles relaxed, although only slightly.“Now,” Kingsley started, “I’m going to be clear, as we both have better things to do.” Draco leaned back in the chair, preparing for the rant he'd had the last time he’d used an Unforgiveable in the name of the Ministry. “You used the killing curse against one… Luke O’Reilly. Correct?”“Correct.”“His back was to you when this occurred, correct?”“Correct.”“Prior to this, O’Reilly had used the cruciatus curse against you, however this had ceased when you used the killing curse. Correct?”“Correct.”“O’Reilly was aiming the killing curse at Harry Potter when you cursed him.”“Correct.”“All spells used against O’Reilly seemed to have a lesser effect than usual, possibly due to his already being cursed by the box.”Draco hummed in agreement, propped an ankle over his knee. Kingsley leaned back in his chair, eyeing the younger wizard across from him. They sat in silence for a few moments, before it became increasingly clear to Draco that this was a test. It angered him, that realisation. Made him want to break something. Maybe the same thing he’d just broken, again. His jaw was so tense he felt his teeth grinding together, wondered if his occlumency was cracking. It was rare he felt this out of control, this unsure of his outward appearance.“Are we done?”“No, we’re not done. Aren’t you going to ask about the child?”Draco took some deep breaths. “I assume they were dealt with. There were enough bloody Aurors there.”“Harry tells me you were asked to stay behind to provide a statement. You chose to disapparate. Why?”“Isn’t it obvious, Minister?” Draco sneered. “I was running for my life. Figured I’d get a few more days of freedom before you locked me up for defending myself. And the Chosen One, I’ll add.”Kingsley sighed. “When are you going to stop, Draco?”“Excuse me?”“Do you really think I would have had Harry hire you if I didn’t think it might lead to this? The first victims… Their families might have been saved, you know, had any of my Aurors been brave or experienced enough in the curses necessary to do so. They are under strict instruction to only use the Unforgiveables when necessary - the aftermath of the war means the necessity of actually doing so is often ignored for the simple idea of not doing it.”“So, what?” Draco said. “I’m your personal Unforgiveable hire?”“When the box was brought here, I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy job. I knew there would be dark magic involved, and only someone with the experience and the will to carry out said magic would be able to complete this job. When we hired you two years ago, it was for the very same reason. You told me then that you wanted to try out being, and I quote, a goody two shoes. Do you think Harry never told me the real reason?”Draco stilled, slammed his walls up. Fucking Potter. He was almost as bad as Pansy, or Theo. Was everyone in the wizarding world a huge gossip?“Potter doesn’t know a single thing about me.”“He knows enough. He told me, about your feelings for Hermione Granger. He wanted to tell you, back then, that she had decided to leave us. I forbade him from it.”“Why?” Perhaps Granger’s curiosity and incessant questioning had rubbed off on him - no nonchalant Draco Malfoy would care to ask the Minister for his motivations. And there was yet another streak of anger there; had Draco known Granger was gone by the time he applied for the Auror job, he’d have been scouting the planet trying to find her. They might have had more time. Instead, he’d spent months trying not to jinx the Weasel, trying to be good. In case she saw him.“Because I knew, eventually, my Aurors would need to use dark magic, and that they would hesitate. They did during the war, and they do now. But I knew you wouldn’t. And on Wednesday, you are the reason a child was saved.”“If only we’d gotten there earlier,” Draco said, before he could stop himself. He paused, focused his gaze on a paperweight on Kingsley’s desk. “Who was she?”The Minister watched him. “O’Reilly had been having an affair. Years, by the looks of it. Eight years, to be exact.”Draco swallowed. That little girl had looked to be eight years old.“An affair,” he said slowly.“With a muggle woman. The child… she knew nothing of the magical world.”“And now she does.”“No,” the Minister said, “she does not.”“You obliviated her.”“Yes. The only reason we did not have to bury her was because of you.”“This is a strange trial, Minister. Do I need my lawyer or not?”“I’m not sending you to Azkaban, Draco. Even if I wanted to, there would be no precedent. As it stands, I don’t want to. I do, though, want to warn you.”“Oh?”“There’s been another tip,” he said, “I’m sure Harry will update you. They’re planning on following it tonight. Consider this my order for you to go with them.”“You still want me working for you?” Draco couldn’t help but frown.
“Until the curse is broken.” Kingsley started rifling through some papers, a clear sign that the conversation was finished. But as Draco pushed himself to stand, Kingsley coughed. Called his name as Draco went to leave. “Be careful, with Hermione.”“Careful?”“She’s been fragile since her parents. I’d hate to see her hurt again.”Draco faced him. “You know about her parents.”“Harry thinks his men answer to him, but that is untrue.” Kingsley didn’t look up as he spoke. “Be assured that Leon is fully aware of the importance of finding the man who is following her. Until then, try not to completely destroy her trust, yes?”

When Draco returned to his floor, he was waved into Potter’s office. The group was small this time, thank Merlin: Weasley and two other Aurors only. Shutting the door behind him, Draco moved to stand in the corner, letting Potter silence his own office. Weasley glared, the feint smudge of red on his white collar.“The tip is pretty much the same as the last,” Potter began. “Completely anonymous. Owl is unowned and untraceable. The language is the same, the words. The only difference is the address.”“It’s country this time,” Weasley muttered, “further up north.”“Knowing what happened last time, we can assume that we will find a similar situation, though we can’t be sure.”“What exactly was the situation last time?” Draco asked. “I’ve hardly been given the details.”“There was a box,” the Weasley said, unhelpfully, “and there was a Death Eater. Who knows, Malfoy, you might run into an old acquaintance tonight.”Draco rolled his eyes. “Duel?”“No,” Potter answer quickly, “they handed themselves in.”“Strange,” Draco muttered.“Why’s that?”“They know you’ll send them to Azkaban for being in possession of a cursed item and a mask, or at least interrogate them.” He shrugged. “Seems pointless. Who sends a letter for you to come and arrest them?”“It’s a set-up,” one of the Aurors murmured. “We knew it last time.”“The tip told you there was a Death Eater holed up in the house?” Draco asked, and Potter nodded. “So, they’re being dropped off. They likely have nothing to do with the box.”“Perhaps,” Potter said, “Either way, we have to assume there’s a point to all of this. This tip could be different. Ron and I will go in first, followed by Maria and Ben. Draco, you’ll be called in if we find anything similar to the box.”Draco must have surprised him, because Potter raised his eyebrows when Draco made no argument. If he was being honest with himself, Draco was shocked Potter was having him come along. They hadn’t wanted to give him any information on the last raid, including the Death Eater they had picked up. Draco supposed that nobody else was volunteering to pick up any cursed objects, especially since the last one had sent the man who transported it into a murderous rage.Potter gave the address, somewhere in Lincolnshire. Before he headed down to the ground floor, Draco went to his office, shutting the door. He was staring at his curse wall, a mosaic of sticky notes, when Granger picked up.“Hi.” Her voice was scratchy, the level of magic in the Ministry building messing with the signal. Even still, Draco could hear the clanging of pots, Charlotte’s voice in the background. He smiled slightly when he heard Blaise cursing. “Please tell me you’ll be back soon.”“I wish I could,’ he said. “Worried I’m missing out on all the fun.”“More like the start of world war three. Blaise ate Charlotte’s cookies. Kate and I are watching in fear.”“There’s another packet hidden in the back of the cupboard.”“How do you know that?”“Because I know how to keep Blaise from eating my cookies.”
“I’ll keep your secret,” she said quietly.“Granger.”“Yes, Malfoy?”“I’ll be home late. Possibly not until tomorrow.”She paused. “Is everything okay?”No. “Everything’s fine, just work. Busy, you know.”“Sure.” He could almost hear her worrying at her lip. Just that morning, he’d tugged it free with his own teeth, trailing his touch over her waist, searching for gasps.
“Granger, stop worrying.”“I am worried, though.”“I’ll be back to you as soon as I’m finished.”“No matter what?”“No matter what.” He said it like an oath, and he vowed to keep it. She’d made it clear what she thought about him, and whether or not he agreed was besides the point. Draco had to take the time he could get with her; she wouldn’t always think he was a good man. Eventually she’d figure it out. She was smarter than him, after all.By the time he apparated into Lincolnshire, the others were readying themselves. He waited, slightly apart from the group, pretending to listen. He didn’t need a plan for picking up a bloody bo-Then he remembered what had happened to the last person who’d picked up a box, in a very similar situation. That had been the first victim of the curse, the one who’d had a week before taking his Muggle-born family hostage and killing them. Sighing, Draco closed his eyes for a moment. Forced himself to make a decision.No matter what. Seemed he’d be going back on his promise. Before Potter could give the all-clear, Draco waved him over.“In the event that there is another box in there,” he motioned to the house, “I want to make a request.”“A request?”“I’ll move the box back to the Ministry, but there’s clearly a high level of risk involved. Being that the person to transport the last item ended up donning a death eater mask and playing with Unforgivables.”“What is it?”“The curse is making people kill muggle-borns. Ones close to them.”“Yes.”“She’s mine. The only muggle-born I know or care about.”Potter paused, finally faced him. “Oh.”“I’m going to be keeping my distance from her over the next week, to be safe. But I’ll need your word.”“For?”“If you think for a second I’m showing any symptoms, you need to warn her. Get her safe. Keep me away from her. Whatever you have to do.”“Maybe we should-”“I know you remember what I said to you, in sixth year.” After a moment, Potter nodded. Just once. “It still stands. If she dies because you failed her, I’ll kill you. No curse will change my mind.”“You don’t have to threaten me, Malfoy. I’ll keep her safe.”
“Well,” Draco said heavily, “that’s all I wanted to hear. See, Potter? We can communicate without you chucking curses at me.”The Golden boys entered the house a short while later, disillusioned. It all felt a bit anti-climactic to Draco, standing atop the hill overlooking the place of target. An old house, clearly long-abandoned, the roof of the stables was caved in, the windows smashed and boarded up. It reminded Draco suddenly of the Shrieking Shack, the day he’d looked upon it, made fun of Granger. Called her-He was snapped from his memory when a flash of green broke through an boarded window. He recognised the colour instantly, straightening.“That was an Unforgivable,” he said to the Auror next to him. Ken, was it?
“We’re to wait here until Harry gives the-”Draco sighed, rolled his eyes. Was going to wait, as told, until there was another spark of emerald lighting up the driveway to the farmhouse.
“We can’t just wait here,” Draco said.
“That was the plan.”“Fuck the plan,” Draco said, apparating to the front door of the house. Shouldering it open, he stepped inside on another flash of green, fading to black. Lumos lit his steps as he followed the steps up to where Weasley stood on the balcony overlooking the entry. Draco heard a cracking sound, saw Weasley run into a room.Draco followed, to see Potter standing behind a shield charm. Snakes surrounded him, hissing and snapping.“Malfoy!”Draco turned, throwing up a protego just in time, countering the stupefy. He sneered at the Death Eater mask, white and golden, threw out a quick slicing hex. Taking the wizard’s attention allowed Potter to wave a quick binding spell, wrapping the Death Eater in thick, dark ropes of-“The snakes?” Draco asked. His voice caused Potter to look at him. “Bit cruel, Potter. What did they ever do to you?”“He conjured them,” Potter explained. “I’ve always thought snakes would make a good binding. Never been successful with it before, mind.”“And this seemed like the perfect opportunity to try.” Draco rolled his shoulders back. “Remind me to stop antagonising you.”“Will that ever cease?”Draco paused. “No. It’s a talent I’m considering placing on my resume. Do you feel that?”“Dark magic,” Weasley muttered.
Not just any dark magic. Heavy dark magic. Like black waves of a storm, crashing over him. It reminded Draco of being in the same room as Voldemort, the cloak of darkness falling over him, so similar to knowing those reptilian eyes were on him.
Draco threw a quietening charm over the Death Eater, Potter going to the window to give the signal to the others. He faced Draco again, frowning.“You were supposed to wait.”“Yes well, I saw green.”Potter didn’t ask for any more explanation, and Draco ignored the glares of - he was sure it was Ken - as they entered. They stunned the Death Eater and, without a word, disapparated.
“Not one for words, is he?”“Who?” Potter asked.“Ken.”“Who the fuck is Ken?” Weasley said, glaring. Draco shrugged.“Doesn’t matter.”He left the room, taking a few steps further up. Like the Shrieking Shack, the building was tall rather than wide, and as he moved to the second floor the dark magic became stronger, settling over him. He wondered if his entire body was coming out in a rash. There was most definitely a cursed object here, but the possibility of it being anything like-Let me out, Draco.It was as if the curse was waiting for Draco to test it, to question if it was anything to do with the box. Granger’s voice drifted down from the top of the stairs, so like reality that Draco paused. It sent shivers over him, his arms erupting in goosebumps. So unlike the first time he had heard it, from the depths of the Ministry’s basement; then, he had been pulled in, as if stepping into the vicinity of a vortex. This time he wanted to vomit.
Let me out, Draco.He got to the top of the stairs, immediately turning towards the source of the magic, throwing a quick revelio over the room. Weasley called to him from the bottom of the stairs.“Is it up there?”“Wait there.” Draco didn’t wait to see if Weasley followed his orders, stepped into the room.This object was not a box, but something similar to an urn. Antique and gilded, the silver tarnished in places, glinting against Draco’s Lumos. It sat upon a table in the middle of the room, purposefully placed. It sucked the air out of the room, forced his gaze straight to it.Let me out, Draco.He hadn’t asked how the last box had been transported - clearly Mike the Auror had had to touch it to move it. It was fairly difficult to apparate with an object without picking it up. But Draco wouldn’t be putting his fingers anywhere near this fucki-Let me out, Draco.The scream that echoed through his mind was high-pitched, keening. Draco felt it in his bones, in his blood. He fell to one knee, head in his hands, wand pressed against his temple as if it might protego his mind from the curse. Like the scratch of nails on a chalkboard, like the cold of a Dementor’s kiss, but worse. Cruel and sharp-edged. Unending, as if years of his life passed as, yet again, Draco lost time.It must have been short-lived, the scream, but it took Draco twice as long to recover. He found he was breathing harshly, deep and fast, like he had spent too long underwater. Heart racing, blood rushing. The sound echoed through his mind as if on a tape recorder, starting over and over again. It reminded him of the days following the event that had caused that scream. The nights he’d laid awake reliving it, wondering how he could have stopped it, changed it. Saved her.Eventually, he stood, glaring at the urn with what he hoped was enough muster to really cause a dent. Waving his wand, he levitated it towards him. Potter had told him exactly where the object needed to be placed in the basement, down to inches, Draco’s knowledge of the basement good enough that he should be able to land directly in the correct room. With it being inside the Ministry, though, it took a particular skill to apparate inside, even with the loophole placed in the wards by the Minister for this very occasion. Draco would have to be careful not to get splinched.He apparated to the room, being sure to hold his wand as still as possible. It made him sort of dizzy, being so very careful and doing so many things at once. Lowering the urn onto the table, he forced his breathing to slow. Bent his mind back behind its walls, pressing down the panic.Let me out, Draco.He grimaced as the scream returned, echoing inside his head. Heard it all the way up to his office. Inside, he called her, rubbing his forehead, as if that might force the noise away.“Malfoy?” Her voice - her real voice. So different from that awful scream, that harsh demand. It allowed him to relax ever so slightly, brought him down from the adrenaline. But still, he felt as if he were wading through quicksand, slowly losing access to air.“Granger.”“You’re okay?”“Of course. I’m a very talented wizard. It would take a lot more than an urn to take me down.”“An urn?”He sighed. “Long story.”“The urn is similar to the box, I’m assuming?”“I guess so.”She hummed. “I hope you were careful.”“Of course.”“You know, if something happened… I would be upset.”“Upset?” Draco leaned back against his desk. “Just upset?”“Well, maybe more than- Hang on, someone’s at the- what is that?”Granger’s phone cut off, and Draco frowned, trying to phone through again. When it went straight to voicemail, he went to ring it again, when the tingling started.It felt like an itch, a irritating buzz in the back of his head. He knew what it was in seconds, heading to the elevator in large, quick steps. The Ministry building didn’t allow anybody to apparate out of it - it barely allowed anyone in. Draco called Granger again, getting voicemail.
It occurred to Draco that he’d always preferred the elevator here take as long as humanely possible, just so he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever he was visiting the Ministry for. Now, he wished it would hurry the fuck up. It felt like an age by the time he finally got to the ground floor. He thanked Merlin that it was late, that the working crowd had already gone home, so there was nothing stopping him from bursting through the doors and past the wards.He landed at the apparition point minutes from Granger’s flat, started running. Damn muggles and their not-knowing. If it weren’t for them, he could fly. If it weren’t for them, he could apparate straight into Granger’s flat.In his mind, he heard her screams, heard her calling his name, begging. His mind cracked, the distant nail of Bella’s laugh, the scratchy sound of her wand carving slurs into Granger’s skin. He saw flashes of brown hair, curled, against a wooden floor, flickers of candle light. Flashes of green. Bursts of red.
He got to the building in what must have been record time. With a quick check around him, he un-pocketed his wand, waving alohomora at the door to the building. He considered taking the stairs when the elevator blinked that it was on Granger’s floor, that he would have to wait. But he knew, ever logical, that that would take longer, so he paced. Called Granger again. He needed to think up a speedy charm for elevators, he decided. Needed to figure out why charms messed with mechanics, and fix it. Needed to get to her, now.
Brown hair on a dark floor. Greens. Reds.He got out onto her floor, running. Another unlocking charm had him bursting through the door, dreading what he might find. Flashes of-“Merlin, Draco, don’t you knock?”Pansy was sat at the island, Theo next to her. He grinned sheepishly at Draco, giving him a small wave. Pansy glared, scone halfway to her mouth. Swallowing, Draco searched for her.“Where-”“She’s in her bedroom.”He rushed into Granger’s bedroom, found her rifling through a box on her dresser. She frowned up at the door when he stepped through.
“Malfoy? What are you doing here?”He stepped towards her, steps slower now. She was fine, if not slightly confused. Her hair wasn’t sprawled across the floor, streaked with red. Her windows weren’t alight with green flashes. Her eyes, earthy and vibrant, were alive with sparks when she looked at him. When he was close enough, he reached for her, pulling her so he could lean his forehead against her hair, feel her body against his. Her breathing, her grip on his blazer.“Draco, what’s wrong?”“Pansy tripped the wards,” he said into her hair, “I thought…” She breathed out a small sound. “You weren’t answering your phone.”“I dropped it.” She groaned, leaning back from him. “Twice. Stupid tiled floor, smashed it to pieces.”“You drop it every damn day.” He pulled her back to him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.“Yes, fine, maybe it’s my fault. Anyway, that’s why I was looking for my old phone but I can’t find it…” she moved her head so she could look at him. “Are you okay?”“I’m fine, just…” Just terrified. “Just tired.”“You need to sleep.” She held his jaw, and he gave himself a moment to watch her watch him, to see only concern filling her gaze as she assessed his pale skin, the shadows under his eyes. “I know you’re not.”“Too much to do.”“Well, you might as well stay now, right? You don’t need to go back to work?"At her mention of work, he let out his own groan, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. He shouldn’t even be here. He may not have touched the urn physically, but they had no idea how this fucking curse worked. He was just at risk as the last Auror to move the box. If he started seeing things… He was clearly paranoid, prone to extreme thoughts. They didn’t truly know all the symptoms.“I do,” he sighed, “I only came because the ward was broken. Otherwise… I’m going to have to wait a while before I come back.”“What?”“The urn has a similar curse on it as the box, as far as I can tell. I had to touch it, so…”“So, you might be cursed?”“I don’t know. I know what could happen if I am.”“Which is?”He still hadn’t told her about the curse’s true effects. Even with her conjuring a patronus earlier in the week, he wasn’t sure he wanted her to know exactly what it was that he was dealing with. The darkness. She’d had so much of it when they were growing up. He only wanted to bring her light, as much as he could.“It doesn’t matter, it just… I’ll just have to be careful for a week or so.”“Another week.” She reached up to smooth out his collar. “Alright.”“I’m sor-”“Don’t apologise for what’s out of your control, Malfoy.” She reached up to kiss his cheek. “I’ll still be here after a week. Unless Theo or Blaise drive me to madness, which is pretty likely.”He hummed slightly, pushing his fingers into her hair. Unable to resist, leaned down to kiss her, slowly and intently. Wanting to be sure he remembered what she tasted like, the sound of her breathy little moans, how her nails dug into the nape of his neck. Staying away from her was hard enough - now he knew he had to leave her, and he couldn’t.
Granger pulled back first, lowering herself back onto her heels. When she gave him a soft smile, he felt his heart sighing. Felt that hint of her peace settling against him, pushing away the stain of dark magic. The feeling that only she could give him.“Pansy is here,” Draco reminded her in a murmur, and she gave a little shudder.“I almost forgot. She doesn’t seem happy.”“Let me deal with her.”Draco left Granger trying to find her old phone, mumbling to herself. He had one last long look at her before he left her bedroom, stalking over to the island. Theo saw him eyeing the other doors.“Charlotte’s out for dinner with some girl,” he said. “Kate’s at work.”Draco nodded, once. Turned to Pansy, who raised an eyebrow at him pointedly. Took a sip of her drink.“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” he asked her.Pansy rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Like I’d ever hurt your precious know-it-all.”“Don’t call her that. Wards can’t tell intentions, Pansy, only familiarity. If you’re here with Theo, then you know why I have a ward around this flat.”“Yes, yes, he told me. I can’t believe you three, keeping this from me.”“If it helps, he only just told me,” Theo offered.“That doesn’t help, Theo.”“Granger doesn’t want everyone to know,” Draco told her. “She’s not-”“Whatever, Draco, I’m not an idiot. This is very clearly not the home of a witch, is it?” Pansy sipped at her tea. “Unlike Theo, I’m not bloody clueless. I can get a hint, you know.”“I found it,” Granger declared, coming out from her bedroom. Draco faced her when she came to stand beside him, staring at the dark screen of the phone. “I’m going to have to try to remember people’s numbers.”“Can’t you just reparo your old one?” Pansy asked her.“The magic messes with the technology.” Granger shook her head. “It’s fine. I’ll take my phone to the shop tomorrow, see if they can fix it.”Draco placed his hand on the small of her back, the heat of her skin pressing through the light fabric of her t-shirt. She leaned into him without even looking in his direction, shifting on her feet. As she moved to tie her hair up into a thick ponytail, he got stuck, eyes catching on the side of neck, where it met her shoulder. The curl her hair as it draped thickly down her back, the rise of her chest as she inhaled deeply.He wanted to kiss her again. Wanted his lips on her neck, in that spot he knew she loved. Wanted to make sure she thought of him every time she looked in the mirror, his mark on her skin. Suddenly the idea of leaving felt impossible, like tearing himself in two, on purpose. Leaving a room with her inside had always been hard, but now he knew that she wanted him to stay…
“Merlin, does he always look at her like that?”
Draco glared at Pansy, then at Theo when he nodded. He needed new friends.“Get out,” he said. “I’m staying.”“You said you needed to get back to work,” Granger said. Draco sighed, giving her a pointed look.
“I’m here all night,” Theo said with a grin.“Milly’s working late and I’m bored.” Pansy stood, going over to the fridge. “Even more so recently, what with my so-called friends disappearing every weekend. What happened to Friday night drinks?”“I know!” Theo said, frowning. “Draco gets a girlfriend and all a sudden the entire thing falls to shambles.”Pansy said something, Draco was sure, but he was too busy looking at Granger. Watching her look at him. Her smile was mischievous, small. He wanted to kiss her even more when she smiled at him like that.
“I’ll be fine,” she said to him, quietly. “You don’t have to stay.”“I want to stay.”“I know.”“But I do have to go,” he said to her, "it feels wrong. To leave like this." He added it quickly, saying the words fast, hoping she would understand. She did, stepping away to move towards the door.Merlin, she was brilliant. More so every day.They moved into the hallway together, Draco quickly altering the wards to recognise Pansy. Granger stood watching, patiently.
“If you want her gone, I’ll-”“No, don’t worry.” She played with a curl. “I suppose I should have expected it. To be honest I’m surprised you didn’t tell her.”“You only wanted Theo and Blaise.”“Yes, well-” she grabbed the front of his blazer, pulling him into her. “I’m sorry the ward called you.”“I’m not,” he murmured, “I wouldn’t have seen you if it hadn’t.”She sighed. “A week, then?”He hummed. “I’ll take you out Saturday.”“Will you?”“Yes.” He tugged on a curl. “I’ll have Blaise watch the flat. We’ll go for dinner and then I’ll take you home.”“Home?” She muttered it, eyeing him. He smirked. “Whose home?”“Yours,” he said slowly, “or mine.”Her smile grew wider. “Will you call me?”“If you fix your damn phone.”
“I still have your number written down.”“You kept that?”“I’ve kept everything you’ve given me.”The confession knocked him, slightly. Curving a hand over the side of her neck, he pulled her to him, the scent of orange making him drunk, dizzy. The taste of her had his pulse quickening, her sighs sending shivers down his spine. Her hands fisting his shirt made him groan and step into her - stumbling. She huffed a laugh, her back coming up against the wall.“You’ll take me home next week?” She asked, mouth moving against his. “Your home, I mean.”“I’ll take you wherever you want,” he nipped her jaw, heard her gasp. “Choose a city."“This is going to be the longest week ever.” She pulled his mouth back to hers, and he pressed his body into her. So he could feel her lined up against him, every part. He felt her smile when she felt him ready for her, ready to have her right there, right now if she’d ask, if she’d beg. Fuck waiting, fuck beds, she felt so good and it had been so long alrea-“Granger, quick!” The door flew open. “Theo tried turning the oven on and now the strange fabric gloves are on fire.”“Pansy,” Draco hissed, “piss off.”“Calm down, Draco, you’ll get your rocks off later. Unless, of course, we burn Granger’s flat down.”Granger gave him one last kiss, said she would call him. Disappeared inside her flat, taking that semblance of peace with her. Pansy watched him carefully.“Don’t worry, Draco,” she said. “We’ll protect her.”He swallowed. “She’s…” Important, he was going to say, but it felt underwhelming. Not enough to describe her.“We know,” she nodded when he trailed off. “She’s one of us.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Draco stared at the wall, white. He glanced at the curtain, white. He turned, sat down in the white chair. Glared at the bedsheets, white. He was getting a headache. No, more than that. A migraine, his vision blending into a white field every time he blinked. He'd hated this fucking place since he had watched his mother beg him to take her away from it, but this was a whole different feeling.“No hallucinations?”He rolled his eyes. “No.”“No mood changes?”Do you count raging horniness? “No.”“No paranoia?”“No.”“No irrational rage?”“Only when I see the Weasel. But I wouldn’t consider it irrational.”“Excuse me?”Draco sighed. “No irrational rage.”“And what about your sleeping pattern?”“Normal.” As in, non-existent.
“And your feelings towards muggle-borns?”He groaned, letting his head drop back. “This is bloody ridiculous. If I was having murderous thoughts towards muggle-borns-”“Mr Malfoy-”“I assure you, you would know about it. I’m assuming you never met my father? I learnt from the best.”“You have to answer the questions, sir, before I can allow you to leave. Now, your feelings towards muggle-borns?”“Ambiguous.” Except for one.It took an hour for Draco to convince them that he was experiencing zero symptoms - difficult, considering he hadn’t left the Ministry in five days. He was close to losing it, not because of the bloody urn, but the people around him. This place had him feeling on the edge, cursed objects aside. And that was all regardless of the fact that he hadn't been able to see her, the one person who might have made him feel slightly better about his current prison sentence.
He pulled out his phone as he walked into he elevator, using it to look anywhere but the space around them. Even after being forced onto the hospital floor of the Ministry, he still hated being here. He could hear echoes of his his mother’s cries, please, Draco.
Yet another memory he was, extremely reluctantly, revisiting more and more. Yet another memory that made his stomach roll.His lips twitched, though, when he saw the day’s first text from Granger.
Who the hell is Martha?
He stepped into the elevator, waited for it to let him out on the right floor. Went into his office, door shut. Waved a hand to silence the room, taking a few attempts at mindful breathing, like Blaise had suggested, before ringing her.“You know,” she said by way of greeting, “you can just text me back.”“Is that any way of saying good morning?”He could almost hear her eyes rolling. “I just mean, you don’t have to phone me every morning. I’m sure you’ve got things to do.”“Nothing better than this. Besides, I prefer hearing your voice.”Now, he heard her smile when she spoke. “So,” she said, “who is Martha and why is she asking for my measurements?”“I told you I'm taking you out on Saturday.”“I remember.”“So, you need a dress.”“I do know how to buy clothes, Malfoy. In fact, my fashion taste has improved drastically since school, as you well know.”“I do know.” He still thought about that green dress, mostly in the shower. “But this Saturday is special.”“Is it? And why is that?”
“Surprise.”She hummed in acknowledgement. “Well, Martha is being very secretive on what she’s actually measuring me for. I assume she can’t actually tell me?”“I’m paying extra.”“I can just wear-”“Humour me, Granger.”She sighed heavily, dramatically. “Very well, Malfoy.”“Any more letters?”
“Just the one, this morning. They’re getting shorter though. This one is talking about a meal they had last night, how much I would have enjoyed it.” Granger’s voice hardened. “I’m hoping the shorter messages means he’s moving on.”Draco made a small sound of acknowledgement, although he had a feeling that wasn’t the case. It had been over a week since he had spoken to Leon in Granger's flat, and although the man had been keeping in touch, there hadn't been anything concrete. He’d have to try and find time to call-Potter walked into his office, face serious. Draco leaned back in his chair.“Granger,” he said quietly, “I’ve got to go. Send Martha what she needs, will you?”“I will.”“Theo is with you?”“He’s inhaling breakfast as we speak.”Draco chuckled. “I’ll call you tonight.”“I’ll be waiting.”Potter had a slight frown on his face when Draco hung up, watched him place his phone in his blazer pocket. Draco glared at him.“What?”“You’ve changed.”Draco rolled his eyes. “And yet you’re still the meddlesome git poking your nose in other people’s business. Will wonders ever cease.”“I’m trying to give you a compliment.”“Merlin, I feel sorry for your fiancé.”“I mean, I knew you’d changed. But since this started with Hermione…” He nodded in Malfoy’s direction. “Don’t think we haven’t all noticed.”“Excuse me?”“The phone, the pens, the Muggle suits, every single day. The things you say, the books you reference. She’s a part of you now.”“She always was, Potter, or did you forget?” Draco tried to make himself look distracted, rifling through papers on his desk.
“How could I forget? I believe your words in sixth year are branded into my brain, without the recent reminder. If I remember right, there were mentions of my intestines and my throat. And that’s not even half of what you said to me.”Draco smirked. Personally, he remembered exactly what he had said to Potter than that. He also remembered the Saviour's overdramatic and murderous response. He gave a small shrug, settling into his chair."It could have been worse. I could have thrown a deadly curse your way, despite knowing nothing about said curse."Potter hummed. “It’s not a bad thing, you know. To have somebody change you. Understand you "“Merlin, Potter, is this what you came here for? A fucking therapy session? Don’t worry, they’re well on it downstairs. Think I’ll have a bloody mental crisis by the end of the week, curse or no curse.”His lips curled into a small smirk. “Actually, I came here to talk to you about the box.”“What about it?”“Do you think we should have another go at breaking it?”Draco leaned further back into his chair, spinning it so he was facing the wall of post-its.“We know the curses lined up to prevent the victim from surviving, if they don’t pull through on the curse's demands.” Potter stood, moving over to the wall. “Perhaps if we start with that?”“What about the rest of it? Something Granger said, a while ago now…”He turned to give him a look. “She’s helping you?”
“Something like that.” Draco eyed his wall of curses. “I need time to work on the actual curse. She mentioned the imperious curse.”“I’ve never heard of an imperium’s curse being embedded into a cursed object.”“Me neither, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.” Draco eyed him. “I think it might be a rune. There's some texts about embedding magic into them; if it worked, the rune would hold the curse to the object. It would take an experienced witch or wizard, that is.”Potter hummed. Placed his hands on his hips. Seemed to sense Draco’s eyes on him, and turned.
"Someone experienced," Draco repeated. "In the dark arts. Dark magic. Runes." He pursed his lips. "Possibly someone used to wearing a particularly awful mask. Following dark wizards, and such."“You know I can’t tell you-”Draco rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Potter. You can’t tell me anything I actually need to know, I get it. When do I get to leave this shithole?”“Kingsley’s agreed Saturday morning. At the earliest.”“At the earliest,” Draco repeated. “What’s that supposed to mean.”“We have two cursed objects now, Malfoy. I appreciate your wards are trying to dampen the lure but we’ve already caught two people trying to break through to get to the urn, four others to the box. It’s like they're getting stronger.”“I’m aware.”“If we can’t break it-”“I have plans Saturday night. I will be leaving in the morning.”“But the-”“I seem to remember your engagement being prioritised.”“Are you getting engaged?”“As much as Granger likes me, I don’t think we’re quite there yet.”“Yet?”“Either way, I’ve given her my word I’ll be there on Saturday night. I don’t know about yours, but my witch prefers I stick to our arrangements.”“Right. Well. We’d best get down to the basement, then, hadn’t we?”They travelled to the basement in silence, Draco pretending not to notice the side-long looks he was getting from the Chosen One. He knew that Potter had questions - he knew every witch and wizard in the damn country would have questions if they went public. It was a good thing Draco gave all of zero shits about what they thought of him, or he might have let their opinions get in the way.They’d had the conversation, he thought, numerous times now. She wanted him, with her. Only her. But they hadn’t mentioned her returning to the magical world. When he closed his eyes, he could still see her patronus, lighting up his father’s office. Until it blurred, his mind taking him down the corridor, to the old hall, where he’d watched Bella torture her. Where he’d stood and done nothing, locked her away in his mind.He would never watch her get hurt again.With the vow ever-fresh in his mind, he sent a text to Leon, to send whenever he made it out of the damn basement. Considering the man was also reporting to the bloody Minister, Draco would have thought he would have had some information by now.They stood, school enemies and war veterans, in the viewing room, watching the box. Potter leaned one shoulder against the wall, Draco tutting at him quietly. Had the boy never been taught any manners?“Do you hear anything?”He did. He did hear. But not from the box. He could hear the feint echo of screaming, coming from the room next door. He wanted to smash that bloody urn into pieces. Ever since he had transported it into the basement, that scream had floated about him like a bloody dementor, sucking the life from him. He'd built ward upon ward around it to try to weaken the curse's effects, but it wasn't enough.“Nothing from the box.”“It’s strange, isn’t it? You’d think a curse like this would work the same on everyone.”Draco hummed. It was strange, and he still hadn’t figured it out. It was annoying him, an itch in the back of his mind, constantly. He’d interviewed everyone who’d heard from the box three times each now, and he still hadn’t found a pattern for who heard it constantly, and who did not. To put it short, he was stumped. He rarely felt this way. And now the urn had added another pile of unanswerable questions.He hated it.“If the lure only works on some people,” he said out loud, “then logically, we should feel less compelled to open it. We've both had extensive experience with such objects."Potter scoffed. “Hardly true, though, is it? If it weren’t for you, last time I’d have had my hands all over that thing.” he eyed Draco. “But it’s not your experience with dark magic stopping you, though.”“I don’t think so,” Draco agreed. “Plenty of people down here have just as much or more experience than me.”“So what is it that makes you different?”Potter was mumbling his question, more thinking aloud than anything. But Draco heard it, and the thought clicked into place. Another annoying thought, that had him wanting to hit something. He inhaled deeply. Mindfulness, he heard Blaise saying.“Potter, can you still summon a patronus?”Potter looked at him strangely. “Yes, why?”“Can the others?”Potter blinked, shrugged. “I’m not sure. I'd have to ask.”“Do that. If they can’t, see if they can, with a bit of training.”“What are you thinking, Malfoy?”He considered the box, listening, despite hating every second, to the screams resounding from the urn next door.
“If I’m right, I’ll tell you.”“And if you’re wrong?”Draco scoffed, giving him a look. Potter went to leave. When he spoke, Draco turned to look over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.“Can you?”
“Can I what?” Draco knew what he was asking.“Conjure a patronus.” At Draco’s silence, Potter nodded slowly. “I would have thought… with everything recently.”“What is it, Potter?”“Well you seem so happy when you’re talking to her. Or about her, despite most sentences involving threats regarding her safety. You know the patronus charm simply requires you to think about your happiest memory. I thought now, you would have one. With Hermione.”Draco did have one. One memory that stood out amongst all the rest. One that he thought might be enough, should be enough. Her birthday, in her green dress, leaning on his arm. Clutching him when he went to give her space. Drinking wine he bought from her, only weeks after he threw himself back into her life. Wanting him near her, reaching for him.It made him happy to think back on it. Ecstatic. Overjoyed.But later, when he tried, it wasn’t enough. He knew it was him, his mind. His memory. His wand technique was perfect, his verbal utterance flawless. But his person, his emotional capability… he just couldn’t do it.Snape had warned him that he might never perform the patronus charm. With his occlumency, a sort of emotional barrier was normal. Especially with Draco’s level of ability, with his overly organised mind and categorised memories. Back then, it hadn't bothered him; he'd never expected to have a memory pure enough to cast one anyway. Even now, ten years later, he had only recently let himself face the memories that might work, particularly the ones that made him happy. The ones about her.But despite making him happy, they were also tainted. The ones from school, shadowed by fear and danger. Seeing her at his trial, stained with worry and shock. Only more recently could he think of her with something closer to happiness rather than desperation. But she still wasn't safe. And he was still lying to her, failing her.So no. Not pure enough.
He didn’t get a chance to ponder any disappointment as he headed back to his office, because his phone rang. Leon's name was the perfect distraction.“What is it?”There was a pause, and Draco waited, staring at the post-its on his wall.“I’ve found him.”

Hermione had loved Christmas as a child. The festive season had brought a sense of excitement, of happiness. Even despite everything that had happened whilst they were at school, the start of December had felt like the start of a respite, of sorts; two weeks away from Hogwarts, away from the madness and danger and terrifying encournters.
But since her parents died, Christmas had become sort of blurry. As if a fog had covered it in grey, turning her memories to dust. She couldn’t think of the childhood spent travelling to visit family, eating so much food she’d thought she was going to be sick, opening presents. The past few years had been quiet, with Kate and Charlotte. This year, all three had been two busy to decorate the flat, so even though the shop was desked in festivities - Olive’s doing - Hermione wasn’t in the mood.
Even when Pansy showed up at the bookshop with even more decorations.
“Seriously, Granger,” she said, “Draco told me this place was nice.”“It is exactly how I like it, thank you.”"It is very you, I'll give it that."Hermione wasn’t sure when - or, even, if - she’d invited the snakes into her life, but she supposed they came with Malfoy, as sort of a package deal. Because of that, she didn't mind. She didn’t mind Pansy traipsing around her bookstore, hanging up pretty coloured bunting, or tutting at her christmas tree. But it did feel strange.
Stranger than her new relationship with Malfoy, certainly. All she felt with him was the bizarre sensation that they had missed time, that the had fallen behind on their life together. Now she had awakened her magic, even just slightly, the feeling was even more intense. Like flames spreading over her skin, settling the itch that she had grown accustomed to over the past seven years. Settling her, giving her life.
“Pansy,” she said slowly, “tomorrow is my date with Malfoy.”Pansy had finished decorating, was perched on the stool behind the counter, flipping through a book on interior design. She looked up when Hermione spoke.
“Oh, I’m aware. He prattles on about it every time I speak to him.”“You’ve spoken to him?”“Through letters. He hasn’t left the Ministry all week.”“Right.” She bit her lip. “I’m not sure… I mean, we’ve had dates, sort of. But I don’t know-”“You don’t need to worry about a thing, Granger, Draco has it all planned out.”“He does?”She nodded. "It's a Malfoy thing. They look after their witches, you know, all that male chauvinistic crap. Say what you want about his ancestry, but they know how to treat their women.""So, it's a pure-blood tradition?" Hermione asked. "For the man to plan the date?"She laughed out loud, once. "No, it's not. During the whole time we dated, Malfoy and I went on one date. Which I planned, and he did not enjoy. Neither of us particularly wanted to be there, granted, and by then he was too busy obsessing over you to focus on me.""I'm sorry, Pansy.""Don't be. It was for the better; he needed something to pull him through. For the record, I'm glad it was you and not one of the blood Greengrass sisters." She made a face. "Could you imagine?""I haven't dated anyone," Hermione said quietly, "not in a long time. Not since Ron, actually, which was well before I left the Ministry. I've never felt... ready. Or I've never met anyone I was particularly bothered to try with. But with Malfoy, it doesn't feel like trying." She glanced over at the other witch, gave a small shrug. "I guess I'm feeling unprepared."“Don't worry, Granger. You just need to be in your flat at seven Saturday night, so I can get you in the right direction. And, wear what you get given, obviously.”Hermione sighed, placing her stack of books on the counter. “Do you know what Martha is making for me?”“No.” Pansy raised en eyebrow at her. “But I can guess.”“Oh?”“It’s definitely going to be in green,” she said with a laugh, “Draco has a thing for green.”“I figured.”“Milly refuses to wear anything I suggest for her,” Pansy said with a sigh. “She’s a lot like you, actually.”“How did you two meet?”“I decorated her brother’s office. It took a long time for us to become official, though.”“Draco hasn’t mentioned a wedding date.”“No, not yet.” She rolled her eyes. “Milly’s being predictably indecisive. I’m starting to think I’ll just need to drag her to the Ministry just to get the damn paperwork done.” She eyed Hermione, pursing her lips. “You should take my advice, Granger.”“Your advice?”“Don’t let Draco push you away. At some point he will try, if he hasn’t already. He doesn’t think he deserves you, never has.”Hermione’s phone interrupted Pansy’s advice, and the witch gave a wave of her hand, as if giving Hermione permission. Hermione couldn’t help but smile as she saw Malfoy’s name flashing across her screen, moving to the stairs.
“You know, one of these days you are going to have to learn how to text.”“I know how to text, Granger,” Malfoy sighed, “I text Blaise all the damn time. But I prefer calling you.”“And if I stopped picking up?”He chuckled quietly. “I never want to find out what happens if you stop picking up.”“Your last night in isolation,” she reminded him, “are you sad?”“Fuck that,” he said, “I’m leaving right now.”“You are?”“In fact, I left this morning. Saturday nights with me require a lot of planning, Granger,” he told her, and she rolled her eyes. “Besides, Blaise won’t leave me alone. I talk to him on this thing more than I talk to you.”She laughed. “He misses you.” She heard him hum. “You should spend some time with him. And the others.”“I want to see you."“Tonight,” she said slowly, “I’m having a girls night with Kate and Charlotte. You are going to your Friday night drinks, and I’m going to mine.”“But-"“We won’t be one of those couples who forgets their friends,” she told him, and she heard him sigh.
“What if something happens and I'm not there."It was more of a statement, than a question, and muttered, as if he were talking to himself. Hermione knew how deep his need for her went, his desperation to keep her safe. She wondered if he would ever feel like he had done it, like he had saved her.“The flat is warded," she reminded him. "Besides, the letters have slowed a lot this week. Especially at the flat. I don’t think this guy is going to come anymore.” Draco hummed again, although this time distantly. She could sense he was hesitating. “You have me all tomorrow night.”“A lifetime with you wouldn’t be enough,” he said honestly, and she smiled. “But fine. You’re right.”She went back downstairs just as Eric, her new hire, was closing up the shop. Pansy was still sat at the counter, frowning at the book she was glancing through. Hermione had a sudden idea.
“Pansy?” the witch looked up at her. “Do you want to come to Friday drinks with the girls?”

Charlotte was pouring wine when Hermine and Pansy stepped through the front door. Even with the letters losing traction, Hermione's friends still didn’t feel completely safe being out at night, so their Friday nights had lately consisted of drinking wine in the flat. Usually with either Draco, Blaise, or Theo with them. Or all three. Now, though, Hermione had brought someone better; Pansy.
Charlotte and Pansy had already met a few times, finding that they got along pretty well. Considering they were both outspoken, opinionated, and loud, it made sense. But even Hermione had barely seen Kate recently; what with her working two jobs. Both of the cafés were busy, even with the cold weather, so this was the first Friday she’d had off in weeks. They were going to celebrate. Something, anything.“I say we celebrate Hermione finally getting laid,” Charlotte said, with a grin. Pansy laughed.
“And Draco. He’s been a moody bastard these last couple years, maybe you could shag it out of him, Granger.”Hermione rolled her eyes. “We said no boy talk tonight.”“That works for me,” Charlotte said. “Can we still talk about girls?”“Please,” Pansy said with a sigh, “Milly’s doing my head in. She just won’t decide on a bloody date.”“Have you asked her why?” Charlotte said, taking a long gulp of her wine.
“She says it’s to do with her parents. They’re not exactly happy with her choice of bride."“What’s their problem?”“It’s a long story.” Pansy cut her eyes over to Hermione, who nodded. Whilst Pansy’s family hadn’t exactly been the worst of the worst throughout the war, they hadn’t been on the right side of it, either. Her mother, in particular, had spent half their fortune funding Voldemort’s campaign, especially in the beginning. During the trials, she’d claimed she hadn’t known exactly what was being done with her money. Pansy might have publicly disowned her parents, but that didn’t change her blood, her name, or her history.
“They’ll get over it,” Hermione said to her, “or they won’t. Either way, Milly will make her choice.”“Well, that’s just it,” Pansy said, crossing her arms. “We’re engaged. Shouldn’t she have made it by now?”“It’s not that easy when it comes to parents. You should know that better than anyone.”The witch sighed, pushing her neat, black hair behind her ear. “I suppose. Anyway. Kate,” she spun round to Kate, who paused in moving her glass to her lips, “when are you going to do us all a favour and fuck Blaise?”Hermione gagged on her wine. “No boys!”“Shut it, Granger. So?”Kate smiled sheepishly. “I’m not sure. He’s sweet. Funny, I guess.”“We must be talking about different people,” Charlotte said, rolling her eyes. “If you shag him, will he stop coming here?”“Only if we catch Hermione’s stalker.”“Yeah, what’s up with that.” Pansy moved to fall onto their sofa. “Draco said he’s got Leon on it?” She made a face. “What kind of creep stalks someone through letters? Doesn’t he have a phone?”It amazed Hermione, how easily this group of snakes had stepped into the muggle world without a second glance. How they had picked up on the language, the belongings, the history. Hermione had grown up in it, and still she’d found it hard to say text instead of letter, call instead of ow-A flash of thought sped through her mind, quick and harsh. What kind of person would use letters? A wizard certainly would.She’d spent the last few months thinking only a handful of people knew where she was. Malfoy, first, had found her. He’d told Blaise. Theo, Pansy. She’d let herself believe that she was their secret, that her life and the world she lived it in was muggle, with only a hint of magic. But that was a lie. She'd let herself believe that Draco Malfoy had been the one to discover her, the first to see her. But that wasn't true.Someone else had found her first.

Draco flooed to his flat straight from the Ministry, rolling his shoulders back as he stepped out of his fireplace. Waving a hand, the candles flickered, flames sputtering to life. He had lamps in here, of course, but he preferred this. Especially with he week long setting of harsh Ministry lights, the dryness, the oppressive air. He made himself a drink, collapsed onto the sofa, head falling back onto the cushions. When the fireplace flared to life once, twice, he sucked in a deep breath.
“Five minutes of peace would have been nice,” he said.
“In what world?” Theo’s voice gave away his grin, the sound of bottles clinking. Draco looked up to find Blaise settling into his usual chair, bottle of Red in hand.
“Been a while,” he said to Draco, who shrugged a shoulder.
“Work.”“And Granger.” Theo winked at him. “First date this weekend, huh?”“Hardly a first date when you spent the night in York together,” Blaise grumbled. “Not sure why this weekend is such a big deal.”Draco sipped from his glass, preferring to let them talk around him. He wouldn’t say what he would have said, had Granger herself be here. That every moment spent with her was a big deal, that this week had been the longest of his life. That he wanted to make sure she knew exactly what he thought of her, what he felt for her, before he lost her.“Has Leon gotten back to you yet?” Blaise asked him. After a second, Draco nodded. “And?”Draco finished his drink, brought his wand out to charm his glass and the drinks cabinet into pouring him another.
“It’s a wizard,” he said, quietly. More to himself than the others. There was a pause.
“A wizard?” Blaise said. “You said that nobody knew where Granger was, bar you and Potter.”“And Potter’s associates. I confronted him about them today.”“You think it’s one of them?”“Leon gave me a name. I gave that name to Potter, who proceeded to tell me that I was considered sane and healthy and that I should take the entire weekend off.”“You’re kidding.”“He knows who it is. I’m going to find out.” I have a meeting with the Minister in the morning, so-” Theo coughed, pointedly, and Draco narrowed his gaze on him. “What is it?”"Well…”“Tell me."“You have plans in the morning.”“Do I?”“Your mother-”“Theo,” Draco all but growled his name, “do not tell me you have still been contacting my mother regarding my business when I made it clear that I did not wish you to?”“She’s coming back tomorrow morning, I made brunch plans with her. For both of us.”Draco groaned. “Granger’s more important than-”“Granger will be with Pansy all morning,” Blaise pointed out, “and then with you by seven. Nobody is going to get to her whilst you’re with your mother.”“Whose side are you on?" Draco asked him, incredulous.
“The side where you aren’t thrown in Azkaban for waving your wand in the Minister's face." Blaise gave Draco a look. “Tell me that wasn’t your plan?”“I wouldn’t resort to threatening anyone who didn’t need it,” Draco insisted.
“And if the Minister had given you nothing about this name you’ve got from Leon?” When Draco shifted on his chair, Blaise nodded. “Go see your mother, Draco. Before she loses her mind and tracks you down, right in the middle of you precious date with Granger. And wouldn’t that just be a shame?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Narcissa Malfoy had always wanted more children. Draco remembered tense moments at the dining table, when he was around nine, as she had been readying for him to go off to school. She had been so desperate for something - someone, to look after. When Draco had been taken under his father’s dark, poorly-fated wing, she had felt that gap even more, the hole where her only son had once stood. And no matter what Draco did for her, that space between them had never lessened. Especially not after he'd been released from Azkaban and sworn himself to his hunt, a choice which his mother could never understand. Especially not after what she had seen occur in her own home, between her son and his father.
The Malfoys were a traditional lot; one son was enough for Lucius. So, she had taken what she could get; summers with her child, the days they had lessening year by year. And when that son requested his friend, now motherless, join him at the Manor, she had allowed it despite the risk. To fill that hole, to bridge that space. It hardly mattered that Theo’s father was even worse than his own; they had already been sworn to the Dark Lord, what was one more Death Eater in their family home? Draco had taken the boy on as a brother, someone who finally understood his plight as the son of a dark wizard.He tried not to regret it, even during brunch.“So,” Narcissa drawled, barely an hour after he had sat down, “Theo’s done most of the talking, Draco. What have you been doing with your time?”“Working,” he said, truthfully. She tutted.
“I still don’t understand your need for work. You hardly need the finances, and to be governed about like some… lesser wizard. You are better than that, Draco.”“I enjoy the challenge.”“Well, when are you going to settle down?” she asked him. “All this travelling and danger, surely you must be getting tired of it?”She wasn’t wrong, though Draco would never tell his mother that he was, in fact, settling - if not already settled - down. He'd gotten bored years ago; of the travelling, the curses, the constant irritation of dealing with so many people exactly like his father. The decision to change his lifestyle had been easy, made well before he’d applied for the Auror position at the Ministry. He had missed his flat, his books, his peace and bloody quiet. He’d never had that, not since he was a child.
The decision had been easy: carrying out the necessary acts to bring that change about was not so. Never had he come close to thinking he might actually deserve it, that peace. For his entire adult life, and most of his childhood, it had flitted away from him like a snitch, in his sights but never close enough to grab. Too far to feel. But now, he had felt it. He had felt her hair between his fingers, her waist in his hands. She had let him drag his lips over parts of her he had only dreamt about, had let him show her how much he’d had wanted her. He had tried to leave her behind ten years ago, when he had been granted his freedom. And still, fate had brought him back to her. Peace. Home.He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about her in the presence of his mother. Knew he’d made a mistake when he saw Narcissa’s eyes twinkle, glance at Theo before narrowing slightly on her son. She took a slow sip of her tea, placed it carefully back on it's saucer. If Draco concentrated hard enough, he could hear the quiet click of the lightbulb turning on inside her head.“Besides,” she said, “once you settle down in one place, it’s much easier for you to meet someone, isn’t it?”He sighed. "Perhaps.”“Theo has suggested that that you two come and visit me in France,” she told him. Draco cut a glare at his so-called adopted brother.“Has he?”“Ages ago,” Theo muttered quickly. “Back when we were still meeting on Fridays, let's say.”“There are so many wonderful witches I want to introduce you to, Draco,” Narcissa continued. “Some of the brightest minds I’ve ever met.”
None as bright as her.

Draco was aware of the lengths Narcissa would, eventually, go to. To see her family thriving, and happy. To see Draco with a witch, the possibility of a future they had once believed to be impossible. If he didn't stop her now, her determination to watch his life play out as she thought it should would get in the way of what truly mattered, what he truly wanted. What he had a chance at having, despite everything.“Apologies, mother,” he began, clearing his throat, “I should be clear. I can’t come to France to meet any witches.”“And why is that?”She definitely knew. There might have been space between them, but Draco had always known exactly where he'd gotten his intelligence, and it wasn't from his worthless, pathetic father. Narcissa Malfoy had a way about her, a skill at digging out secrets despite her lack of legilimency. Never one to need to dive into a person's mind, her talent was at teasing truths out with words and time, careful scheming and seemingly light-hearted questions.He swallowed. “I have a witch. Here. Sort of.”“Sort of?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Sort of, isn’t really in a Malfoy’s vocabulary.”“Well, more than sort of, I suppose. It’s new.” For her, anyway. “I'm not rushing her."“Your father and I were engaged within a year.”“I know, mother.”“I hope you’re treating her well.”“Oh, he is,” Theo said, nodding. “In fact, they ar-”“Why don’t you ask Theo about his love life, mother?” Draco said, with a smirk. “I’m sure I missed that conversation.”Narcissa gave him a stern look. “Now, Draco, you know that’s not fair. Theo’s relationship lasted longer than any of yours.”Theo snorted, and Draco tried to kick him under the table. It was true, he supposed, that Theo's relationship with Luna had been much more serious than Draco had ever had. Easy, when Draco actively avoided such things. But Theo had always missed that part of Luna that everybody else saw; her inability to settle, her constant in-attentiveness. Theo had loved it about her, but it hadn't been enough to keep her. Not when another had gotten in the way. Not when Luna's gaze was more often towards the clouds, rather than Theo. If Draco ever saw Luna again, he wasn't sure he would be able to hold back his thoughts on her refusal to let his friend go, despite her being the one to end the relationship"How is Luna?" Narcissa asked, carefully. "I take it you still speak regularly?""Yes," Theo said, "every week. She's actually just returned from Bulgaria, searching for a rare species similar to a Pygmy.""Oh, how wonderful." Narcissa's tone wasn't too enthusiastic, though, and Draco knew she saw him roll his eyes. "So, she still travels then.""For now.""Perhaps Theo should come and visit you in France," Draco suggested, picking up his cup of coffee, "I think it might do you good, brother."Theo's eyes narrowed, just slightly. "I'm quite tied up at the moment, actually.""You're working now, too?" Narcissa asked."You could say that. A kind of defence role, if you will." Theo glared at Draco pointedly, who smirked into his drink. "But afterwards... Maybe I will come."Draco raised an eyebrow. "I'll pack your bags myself.""What about Christmas?" Narcissa gasped. "France is lovely in the winter, Theo.""Actually, we're headed to Pansy's villa for Christmas, mother," Draco told her, "as usual.""Will your witch be going with you?"Oh. With not seeing Granger in... Well, it had only been a week, but in Malfoy time, that felt more like a century. He hadn't asked her about Christmas."I'm not sure," he said honestly. "I suppose it depends, if Pansy is happy with plus ones."Or, if Granger would be happy to come to a villa and spend the time alone. Christmas was, routinely, not a good time. All the snakes had history with the holiday; Draco himself hadn't particularly celebrated it in years, unless getting raging drunk and playing cards with Blaise counted as celebrating. It never helped that Theo, who had spent his Christmas post-breakups with Luna in her cottage, found the time period even harder for more recent reasons.
"Either way," Narcissa gave a small, polite smile, "if this is getting serious, I should like to meet her.""I-""Soon," she said, pointedly. Draco sighed."Like I said, it's still very new. I hardly want to scare her off when you start talking bonded rings and fertility rituals."She tutted. "There are no fertility rituals, Draco.""Might as well be.""And I wouldn't bring up the rings unless I thought the witch was one who deserved to know the secret. An opinion which would hardly come from one meeting."You would be surprised. Hermione Granger had a way of taking even centuries-old traditions and forcing them to bend to her will. His mother was many things, Draco knew, but even Narcissa Malfoy wouldn't stand a chance against his witch and her light.By the time Draco was able to excuse himself, their meeting had well passed brunch. With mere hours before he had to portkey to see Granger, as he stood at the Manor's fireplace, all he could hear was his mother's chant. The one that had followed him, from childhood.
Marriage, children, duty.
Whatever state their family had been in, one thing had not changed: expectations. Whether it was helping to bring about the rule of a disgusting piece of shit like Voldemort, or simply marrying the best witch he could find, there were certain things he would never be able to leave behind.Certain things that Granger would despise becoming a part of. Yet more aspects of his life he had spent so long keeping her from.So, instead of returning to his flat, he called Leon. Apparating to the office in North London, nodding to the receptionist who allowed him past the waiting room and up to the door with Leon's name printed in simple lettering. Leon had a whiskey ready for him before Draco had made it up the stairs.
“Well, he’s not just a wizard,” Leon said, by way of greeting. Draco was thankful for the man's desire for quick business; they weren’t friends. If they were, Leon might have advised Draco against his actions following the finding of his father. He might also advise against any decisions made regarding the continued breathing of the man making Granger scared to leave her home.
“What do you mean?” Draco fell into the same chair he'd used when they had worked together years before; instantly flashed back to one of the first times he had sat in this very office, the look Leon had given him.“He’s a pretty good wizard, by all standards,” Leon dropped a file of papers on the desk, nodding to them. “No traces on the letters. They’re not delivered by owl, as far as I can tell. He was able to feel the wards around the flat, so he’s sticking close but not close enough to trip them. Probably using a disillusionment charm when he’s going in and out of the shop, only visiting when it’s busy. Possibly even some polyjuice potion, or some sort of charm to ensure that you don’t recognise him.”“So, he’s careful,” Draco leaned back in his seat, ankle on his knee. "Doesn't mean he's good."“Very careful. And yes, he is good. Considering the knowledge of her routine, and the things he's said, I'd bet he's been following your witch for a while."Don't like that. Alarm bells rang in Draco's head. It would have been one thing for this to have been a fairly recent development, for this wizard to have found her around the same time as Draco did. But to know, without any lingering doubts, that Draco hadn't been the one to get to her first... That rage heated to a simmer.“Whoever he is, he’s quiet. Couldn’t find anything on him, past or present. like a hermit, by all accounts.”“I want to know how he found her,” Draco muttered. “I’m sure Potter recognised the name. He couldn't wait to see me leave after I mentioned it, practically forced me out of the Ministry.""If he wouldn't tell you the first time, I doubt a second request will be much help.Draco’s jaw tensed. “Then I’ll have to revert to a new strategy."“You can certainly try. Usually when there’s a guy like this…” Leon shook his head, “Something’s not right. Got a feeling.”The last time Leon had had a feeling, Draco hadn't followed it. He'd marched into the club assuming finding his target would be easy. Two weeks after, Draco had finally left the underground, barely escaping what had appeared to be a fighting ring which most wizards his age did not walk out of. The look Leon had given him then had been one full of scathing, far too similar to a Snape-type sneer than Draco had liked.So, if the man had a feeling, Draco was inclined to agree. With Potter's reaction to the name... Something was decidedly not right.
Draco was back at his flat for four, pacing in front of the fireplace. Practising his occlumency, trying to coat his walls in cement so they would hold. With the reminder of what he had been shielding Granger from, alongside the ironclad realisation that he hadn't found her first, he felt as if he was standing on a precipice. Leaning over the edge to see what awaited him at the bottom and finding only darkness, an unending pit of confusion and anger.It had been much easier to plan her safety when he hadn't known what it felt like to hold her. When he had lived for secrecy and shadows, knowing that she would always look to another for happiness. It had been almost simple, then: no hard decisions about what to do to a person who put her in danger. But now, he knew her, details he'd never had the privilege of learning before. He knew the way she liked to be held, kissed, touched. He knew her favourite brand of shampoo, had tasted his skin on his tongue and found it better than anything he'd ever had before. Draco knew her, better than ever. And now it was difficult, because he could - would - lose her.That was how Blaise found him; shirt untucked, tie loose. Hair ruffled. Draco glared when Blaise frowned at him.
“Well, you’re clearly not ready," he said. "Unless you think pathetic mess is attractive to the Grangers of the world." Draco sent a glare his way, and he shrugged. "Seemed to work for the ginger."“Shut up.”“You know you need to leave, right?"“Fully aware, thank you.”“Sit down, Draco.” Draco did as told, dropping his elbows onto his knees. Blaise appeared with a drink, small. “Nervous?”“Why would I be nervous?”“This is your first proper date, as I’ve heard it said. First Draco-planned-this date, anyway.” Blaise grinned. “You want to impress her, don’t you?”“Of course. I’m not nervous about that.”“Then what is it?”“What if I can’t find him?” Draco blurted out. “I can’t fix the box, or the urn, I can’t find this twat who’s making her scared to leave her own bloody flat. What if I can’t keep her safe?”Blaise watched him for a moment, watched as Draco placed his drink - untouched - back on the coffee table. Pushing to a stand in quick, harsh movements, Draco stalker into his bedroom. He started to unbutton his shirt, feeling the silent presence of his life-long friend hovering in the doorway.“You kept her safe for years at school,” Blaise said, and Draco scoffed.
“Safe?” he repeated. “Safe from what? Umbridge?” He shook his head. “She was useless anyway. Death Eaters? I let them into school, didn’t I? Let them catch her, let Bella-” He cut himself off, throwing his shirt into the corner of his room. Wondered if he should have had that drink.
“What exactly do you think you could have done better, Draco?” Blaise moved to sit in the chair in the corner, face serious. “You distracted Umbridge from that ridiculous duelling club, you led the Death Eaters away from the Gryffindor tower that night. When she was missing you directed all energy you could into ensuring that she stayed missing. You did everything short of waltzing up to the bloody witch and locking her in the Slytherin dungeons.""I should have done more. I can't do this, I can't have her and keep her safe at the same time.""Right," Blaise said, with finality, "let's focus less on keeping her safe, then, shall we? She's hardly fragile, Draco. I seem to remember you being on the recieving end of one of her fists, at one point. She does know how to look after herself, despite evidence to the contrary. If she’d have had her own sense, she would’ve steered clear of the Chosen One, for a start.”“Don’t-”“It’s true, and everyone knows. She knows it, you can see it on her face. Why do you think she left it all behind?" Blaise straightened, moving to sit in the small armchair in the corner of the bedroom. "Maybe she doesn't want you for safety, Draco, did you think of that?""It's the only thing I know how to do," Draco admitted. "Keep her safe. I never practised anything else, not when it comes to her."“Well, start by cleaning yourself up, you’re a mess. And whilst you’re in there, stop acting like a moody twat. You’ve got the girl you’ve always wanted waiting for you.”Blaise was still sat in his chair when Draco left his bathroom, steam spilling out onto the carpet. Draco felt like he was going to shatter. His hands were shaking, his mind was unorganised. Walls, crumbled. Memories, piling upon each other. Snape would have been disgusted with him; there would certainly have been an I Told You So sneered in Draco's direction. One of the few adults who had seen the effect Hermione Granger had on Draco Malfoy, Snape had made his advice clear.Stay away from her.“She was safe, before me,” Draco muttered to Blaise, moving over to his drawers, “She had a life that she was happy with. A bookstore, friends, Friday nights. She was safe.”“Was she?” Blaise mused. “Thought she started getting the letters before you?”“About the same time, I think.”“So, imagine you hadn’t annoyed your way back into her life? She’d be dealing with it on her own, wouldn’t she?” Blaise stood, brushing imaginary dust off of his shoulders, headed for the door. “Get dressed, then, we haven’t got all night.”Draco was ready in an hour, buttoning his cufflinks on as he left his bedroom. Hair, perfect. Suit, well-made and tailored. Shoes, so clean they sparkled. How a Malfoy should look. But his head was still a mess, all his training forgotten. No, not forgotten: useless. He’d only been like this once before; when he’d known that they had her. When he’d known he couldn’t help her. When she’d been begging him, screami-“Draco.” Blaise’s hands came on his shoulders. “Get out of your head. This girl wants you, not for safety or strategy, she just wants you. She knows you, and she wants you. It’s shocking to us all, I know, but…“ he clapped a hand on Draco’s shoulder, “it’s true. You wanted her, you kept her safe. And whatever you may believe about yourself, Draco, you deserve this. She wouldn’t be giving you her time if she didn’t think so, too. Take a breath.”Draco did, a deep one. He looked up to his friend, the one who’d been with him through it all. Theo might be his brother, but Blaise had been a steadfast presence since before Hogwarts. Since the day his father had convinced Blaise's mother to invest, and brought the family over to Malfoy Manor for dinner. Theo was a schemer, a planner; Blaise was calming, always ready to advise and fix.
"You good?" he asked, and Draco nodded shortly. “Go woo your witch, Malfoy,” Blaise told him. “I’ll be worming my way into her friend-”Draco hit him in the throat.

Knowing she would be early, Draco portkey-ed to the room forty-five minutes before the agreed time, eyes scanning the space. When he went to pour himself a drink, his hands shook. He resisted the urge to loosen his tie just to see if it helped his breathing. He felt his walls crumble, just slightly.
So predictable, his witch. At six thirty, the portkey brought her into the lobby, landing exactly where he had wanted her. The hotel was strictly magical folk only, perfect for portkeys and privacy. Not that Draco planned to keep her locked up in a room all night, despite the thoughts that ran through his mind when his eyes found her.He would’ve had gone up to her immediately after her landing, knowing that she’d probably be dizzy, expecting her to step backwards, possibly to stumble. She hadn’t portkey-ed in years, and even those who did it every day still suffered from the nausea that came with it. But she stood tall, back to him, no stumble or waver. And that colour against her skin, the backs of her thighs, those calves… He faltered, he’d happily admit it to her later, if she wanted to know.He did take a step towards her, and she moved away, to the balcony. In an attempt to cool his burning skin, Draco had opened the doors, letting the winter air in. The room was covered in warming charms; he’d not have her shivering in front of him. She found the view, taking slow steps, heels clicking on the balcony floor, hair untamed, messy from travel, just the way he liked it.
She knew he was there; he saw it in the slight turn of her face over her shoulder, the drop of her shoulders as she relaxed in his presence. Trying his best to feign his usual control, he left his glass on the small table to the side. Reached with one hand to twirl his ring around his finger.“You know,” he drawled nonchalantly, “it’s rude not to say hello first thing.”When, finally, she turned, he was sure his occlumency was crashing around him, his mind falling to pieces just from the sheer sight of her. Amber eyes danced, highlighted by the colour of the dress, face framed by perfect curls. They fell down over her shoulders, over that dress he’d bought for her, that she’d worn. That colour…
Granger always been beautiful to him, but now she sparkled, her aura brought to reality. No reds, or greens, or blues. She was more than that; nobody could sort her into some box, some list of attributes. She was everything. She was ethereal, otherworldly. Golden.
And she was here, with him. Looking like that.He needed to give Martha a raise.She hummed, leaning a hip on the railing, crossing her arms over her chest. Knowing smile spreading slowly across her face.“I think,” she said slowly, “its rude to portkey someone with no prior warning.”He smiled, lips curling slowly as he stepped towards her. “Pansy didn’t tell you?”“She was annoyingly secretive.”“Then she did exactly what I asked.”He reached for her, hands grabbing her hips, yanking her into him. She was smiling deeply when he kissed her, a long breath leaving her, mingling with his own. Her arms around his neck, his draping over her waist, fingers trailing lightly over her back. Snagging on the soft material of her dress. Merlin, he’d missed her. Missed her presence, her thought, her light.He realised, distantly, through the haze of Hermione Granger that had settled over his mind, that despite his hands shaking as they reached for her, they had stilled. The feel of her in his arms, the life she breathed, the small smile when she pulled back to look at him... A peace he hadn't known was possible cut into him, getting greater and more familiar every moment they reunited after time apart.“I missed you,” she whispered, words he suddenly felt like having tattooed across his skin. Over his heart. She kissed him again, slowly, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. He loved kissing her like this, like they had all the time in the world, like he would never lose her. He could run his hand up to her throat, wrap his fingers over it to hold her in place. Press the small of her back so she stepped further into him. Breathe her in.
He pulled away this time, leaning his forehead against hers.
“I’ve missed you,” he gasped, “not just this week, although it’s worth noting that I’m never going a week without seeing you again.” She huffed out a laugh. “I’ve always missed you. Missed my chances, made the wrong decisions. Let others make the wrong decisions for me. I know I told you in York, but…”Leaning back so he could look at her, he moved to hold her jaw, keep her looking at him. The tones of brown and green in her eyes took his breath away, made him stutter. Rendered him speechless, until he remembered the urgency of what he needed to say.“I’ll never miss you again, Hermione Granger. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I won’t let anyone destroy what you’ve built, or make you do anything you don’t want to. I am yours, completely, no matter what happens. Do you know that?”She nodded slowly, then smiled. “Perhaps I should leave you for a week more often, to get fancy words and things like this.”“No,” he murmured, “don’t. Please don’t do that.” He took in a deep breath, smiled. “Did I tell you that you take my breath away?”She raised an eyebrow. “Not quite.”“Stunning, love,” he told her. “I know many words, and none of them are even close to accurate. I could go blind tomorrow and be content; nothing will ever compare to you.”"You've cleaned up well yourself," she said, running a hand down his tie. "I like green on you, but this is even better."He felt like preening. Just grinned, instead."I had to match you, didn't I?"She rolled her eyes, but smiled, before turning her head to look out across the city. Draco's hands moved of their own volition, tracing down her arms, back up, over her waist. Memorising the shape of her, the feel of her.“Draco,” she said slowly, “did you bring me to Rome?”“You understand the need for a Portkey now, yes?”“I suppose.”“I did tell you it was a surprise.” He shifted on his feet when she turned to take in the view, leaning both hands on the balcony, back to the room. “Are you happy?”She looked at him, incredulous. “Am I happy? Of course I’m happy, Draco. It's beautiful."“Well, all my original plans involved the South of France, but my mother is staying there,” he stepped up behind her, millimetres between them, “Italy was the next best thing.”“It's one of my favourite cities,” she said, “I love looking at the Colosseum. I’ve never seen it from this angle before, though.”“This hotel is specifically for wizards and witches,” he murmured, running a hand up her side with more pressure than before, feeling the shiver it sent through her. “You came with your parents before, didn't you?"“Yes,” she said. “We stayed further in the city.”“We’re I thought about cooking for you, but seeing as I can’t cook for shit-” she laughed, “-I’ve had everything sorted for us. We’re going to walk around the city, find the best wine we can. You’re going to have a go at me when I top ours up without paying. I’m going to touch you every chance I can get. But first…”He had planned to wait, of course. But Merlin, her in that dress - he knew she would stun him, but he couldn’t have known quite how much. It was akin to feeling upended, like your feet had been throw out from underneath you, a quick depulso to the shins. Draco felt adrift, in a way different to that which he had experienced over the past week. Floating, but anchored: able to come home when he needed.“First?”“First,” he pressed a quick kiss to her jaw, leaning over her shoulder, “kiss me again.”She turned, leaning into him, let him drop his head so she could kiss him. Still slow, but firmer this time, pressing her body into his as if she might mold into him, as if they might become one. His hands trailed down her back, over her arse, to the hem of her dress. Fingers toyed with it, before lifting it slightl-“You wanted to wait,” she gasped against his mouth. He pressed her against the railing of the balcony.“Merlin, I do. I have so many plans for you.” his fingers trailed under her dress, up her thigh, paused. She kissed the corner of his jaw. Draco took a deep breath of her, orange and vanilla.
He forced his occlumency back in place, moving away from her, one large step, laughing at the annoyed look she sent him. Reaching out his hand, he waited for her, wrapping his fingers through hers when she took it. The balcony of the next room was larger, big enough for the table and two chairs, wine pre-chilled, glasses ready. He waved a hand for it to pour itself, watched her face. She raised an eyebrow at him.
“I wondered,” he started, “how much magic you’ll want me using tonight.”She hesitated, a slow smile spreading over her face after a moment, “As much as you want.”

Midnight came to Rome in the form of a cloudless sky, stars twinkling overhead, much like the charm Draco had placed on her bedroom ceiling not long ago. Granger had her hand in his as they wandered, until the wine was going to their heads and the warming charms were fading too quickly for Draco to stand. He wrapped his blazer over her shoulders as he apparated them back to the room, where the portkey waited. Giving her one last, long look against the backdrop of the city, he waited as she came to him, hands flat on his ribcage as they moved to circle her arms around his waist. Waited for her to still before grabbing the portkey home.They landed in his living room, in front of the fire, which crackled to life at Draco's presence. Suddenly he felt nervous as she stook a step back, turning to survey her surroundings for the second time that night. He knew his flat was nice, but was it Granger. Would she like it? Draco was fully aware of what she would think of the Manor, it's decadence and overwhelming luxury. She liked cosy, and comforting, and considerate. He supposed that even if she hated everything else about his home, there was one room in particular she’d love"How long have you lived here?” she asked him.
“Around five years,” he answered, turning to face her. “It’s three bedrooms. Well, two bedrooms, and a library. Blaise is c-”She gasped. “The library.”Draco raised an eyebrow at her. “I’ve mentioned my library many times.”“I have to see it. Are many of the books from the Manor?”Draco shrugged. “Some of my books have come from there, yes. But most I’ve sourced independently."“Does it count as independent if I order them all for you?”“I found you, didn’t I?” Smiling, he pulled her down the corridor, towards the library.“Is that a kettle?” she asked, tugging slightly on his hand. Draco knew he was blushing, felt the heat of it under his skin.“I wanted you to feel comfortable. I know how much you prefer using Muggle contraptions, even if I’m unsure how to use them myself.”“Well, maybe it’s time I teach you. After you show me the library, of course.” Merlin, he’d let her teach him whatever she wanted. After the library.Without another word, he pulled her along again, kissing the backs of her fingers as he led her down the corridor. He made sure to watch her face as she entered, as he waved his hand to light the candles, smiled at her gasp.His library was breathtaking, he would admit. He would be loathe to leave it, when the time came for him to move. Although still dark, it was open and spacious, nothing like the oppression and antiquity of the Manor's library. Painted in dark greens and golden details, the shelves a stained wood stretching from floor to ceiling, except on the right wall, where a small balcony overlooked the lower floor. One floor hadn’t been enough for all his books, of course. A perk of having the top floor flat. And magic, of course.Granger moved past him, towards the fireplace - also magically configured. Her in that gold dress… She glinted against the low light of the candles, glowed against the backdrop of emerald green and dark mahogany. He’d imagined her in here so many times since he moved in, dreamed of it. Before that, he’d thought of her in the library at the Manor, when he was trying to hide from his father and his father’s guest. During their time at school, he’d envisioned going up to her whilst she studied in her spot, being charming and kind and funny. Telling her all the things he truly thought thought about her. Pushing her against the shelves, if she’d let him, sneaking into the Restricted Section, studying together, making plans…And now here she was, golden and bright. More so than she’d ever been. He would never, ever deserve this.“Green?” Draco grinned at her when she gave him a look. “Only you would have a two floor library in a flat.""Oh, please, Granger," he scoffed, "like you wouldn't do exactly the same thing.""Extension charm?”“Only slightly illegal.”“And a fireplace?”“It gets cold in the winter months.”Especially at night. Draco had spent many evenings in here, falling asleep on the sofa or in the chair. Until he’d been introduced to the muggle invention of a lamp, and now had one in his bedroom. To chase away the darkness when books could not.“What’s this?” she asked him, hand on the back of the newest furniture addition to his library. He’d always had the sofa - mostly for sleeping - and his desk chair and his green armchair, the partner of which now sat in her shop.“Well, unfortunately, I lost a chair. The bookshop I frequent expected it’s customers to stand, can you believe it?” She rolled her eyes. “It needed replacing.”“And you chose red?”“The woman I envisaged using it has a fondness for the colour.”She smiled, drifting her hands over the back of his armchair. She didn’t sit, though, giving him something else to dream. Instead, she wondered over to where his desk sat, a simple structure to match the shelves, not half as ornate or cruel as that Merlin-forsaken atrocity in his father's study. He suddenly realised that his papers from the Ministry were in the top drawer, and wondered if that was why his heart was racing.But then Granger leant back against the desk, ankles crossed, grinning at him.“Is this the desk mentioned previously?”
I want you in my bed, in my library, on my desk.
Draco grinned, stalked closer. “It might be.”“Well, we better get started. I’m not sure I can be apart from this library for more than ten minutes.”“Don’t worry, Granger," he said, laughing, "My plans for you will be more than sufficient in distracting you from the separation.” He grabbed her hand, tugging her in his arms. “But it will take more than ten minutes.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hermione was trying to be present.She was trying to stay focused, on the feeling on Malfoy’s hand in her hair, pulling her head to the side so he could deepen the kiss. On the small sounds that were coming from her chest, on the softness of his shirt under her hands. Kissing him was, as it always was, completely and utterly devastating, the comforting feel of his body against hers. Expensive cologne in her lungs. Their magic crackling together like the fire across the room.Now that they were finally, finally, in his flat, the tension was intense, the air was heated. They had been leading up to this, for so long that the past ten years had suddenly become small, far away. Their time together already felt bigger than anything else, more real. They just had this last step… She was surprised he hadn’t already thrown her on the bed as soon as they portkey-ed in and had his way with her. That’s how most of her dates had gone.It was easy to be present with him, usually. But the reminder of their next step had her sub-consciously checking herself over. Wondering why his hands weren't grasping at her like they usually did. Her mind had that funny little trick of throwing all her flaws to the forefront of her brain, begging her to make a self-destructive decision. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Or maybe he wanted to wait a little longer, a few more weeks. She would be fine with that, she supposed, although it would be difficult. She’d have to ask Charlotte about that vibrator she ordered, the one she had said worked like a-“Granger.” He drawled against her jaw, dragging her lips down her neck. “I’m not taking you to bed until I know you’re with me. What are you thinking about?”“Vibrators.”
The word slipped out of her accidentally, and she closed her eyes briefly, wondering which god of mischief was currently lording over her. Malfoy pulled back to look at her, his smile confused. God, he was adorable. More than adorable. Breathtaking.
“I’m setting you up for shagging, Granger,” he reminded her, and she nodded, “and you’re thinking about vibrators?”“It’s not that I’m thinking I might need one,” she said quickly, “but the last time… there were issues, and I don’t wa-”“Issues?”“Yes, well… Other men haven’t really…” She hesitated, almost curled into herself when he leaned back, splaying his arms across the back of the sofa. Gaze settling over her face, one hand idly playing with the curls over her shoulder. "Perhaps we should have spoken about this before."“Tell me,” he said. “I want to know just how the others have disappointed you.”Hermione hesitated. The only people she’d ever spoken to around her sex life - or, more recently, the complete lack of it - were Charlotte and Kate. Talking about Ron had felt strange with Ginny, seeing that she was his younger sister, and Hermione had never been able to build such a friendship with the other witches at school. Her friendship with Harry and Ron had been based off of their near-death experiences - and everyone around them had assumed she’d end up with Ron. There was no way she could ha-A tapping on her temple brought her back to the present, to Malfoy’s charming smirk.
“You’re going to tell me now,” he said, “because after I’ve had you, you’re never going to think about them again.” She blushed, felt the tips of his fingers ghost across her cheek.“The last time… I couldn’t finish. I think he was disappointed,” she admitted, watching her face. “But it just always seemed so rushed, you know. Which was fine, sometimes. Not that time.”He hummed. “Do you think there is, in any universe, on any plane of existence, anywhere, a chance that I could be disappointed with you?” There was a tug on her curls, light and playful. “It’s not possible, Hermione. I live my life to worship you, and that’s exactly what I'm planning. You will come, and it certainly won’t be rushed. Or a singular event.” He grinned impishly, trailing his hand down her side, to the hem of her dress. Up her bare thigh. Paused. “Granger?”She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth.“Yes, Malfoy?”“Have you been without underwear the entire night, or just recently?”“I-”“In fact, don’t answer that. I’m not sure which is worse.”Moving suddenly, he stood, looming over her. He lowered himself, going to one knee in front of her, between her legs. As he pushed her thighs apart, her dress rose up. Both their breaths caught, just the simple change in position enough to send the temperature of the air soaring.“Listen to me, Hermione. I want you thinking only about me. No other men. No vibrators. This is about us. Understood?” She nodded. “If you think you’re getting lost, you need to tell me. I’ll bring you back to me. I always will. Understand?” When she nodded, he raised an eyebrow. “Words, love.”“Yes, Draco.”She heard his inhale, saw his smirk lessen when she shifted, letting her dress rise up further. His eyes caught it, glueing to the very tops of her thighs, his hands rising so he could lift her legs over his shoulders. God, he looked like sin made man, kneeling between her legs, on his sofa, still fully dressed in that fucking suit. She thought she was going to pass out when she first saw him in Rome, the heat of his gaze as he'd eyed her, the perfect fit of his suit, gold tie to match her dress. She’d wanted to rip his shirt off with her teeth-All thoughts disapparated from her mind when he touched her. It had been so long - the last time had been in York. His thumb landed on her clit, pressing down firmly. The suddenness of it made her jolt, hips rising off of the sofa. Her head fell back. Just one touch and she was close already, the chemistry between them unbelievable.“Eyes on me, Golden Girl.” His voice, god, his voice. She always known he had a deep, baritone voice, even when he was sneering or being cruel. But when he was speaking to her like that…
His motions stopped, thumb stilling. She frowned, lifting her head to glare at him. Found him smirking.“I want you watch me make you come, Granger,” he said. “Is that too much to ask?”“It is if you really don't make me come.”He raised his eyebrows at the challenge, his mouth slowly curling up in a grin. Thumb started moving in small circles again, lighter now. Fingers ran up and down, feeling her. She was so wet she briefly worried she’d stain the sofa, pushed that thought from her mind. Kept her eyes on his face, knowing she was blushing.“Tell me what you want,” he said in a whisper. “I’ll do whatever you want.”Her breathing faltered, her legs shook. No man had wanted her to watch them before. It changed everything. The sight of him, looking up at her, silver depths of desperation and desire. He was completely open to her, she realised, no occlumency in sight. So attractive, his will to be completely at her mercy, so unlike how he was with anyone else. Hers, entirely. The vision was enough to send her careening closer to the edge, that familiar coil tightening inside her.“I want…” She bit her lip, distracting his eyes with her mouth. “I want your mouth on me.”His breath left him in one short gasp, and he shifted, leaning further down, closer to her core. Used a hand to push her dress up even further. She watched him place his tongue on her, no hesitation. Groaned when he dragged it up her centre, moving his hand away so he could reach all of her. Swirled his tongue over her clit in slow, slow circles.
“Both,” she gasped. “I want both. I want your hands and your mouth.”When he did what she asked, she groaned. So loud she thought she whole building might hear her. She’d never been loud in bed before - what if he didn’t like it? What if-But when he heard her, the pressure of his tongue deepened, and he let out a moan himself. The sound vibrated against her, and she reached out to twine her fingers through his hair, hold him to her. The tension and waiting had felt like stepping slowly along a tightrope, carefully tipping to the side with each passing day. Now, she was ready to fall to the side, whichever way he wanted to take her.“Come, Hermione.” He said it against her, and she let out a keening sound shed never heard before. “No edging tonight, love. Come on my mouth.”His words, his voice, sent her over the edge. She thought she might be falling, but it felt more like a jump. Like she’d been teetering for so long and finally let herself tip over the cliff. She was sure she must have ripped some of his hair out, fingers pushing through his locks to hold him to her. Not that she needed to; his arms around her thighs were vine-like, lifting her off the coach so he could lap at her like he’d been starved, like he’d been waiting. Fingers curling inside her, hitting the right spot to keep her orgasm rolling through her.As she came down, she smoothed her fingers over his scalp, running her hands down over his jaw as he lifted his head. Kissing her thigh, he sent a smirk her way, starting to rise.“Are we focused, Granger?”“So focused, Malfoy,” she gasped, something in her chest cracking at the sight of that grin, her come all over him. When he pulled her to the edge of the couch, she threw her arms around his neck, latched her mouth to his, tasting herself. Something snapped inside of her, something akin to a weight being dropped from her shoulders, much like breaking the surface of a wave and finally taking in oxygen. Like freedom. He lifted her easily, wrapping her legs around his waist. She thought he stumbled out of the living room, towards his bedroom. She hadn’t even seen it yet, but that would have to be later. She needed…“I need you,” she gasped into his mouth, and he groaned.
He set her down slowly, her feet settling into the plush carpet. She felt the movement of the air as he waved a hand, the bedside lamps switching on. There was a flash of dark sheets, until her eyes moved back to him, her breath quickening when she saw him, as it always did. His hair mussed, his eyes a dark silver, the sky during a storm. So unlike his usual polished self. Unravelled and ready, all for her.
“Take off your tie,” she said. His grin widened.“As you wish, love.” He did as told, slowly pulling one end out of the knot before chucking it across the room. A move so unlike Malfoy that it bordered on contempt, the man who usually spent twenty minutes ensuring his clothes were folded perfectly.
“Your shirt.”“What about it?”“Take it off.” He did.“Now your trousers. Socks too.” Each article of clothing was removed without care, thrown to the side with abandon.
“And…” She licked her lips, saw his eyes darken. Reached out for him, her fingers catching warm skin over the planes of his chest. Scars rippled over him, shivering when he shuddered under her touch. Hermione remembered the look in his eyes when she had seen him shirtless the first time, the vulnerability, the fear he wouldn’t be what she wanted. She met his gaze, pushing his boxers to the floor. Took a step back. “Stay.”He let out a small laugh, more like a huff of breath, let his head fall back slightly. She circled him slowly, taking in every inch of him. His strong thighs, lean back. The freckles across his right bicep. The faded grey of the mark on his left forearm. She was finding it hard to breathe. Of course she had seen him naked before, in her bedroom, after she had drawn him a silencio rune. But this moment was so different, so filled with that feeling of real-ness. Hermione had the sudden realisation that after this, everything would change.“Do I pass the test?” He asked when she came back around to his front.Without answering, she dropped to her knees, tilting her head to look up at him. His touch on her temple was gentle, almost hesitant. It seemed she wasn’t the only one over-thinking.“That’s a stupid question.” She found she couldn’t raise her voice any louder than a whisper.“And yet I’m desperate for the answer.” His voice was harsh, rough as he looked down at her. Hermione moved her eyes down his face, to his shoulders. Across his chest, the remnants of Harry’s curse splattered across him. Down his stomach, the v cutting into him. And then…She smiled. “You did get Os on your O.W.L.s, correct?”Malfoy laughed, a quiet, surprised sort of sound. His fingers landed gently in her hair. Hips jolted when her hand wrapped around his cock.
“Shit,” he hissed, just as her tongue flicked over the end of him, “Careful, Granger.”She ran her tongue along him, around the tip, back down again. He groaned, pulled her up with the grip in her hair.“But I want to-”“Next time,” he promised, and she smirked. “I’m hanging by a thread here, love.”“I seem to remember that being a fantasy of yours.”“Right witch. Wrong place.” He smirked. Before she could ask what he meant - he’d never quite finished telling her that fantasy - he kissed her, pushing his tongue into her mouth. Hands came around her waist, travelled down over her arse to press her against him.
“You’re overdressed,” he muttered. She reached with the zipper on her dress, until his hands pushed hers out of the way. “My witch never undresses herself.”Malfoy let go, fingers toying with the zip on the side of the dress, eyes searching. She raised an eyebrow, daring him. Drawing the zipper down slowly, he watched her face for any sign of hesitation. She watched his for any sign of occlumency. None came.When the zipper was down, the dress fell, and Hermione was left bare in front of him. Not for the first time, and yet. The moment felt charged. She saw his jaw tense.“Stay,” he said, throaty and harsh. She fought a smile.
Staying still whilst being assessed by your lover is one thing. Staying still whilst being assessed by Draco Malfoy is another - the word didn't feel right. She felt more like he was memorising her, that way he tended to do, committing the sight of her to memory so he could never lose her. When he came back to the corner of her vision, he had a thumb pressed against his mouth, eyes molten steel. She shivered when his gaze met hers, dark and lustful.
“Do I pass the test?” she asked him, now, thought she heard her voice shake.“You always did better than me,” he reminded her, but she knew he’d heard. His hand reached out, took her left wrist gently. Raised it to his lips. Drifting her fingers over his cheek, she tapped his temple the way he had hers.
“Just us, remember?”He smiled, only slightly, let her push him backwards until he felt the duvet at the backs of his knees, until he could sit on the edge of his bed, eyes wide. Suddenly, he seemed nervous, unsure, as she moved to straddle him, a knee on either side of his thighs, his hands landing lightly on her hips. Hermione thought she felt him shake, leaned down to kiss him, felt the head of his cock at her entrance. Eyes of awe wandered up to hers and she thought her heart broke, wondered if that was the cracking she felt earlier.She began lowering herself onto him, whimpering when his grip tightened on her, stopping her. When she heard a shuttered breath, she realised her eyes had closed; opened them to find his gaze plastered to where they were connected. Expression full of wonder.“Please, Draco,” she begged, “I’m looking. I’m watching. Please.”“I’ve waited so long for you,” he said, lowered her another inch.
“I know. I’m here now.”“I’m going to worship you. I’m going to savour you. I’m going to make you come on my cock until I feel it in my sleep, because it’s all I’ve dreamed about.” Another inch. “Then, after, I’m going to fuck you the way you’ve been begging me to. Agreed?”“Yes,” she whimpered, “god, yes.”He let her move herself, slowly, slowly, until her arse was settled on his thighs, her chest flush against his. Against her shoulder, his breaths were harsh and warm, her fingers trailing over his jaw until he lifted his head to kiss her. When she rolled her hips over him, he groaned. Raised a hand to hold her in place.“Draco,” she gasped, against his mouth, “you feel…”
“Remind me,” he said, “what’s that place the good people go? The place with the angels and the harps and the-”“Heaven.” She kissed him, let her head drop back. “It’s heaven.”“Tell me about it.”“But I ca-”“Granger. Hanging by a thread."She gasped when he lifted her, pulled her back down on him harder, hitting a particularly sensitive spot inside her. His hands on her hips were gripping her, hard enough that she thought she might find the imprint of them later. Hoped she would. “I suppose it’s an idea. People like to think they’ll be rewarded for their good actions. I’m not sure- Christ, right there.”“Keep going.”“There are different representations-” she groaned when he sucked a sensitive spot on her neck, under her jaw, “-gates, clouds, all nice things. But it’s just a theory, there’s no- Draco, don’t stop!” She let out a sound of desperation when he stilled her, teeth nipping at her neck.“Someone got something right.” He rolled her hips, his fingers on her hips controlling her movements. So slowly. “This is no idea. This is real, Hermione. It’s better than I ever imagined. It's Heaven.”
“You’re so,” she groaned with another roll, “over-dramatic.”“You love it.”He paused, she noticed. Just slightly, but she was watching him, like he’d told her to. She saw the hesitation in his eyes, the brief worry that he had said something wrong. Not letting her comment, he moved his eyes from her face, suddenly turning them, the silk sheets cushioning her fall.
Now his eyes moved back to hers, his hand moved down to wrap her leg further up his waist. His thrusts went deeper, his cock hitting everywhere she wanted it to. Their groans mingled in the air. Their breaths intertwined. He reached for her, fingers twining with her own, their scars lining up, his dark mark against hers. He leaned on his left elbow so he could move his right hand, fingers trailing over her breasts. Stopped moving his hips.“I’m never going to get enough of you,” he said, almost distractedly. “Not just this. Your voice, your thoughts. Your brain, your hair, your eyes. I want it all. All of it, every day.”“You have me. Just don’t stop. Don’t stop talking. Don’t stop touching me.”“Never.” The vow was murmured, but she caught it. Even as the tips of his fingers brushed over her clit, just once, enough to make her hip jolt. Enough to drape a smirk over his face when she made a keening sound of need, of lust, his hand coming back up to hold her jaw. Forcing her to look at him.“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked him, in a whisper. His smirk deepened.“Like what?”“Like I’m going to disappear.”Draco said nothing, pressing his hips into hers, a small thrust that was enough to have her eyes fluttering. Stilling, again, he drew his touch down her neck, the heel of his hand against the base of her throat. She clung to his wrist, nails digging in.“I’m not,” she told him. “I’m not going anywhere.”“You couldn’t even if you tried,” he said. “I won’t let you go. You’re mine now, Hermione Granger. Just as I’ve been yours.”He was pulling out, until only the head of his cock was splitting her, pushing in slowly, so they felt every moment. So he could watch her face as he entered her, his finger tapping her jaw lightly when she succumbed to the feeling, her eyes closing.
“I thought you said no edging,” she whined.“Do you want to come, my gorgeous, brilliant witch?”The endearment had her swooning. “Please, Draco, yes.”“So quick to beg.” He pushed up onto his knees, hands moving to her hips to lift her lower body, pressing in deeper. “Lucky for you, I’m just as desperate.”“Then you should make me come,” she said, tone bordering on frustration. “Or do I need to find someone else?"His thrust was hard, punishing, his grip tightening. But when she looked at him, he was smirking.“You’ll never find another when I’m through with you. You won’t ever want another.”“I don’t,” she reminded him, “but you’re taking so long.”“I’m savouring. I told you I would. It’s taken me over ten years to get what I want.”“We have all night,” she said. “Longer.”“Swear it,” he said suddenly, his eyes somewhat somber amidst the lust. Such a self-control, such discipline. “Swear you won’t leave.”“I promise, Draco,” she said. “I promise I won’t leave. Now, will you make me come?”“As you wish, love.” He smirked when he spoke, but did what she asked. Fingers moving to rub circles over her clit, hips snapping forward. Slightly quicker now, deep and purposeful. His gaze traversing her body, stil putting her to memory, imprinting the sight of her into that beautiful, organised mind. He made her come around him, with expert movements, with quick words, and harsh groans. Hermione felt his gaze on her as rode her orgasm, as she cried his name, one wave becoming two just from his expression. He had said he wanted to worship her; Hermione had the feeling that he was taking that literally, he look on his face one of awe.“Fucking- Hermione- Your cunt feels perfect coming around my cock. You’ll be the end of me.”Hermione gazed at him in half-conscious bliss, as he watched his cock disappearing into her, and she saw him come to the realisation that he had what he’d always wanted. Her, with him, in every way. Draco's hips moved faster, his hand gripped hers tightly, his teeth snagged his bottom lip.“Draco,” she murmured, wriggling her hips, “come inside me, please.”His eyes flashed dark grey, almost black, and she saw his throat working as he swallowed heavily. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, broken.“I didn’t- the contraceptive charm-”“I have it covered, a Muggle way,” she said. “Just please, I’ve been waiting. I know you have, too. I want it, I want you. Please.”He moved, an arm hooking under her knee to bring her leg up over his shoulder, deepening the hit of his cock inside her. They both cried out at the feeling, his upper body lowering to meet hers so he could kiss her, so she could dig her nails into his shoulders. Draco followed her over that cliffs edge, calling out her name, reverently, like a charm.As they settled, she kissed him, untangling her leg from his shoulder to wrap it around his waist, holding him close through the aftershock. His fingers twisted in her hair, holding her to him, even as he rolled off of her, turning her onto her side so he could keep her close.For a while, they laid in satisfied silence, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist, holding her against his chest. Legs intertwined, Hermione tracing runes over his scars, his fingers twirling in her hair. She had never really had someone stay through the aftermath, had never found it bothered her. But the thought of him leaving her alone in bed had her ready to cling to him, ready to do some more pleading.“So,” she said quietly, drawing the word out.“So?”“Was it everything you fantasised about?” She smiled as she asked, although felt a rising edge in her stomach.He paused, until she felt him tugging at her hair, pulling her gaze to his.
“Hermione,” he murmured, her name a mantra, “my dreams were enough to get me through the war, but they could never have come close to what you really are. You are everything I’ve ever wanted, more. Now I’ve had you, no fantasy will ever compare.” She watched his throat move as he swallowed. “For you?”She made a humming sound, as if thinking. “I think… more research may be needed.”His smile was slow, blinding, and when he kissed her it was deep and passionate. The hint of her on his tongue, mingled with the taste of him, had her pressing her thighs together, heat rushing south again. His touch drifted over a breast, down her stomach, ghosting over her scar before moving lower.“Already want more, Granger?” he asked against her lips. “I thought I was the greedy one.”“You are. Maybe it’s contagious.”He made a sound of acknowledgement, used his arm to hitch her higher up the bed, so he could reach the apex between her legs. When he felt the new arousal there, replacing what he had scourgified, he nipped at her mouth, at her jaw. Pulled her thigh over his waist.“I’m ready,” she said, and his arm tightened around her. “I know it took too long, but I’m ready for you now.”“It didn’t,” he replied in a whisper, “I would have waited a lifetime, just to have one day with you.”She kissed him again, feeling the hardness of him against her inner thigh. When she wriggled her hips, lining her opening with the head of his cock, he pushed in slowly, sighs drifting from their chests.

All of it, every day.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hermione Granger is in my bed.
It was the thought that woke him, that brought him back with a slow lull of realisation. The kind you only experience when good things have happened, so different to the sudden, painful knife of waking with the memory of something painful, or sad. So unfamiliar, contrasting against his usual mornings over the past ten years, when Draco had lain reading as the sun came up, unable to sleep.He had thought he was dreaming, imagining the ghost of her curls brushing his cheek, her gentle breaths against his chest, her fingers splayed across his stomach. But she sighed in her sleep, the warm air drifting across his skin, and he shivered as he woke.It was barely day, the first rays of sun spearing through the blinds and over the sheets. Draco breathed it in for a moment, that idea: Hermione Granger is in my bed. Trailed his hand up her back, down her arm. Up again. Over and over until she let out a whimper, rubbing her legs together. Dug her nails into his ribs. When he went to roll her on her back, she let him. When he kissed down her chest, brushing his lips over the scar tissue across her abdomen, she sighed. He revelled in the way he made her feel, the way she wanted him. Him, of all people.The next time he woke, his head resting on her stomach, he had to blink against the sunlight. Trying not to move too fast, he stood from the bed to pull the blinds closed properly, setting the room into partial darkness. When he turned, she was watching him, a small smile on her face. Draco imagined waking up like this every morning. Knew he would never get used to it.“You never told me you liked green,” she said as he stalked back to the bed. Slipped underneath the sheets, laughing as he pulled her close.“I had an obsession with it, once.” He kissed her, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck to hold her there.“Once?”“Now I prefer gold.”Draco had his witch slowly that morning, torturously so. He’d taken her in so many ways now, ticking dreams off like it was a bucket list. He knew he had claw marks on his back, felt the satisfying sting of her claim on him, knew she had the slight imprint of his teeth over her thighs. Could feel her scent all over him, the imprint of her legs around his waist, her hair around his fingers. Like a tattoo. Like an unbreakable vow.He was tracing runes on her calf, hitched up over his hip.“Last night,” he murmured, “did you have a good time?”“More than a good time,” she said, smiling. “Where shall we go next?”“Anywhere you want, Golden Girl.”“Well, first up is the kitchen,” she said, sitting up and stretching. His fingers itched to pull her back down to him. “I’m starving.”Draco hummed, watched as she stood from the bed. Picking up his shirt from the night before, she turned in a slow circle, assessing their clothes strewn about his bedroom. Messiness hadn't been allowed in the Manor - everything had a place. There had been no excuses for not putting his belongings back where they came from. He liked being messy with Granger, the aftermath of their time together so blatant and unapologetic.Leaning over to his bedside table for his wand, he waved it to transfigure his shirt into a robe for her, long enough to cover what he had ingrained in his memory. He was so enchanted by her every move that he tripped pulling on his sweatpants.“Alright, it’s time.” Granger announced as they left his bedroom,
“Time for what?”She went up to the kitchen counter, turned to him, hands on hips. Face serious.“You need to learn how to use the kettle.”Draco could have told her that he’d lied before, that he taught himself how to use it the day he bought it, back when she’d first told him her father was dead. But she was talking to him in such a serious, teacherly way, and she kept grabbing his hand to show him how to open it, and when he got it wrong - on purpose - she would laugh and throw her head back.He would never tell her.They were sat at the kitchen island when the fireplace lit up green, Blaise stepping out of the emerald flames. He raised an eyebrow when he saw them.“Well, this is homely.” He stalked over, snagged a piece of Draco’s toast. Draco smacked his hand.“Get off my breakfast.”“Good night then?” Blaise said, hopping atop a stool. Draco narrowed his eyes on him.“It was wonderful,” Granger said, pouring the intruder a coffee. Draco fought the urge to throw it down the sink just so Blaise would get the hint. “Malfoy outdid himself.”“I’ll say. He’s never even bought a girl dinner, let alone in Rome.”Draco kicked out, hitting Blaise in the shin. He saw Granger pause with the kettle.“Draco,” she said slowly, and he refused to meet her eyes, “Have you never taken a girl on a date before?”“Oh,” Blaise gave him a wide-eyed look, “maybe I should-”“Fuck off? Please do.”Granger tutted at Draco when his friend left, the sneaky git sending a sly grin Draco’s way. If his witch hadn’t been watching, Draco would’ve tackled him to the ground and set his hair alight.“So,” she said slowly, “was that your first date?”“Not quite.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I took Pansy out for dinner once.”“Oh?”“I believe it was second year. Or perhaps third. Possibly even later. I wasn’t all that interested in being there, if I’m honest.”“But…”He looked at her. “What is it, Granger? Does it freak you out?”“No!” She said, shaking her head. She came over to stand between his legs, mug in hand. Leaned against him. “Not at all, it’s just surprising, that’s all. You’re so… dateable.”“Dateable?”“You know. Charming, funny, handsome.” She smirked over the rim of her coffee. “Rich.”Draco raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you’re with me, then, Granger? You want my gold?”“If I remember right, I
brought the gold last night.”“And what beautiful gold it was. Infinitely better than anything I’ve got in my vault.” He reached out to tug at a curl, twirl it around his finger tightly. “The first few years after the war I was too busy to date. My mother was sick. I was trying to find my father…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, after my parents were sorted, I guess I was busy trying to figure out what to do with myself. Besides, everyone is so boring, who else would I want to go to Rome with?”“I’ll take it as a compliment then.”“It is one.” He set his mug down so he could hug her, arms around her waist. “Stay with me today.”She kissed his forehead, made him blush. These moments felt far more intimate than anything they’d done in the bedroom last night. Or this morning.“Only if you let me use your library.”

Draco was trying to read. Really, he was. Quite honestly, the textbook in his hand was fascinating. A new take on an old arithmancy problem, one of his favourite scholars.
But Granger was still wearing his shirt, sat in her chair in his library, reading one of his books that she'd chosen. The candlelight flickered against her skin, tones of gold and orange. He had the one that smelled like her, twin to that in her shop, alight on his desk. Draco had read the same paragraph three times already. His eyes kept lifting back to her.“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she said eventually, grinning.He did exactly that, reaching over to grab his phone from the coffee table. She shook her head, laughing.“It’s just a saying, Malfoy.”“One I’m going to take very seriously.”Draco snapped a picture of her, dumped his book on the table next to his phone. Stood, stretching, her eyes on his chest. Stepping slowly to her, he fell to a knee in front of the chair. She eyed him though her lashes, lips curling up in a smile. When he leaned forward, though, she pressed the sole of her foot to his chest.“I’m busy,” she told him, waving the book in her hands. He pouted.“Too busy for your boyfriend?”“Sorry, Malfoy. You should know that books come first.”Draco fell to the side, shoulder against her chair. Let his head fall on her thigh, hand tracing the curve of her calf, her knee resting over his shoulder.
“What are you reading?” he asked her, turning his head slightly to try and see the book. She shifted slightly, and he tapped her ankle. “Show me.”When she lifted it to show him, he rolled his eyes. Typical. His witch hadn’t changed at all.“I haven’t read it in years,” she told him. “I burnt all my copies when I left.”“All of them?”“I didn’t want anything that reminded me of what I’d done. That might tempt me back.”After a moment, he turned to face her again, kneeling before her as if he might go to prayer. The goddess in front of him met his gaze, that Gryffindor fire dancing in her eyes. So many times, across their table at the library, he had watched her reading this very book. Hogwarts: A History had never seemed so intriguing. At one point, he'd taken to thinking up snarky comments about it, just to get her glaring at him, amber flame in her eyes
He wondered if she felt it, that bravery, or if still she thought she was fragile. Perhaps another reminder?“Which part are you on?”“The Great Hall,” she told him quietly. “I remember the Christmas of first year, it was the part my mum found the most fascinating, of all things, when I told her. A ceiling enchanted to look like the sky… She always said she’d love to see it. I tried to memorise all the ways it looked, so I could tell her.”“I wondered what you were doing every evening,” he murmured, frowning at her knee, “I worried you had a bad neck.”She let out a short laugh, pressed her foot against his shoulder to push him back. He grabbed onto her ankle.“You did not!” She said.“I did. I thought I was going to have to tell Potter to keep a better eye on you. Thought you might float away like one of the castle ghosts.”She rolled her eyes. “Please.”“Every time I looked at you, you were either watching the bloody ceiling or chucking coffee everywhere. It’s a wonder anyone got out of the hall alive.”“You’re such a liar.”“Am not. Everybody had to step a mile around you, just to be safe.”“They didn’t do that.”“I looked at you a lot, so I’d know.”“How much?” She asked him suddenly, and he leaned forward, cocking his head to the side.“How much?” He repeated, running his fingers up from her ankle, over her knee.She licked her bottom lip, slowly. “how much did you watch me?”He shook his head. “You know, I thought I’d been clear with you, Granger. Do you need a reminder?”“Of what?”“Of just how much I’ve wanted you.” He pushed the hem of the shirt up her thigh. “How much I’ve watched you, learned you, craved you. How often I dreamed of you, even when I hated you.”“You’ve told me,” she whispered, “but I was always a practical learner.”He smirked. “I know.”As he pushed to a stand, Draco lifted her from the chair. Made it to the desk in a few long strides, setting her down on the edge. The gasp at the feeling of the cold wood against her skin, the way she looked at him when leaned back on her palms. All the details he had never thought of on his own. He wanted to drag his tongue over the blush that stained her cheeks, rip his shirt to pieces to check that the marks his mouth had made on her last night were still there.But first: the reminder.“For instance,” he said, “my first fantasy of you. My first real fantasy, anyway.” He trailed his fingers up her calf, to her knee. “Reading with you, under that ceiling, in the Great Hall. You’d be sat with me before the Quidditch games, and not that useless ginger shit who couldn’t hit a bludger if it smacked him in the face.” Her smile was wry, his touch inching up her thigh. “I wanted you with me, not in secret. In front of everyone. I wanted to feel you in my hands, have everyone know that I was the luckiest bastard on the planet, not because I had money or a title or some sort of future, but because I had you.”His hand paused on her upper thigh, centimetres from her centre. She wriggled her hips on the desk, whimpering once.
“Aside from that, my dreams were about fucking you. Obviously.” She scoffed, rolled her eyes. “Can you blame me, love? You’re a stunning spell made flesh. The reason I kept failing divination was because I had the perfect view of you.”“That’s not the reason you kept failing divination.”“It is.”“You failed divination because you’re shit at it.”“I’m going to move past that comment, because it’s offensive and I don’t appreciate it.”Granger laughed, and he thought his heart burst. Failed. He was sure he could die right now and be happy with his lot.
“Anyway, in sixth year, I was close to insanity for dreaming of you. Imagining all the ways I would have you. I’d sit at my desk to study and all I’d be able to think about was having you bent over in front of me, saying my name, begging me… Now you’re here, and I’m not sure what to do first,” he confessed, and she grinned.“We could go alphabetically?” she offered, and he thought about it.“I’d never make it through,” he told her.“Well, then, perhaps I’ll just get us started.”He had envisioned this, of course, but never like this. And even if he had, Merlin, she was better. Her hand creeping over her thigh, pushing up the hem of his shirt, fingers stroking through her slit. His eyes snapped between the movements of her hand and the expressions on her face, her head falling back, her weight dropping onto her elbow. When she groaned, her leg angling around his waist to pull him close to her, he almost lost it.“Keep going,” he ordered, even as he stepped forward. As he pulled down his sweats and pressed his cock into her, already hard, always needing her. Granger cried out, opened her eyes to look at him. There had been other reminders last night, of what he wanted if he was going to fuck her the way she liked. She knew he’d never move without her gaze on him.Draco watched her fingers, thrusting in time with the circles she made on her own clit. It was insanely erotic, watching her make herself come with his cock inside her, the noises she made when he pulled all the way out and pushed back in. Merlin, he loved fucking her slowly. Loved it more than anything he’d ever done.“That’s it, Golden Girl," he murmured, hands brushing her thighs, "Use me. I was made for you, look at us.”He knew when it was near, from the way her body tensed, thighs grappling his hips, nails digging into his desk. She lost her weight, falling so she was flat on the wood, and he angled her hip so he could drive in deeper. Held himself still as she came over him. Ripped the buttons of his shirt, pulling it open so he could latch his mouth over a nipple, pushing a strangled cry from her throat.When she rolled her hips against him, he grabbed them, stilling her.“I’m never going to let you forget,” he said, his voice catching, “just what you put me through.”Straightening his back, he stared down at her. Drew his fingers lightly over a breast, loving the way she arched her back to vie for more pressure.
“The years of watching you, of wanting you. Of daydreams and jealousy and desperation. I had this desk built four years ago, and every time I’ve sat at it I’ve thought of fucking you.” She whimpered when he pulled out, pausing before thrusting back inside her, slowly. Controlled. “I’ve been obsessed with you, Hermione Granger, even when I didn’t want to be. Even when I tried to, I couldn’t forget you. And you ask me how much?”He pressed his thumb to her clit, making her hips jolt, making her move against him, desperate to gain some friction. Draco pulled out suddenly, spinning her, lifting a knee and placing it on the desk. Dragged a hand up her chest, pining her body against him, wrapping his fingers around her throat to her in place, head tilted so she was forced to look up at him, over her shoulder.“I want you to see how much I want you,” he murmured against her mouth, and she made that sound that had him ready to come. Halfway between a whimper and a moan.He watched her watch his face as he entered her again, savouring every moment. Watched him tighten his grip on her throat, on her hip, pulling her back against him. Move his hand to her clit, pressing firmly whilst he thrusted into her from behind, more of those beautiful sounds from her chest.“Do you see it, love?” he was sure he asked her at one point. “Do you see what you do to me? What you’ve done to me?”“Yes,” she gasped, nail digging into his wrist. He leaned forward, pressing her into the desk.“Tell me you won’t forget. Promise me.”“I swear, Draco. I won’t forget. I promise.”They came together, his fingers on her, his cock inside her. Pressed against his desk, his teeth in her shoulder, her nails in his skin. Smoothing his tongue over the skin, he groaned at the taste of her, his mouth travelling up her neck gently. Last night he had made it his mission to learn what she loved and this was part of it, his lips on her as she came down, his hands tracing over her, making her shiver around him. It struck him how lovely the aftermath was, how unusually peaceful and intimate it was to be with her after fucking her. How the idea of separating felt inconceivable.He couldn’t help himself; ran a hand up her body, under the shirt. The other down, back to her clit, swollen and sensitive.“One more for me, Golden Girl. Let me feel you.”“Draco,” she latched onto his neck, “I can’t, too sens-”“You can,” he bit her neck gently, the way she liked, "Just one. Please, Hermione. Give me one more."She did.

“I had a thought about my stalker,” she said hours later, as he was bringing her a glass of wine. She raised an eyebrow at the glass, large and tinted green. Draco would have smiled, had she not just mentioned the creep that was preventing him from showing her off to Muggle London. He sat next to her, reaching over to pull her legs over his lap.“And?”“I think he might be a wizard.”Draco’s jaw tensed. He supposed this would be his life, always one step behind his witch. Usually he didn’t mind it. But when another man was obsessively following your girlfriend's every move, it put an edge on things. An edge he wanted desperately to rid from her world.“Leon believes so,” he murmured.“You already know?” She leaned forward. “When?”“Friday.”“Why didn’t you tell me?”“I was going to on Saturday but then you showed up in that dress and my brain short-circuted.”She sighed. “Malfoy, I want to know these things. I only agreed that Leon go through you because you’re paying him. Which I’m still not happy with by the-”“Do you know the name Oliver Drigster?” he asked, partly for her answer and partly to stop her complaining about not financing Leon. It wasn't something he would change his mind about.When she didn’t answer straight away, he turned to look at her. Her face was pale, lips thin. She went to say something, paused. Draco had the strange sense of impending doom, right on the edge of the wondrous feeling of having her.“What is it, Granger?”“Oliver, he… He worked at the ministry with me. Muggle Liaison.”Draco inhaled, cleared his throat, flashed back to Potter's face when he'd heard the name. The Saviour's expression had been enough to convince Draco that the Head Auror knew exactly who the man was, which meant Kingsley knew, as well. But to hear that he had worked with Granger, that they had been close, at least in regards to proximity, for a lengthy period of time... Conniving little shit. Draco wondered if he would be sent to Azkaban for seeing if Harry Potter could die just once more.“I’m not sure if he still works there, but he did when I left. He was… normal.”“Well, apparently he’s changed.”“What else has Leon found?”“Not a lot. Seems Drigster’s a bit of a recluse.”“Yes, he was always private. He, um…” he saw her swallow, watched her play with the stem of her glass, “he was the one who gave me the counter charm to my parents' memory loss.”Draco would need to learn a teeth-fixing charm, because he most definitely heard a crunch, his jaw clenching. They would certainly be needing to find a new Minister sometime soon. And another Chosen one. He was going to shove that box so far down Potter’s throat-“Malfoy?”Her voice was soft, concerned, and he took a deep breath before he looked at her. He didn’t want her to see the fury in him, the man he reverted back to when she was in danger: the possibility of her being scared of him was horrific. Years ago, he had felt as if he were poisonous; his father dead, his mother barely able to look at him, his friends stepping on glass around him. He had felt like a weed, like ivy crawling up the side of the Manor, unwanted but persistent. In her eyes, now, he felt changed, like a prettier weed that she might want to place in a vase, keep. Draco wanted her to love him. He was certain she wouldn’t if she saw what was lurking inside him.So when he turned his face towards her, he kept his eyes focused on a point over her shoulder, walls of cement upright in his mind. He rarely occluded around her, the last time being at the Manor, but it helped to keep his darkness from staining her. Then her fingers were drifting over his jaw, cold from the glass of wine, grabbing his chin. Forcing his gaze to meet hers. Pushing against the mental lock he had to keep her in her safe, the way Snape had taught him.“Don’t do that,” she said gently.Draco let his head fall onto the back of the sofa, eyes never straying from hers, a gentle grip pushing into his hair, massaging his scalp. He made a little sound of pleasure, closing his eyes. That feeling of having her overwhelmed those shadows, turning his living room into a little haven of safety and comfort. Here, nobody could get to her. Nobody could get to them. No stalkers or cursed items or old friends. His lies and secrets and history felt far apart from this moment, as if they had no weight. As if he wasn't on the precipice of losing what he had thought he would never have.“It should be me doing this to you,” he muttered.“Yes, well, you always were spoiled.”Draco smiled, then laughed. Opened his eyes so he could look at her. Felt his walls melting.“How do you do that?”“Do what?”“I’ve just told you that your stalker is a wizard you used to work with. It makes me want to tear down London to find him. I want to destroy him," he admitted. "And you…” He reached out, placing his hand on her shin. “You’re all light.”Her shoulder lifted in a small shrug. “I’m not, not really. But being angry isn’t going to solve anything. I can’t think when I’m angry.”“That’s the point, Granger.” He lifted his head to take a sip of his whiskey. “Tell me about Drigster.”“He was assigned with obliviating muggles exposed to magic.”“Of course he was.”
“We went for a night out once. It was my mother’s birthday and I got upset. Said some things I regretted in the morning. Apparently I told him about obliviating my parents during the war. The next week he came to me with a counter charm. He had studied curses after school, and heard of something that might work.” She pulled her legs off of him, knees to her chest. “You know the rest.”“When was the last time you saw him?”Granger frowned, thinking. “The day I resigned, I think. Obviously, I hadn’t told anyone about my parents, but I’d been lax at work. Made some mistakes. He was…” She made a small sound. “He was trying to tell me something. Ask me something… I can’t remember. It was seven years ago.”She stood, putting her glass on the coffee table. Draco watched her start to pace, thinking, frustration starting to leak through. He waited until, finally, she sighed.
“So, what now?”“We wait for Leon to find an address,” Draco said, “and then we deal with him.”She cut him a look. “Deal with it, how?”“Let me handle that.”“Draco, no-”“Granger,” he reached out, grabbing her hand. Pulled her towards where he sat, one of her knees coming up to rest beside his thigh on the cushion. “I won’t do anything you disapprove of.”“Why don’t I believe you?”He smirked. Wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “Why would I do anything that would risk me losing you?”Even before he said it, his words felt hollow. He was already at risk. What they were building had a foundation of sand, ready to shift at the slightest wrong step."I don't want anyone to get hurt, Draco."“They won't," he murmured. Was really just extending that promise to her, the only one in the equation who truly mattered. "I’ll only do what’s necessary.”Of course, he had spent his entire childhood learning to do what was necessary. Back then, it had involved dark marks and unforgiveable curses and disgusting house guests. It had meant hating the witch he wanted more than anything, saving her quietly, building wall on wall on wall. Letting her go when he knew the threat was gone. And now, it not only meant protecting her, but lying to her at the same time. Letting his shadows drift over her as if he had a right to, finally telling her all the things he had kept back from her.
Well, he wouldn’t be saving her silently this time. And he certainly wouldn’t be letting her go.Never again.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“I’m assuming you’re joining us for Christmas dinner, Granger?”
Pansy’s voice was in the flat before the witch herself, her heeled footsteps clacking loudly against the hardwood floor. Hermione hadn’t seen her in a few days, Pansy travelling between clients in Europe. With her black hair twisted into a clean bun, her smart black dress, and air of productivity, Hermione could only assume she had come straight from one of said clients. Parkinson meant business. Hermione swallowed.“Excuse me?”"As per usual, Draco is fucking useless. He won’t give me your answer even though I asked for it two weeks ago. You’ve never mentioned your parents and obviously the Chosen One is old news so-” she stopped herself at Hermione’s confused look. “He hasn’t even asked you, has he?”When Hermione shook her head, Pansy let out a strange shriek, shaking her head. She dropped her bag heavily on the kitchen counter, hip cocked. Took a deep, calming sigh."I have been planning Christmas dinner for two weeks," she said, slowly. "I have bought four meats because Draco, Blaise, and Theo all requested different meals. Every year I say it will be the last time I cook and yet, my friends couldn't heat up a meal in the microwave.""That's accurate."“The snakes always go away for Christmas. I decide where, arrange the details, you know. The boys are useless at arranging anything that isn’t Friday night drinks at their own flat.” She rolled her eyes. “Milly will there, so you won’t be the only plus one. Actually, you’ll be better. Milly’s a Ravenclaw.” Pansy grinned mischievously.“And what is the destination this year?”“Berlin,” she said with enthusiasm, holding her hand out to the side. “Close enough to the city that we can send the boys away when they’re driving us insane. Far enough that you won’t feel the need to constantly look over your shoulder. Christmassy enough for us to feel Christmassy even when we're sober, which usually is at least five percent of the time."Hermione smiled gently, shrugged. “I usually just go to Kate’s in the morning and then come home. Her family is huge, it's probably going to be chaos.”“Well, change your plans. You have to come with us. Draco will be positively dreadful if you don’t.”“I’m not sure, Pansy. If he didn’t ask me-”“He didn’t ask you because he assumes you’ll say no. For all his benefits, the boy really is quite dense.”“There is a chance that he doesn’t want me there.”“No,” she said, “there isn’t." She paused, clicking her tongue once. "He's going to kill me if he finds out I told you this, so I swear you to secrecy, understand?""Maybe you just shouldn't tell me.""Christmas hasn't been fun for us since before the war. Our families weren't exactly full of joy. By the end of school, though, the Christmas holidays were just two weeks where Draco would mope about wondering about you. It was painful to watch, quite honestly. And then more recently, not only has Draco been a bore, but so have Theo and Blaise. I can't do it again, Granger. Please- Please, come." Pansy shrugged. "If nothing else, it will be three days away from your wizarding weirdo.” She glanced at the door. “Any more letters?”“Not in the last week or so,” Hermione answered, biting her lip. “Maybe he’s stopped.”Pansy hummed, sounding unconvinced. “Come with us, Granger. We want you there.”“Let me think about it.”“Well, think quickly,” she said. “I want an answer by tonight.”In the end, Kate made the decision for her, whilst Hermione was shoveling pasta into her mouth. With the flat warded, and the letters coming to a slow stop, they had started staying in the flat alone. With no snakes to watch over them, it felt sort of like it had before Draco Malfoy had sauntered into her shop four months ago. The only difference being that Hermione could feel her magic closer to the surface, sizzling through her as if she had champagne in her veins.
And still, those three words. Drifting across the front of her brain, where all her decisions were made, where she was logical and considerate. The part of her she had dampened, now awake and begging to be released.
Get a wand.
“You are absolutely going to Berlin with your boyfriend.”“What about-”“I think my parents will understand, Hermione,” Kate said, rolling her eyes. She swallowed. “You deserve a weekend away. Besides, at least you’ll know that creep can’t ruin Christmas for you if you’re in another country.”
Unless he has a portkey.
“Right.”“So, holidays together,” Charlotte smiled around her fork. “Pretty serious, huh?”“I guess.” Hermione leaned back. “Should it feel fast?”“What do you mean?”
“It’s only been four months.”“So?”“So, it feels… permanent, already. Like I can’t imagine not seeing him every day.”“Isn’t that a good thing?” Kate asked.“But I’ve never felt this much so quickly.” Hermione placed her plate by the sink, moving to join them on the sofa. “Even with Ron, after seven years of just assuming we would end up together, I was never this invested.”“Well, that’s hardly surprising. He sounds like a boring prick.” Charlotte shrugged when Hermione gave her a look. “Malfoy’s words, not mine.”“Look, Hermione,” Kate turned on the sofa to face Hermione, face serious, “if you like him, you like him. Why would you want to spend time with anyone else when he’s the one you want?”“It’s not about that.”“Then what is it?”“It’s like… he knows exactly what he wants from our relationship, because he’s been planning it, you know.”“Because he’s been obsessed with you since school," Charlotte stated, nodding.“Whereas this is all so new to me. Five months ago I wasn’t speaking to anyone from school, and now I’m going away with them?” She shook her head. “I guess I’m just… confused.”“Have you told him?”“No. I don’t want to scare him into thinking I’m not fully involved, like I want to see other people when I don’t.”“So just tell him that. You are allowed to have emotions, Hermione.”“But he’s been so clea-”“Stop it,” Charlotte said, sure, “You’re overthinking it. He wants you to talk to him, doesn’t he? He says it all the bloody time. And trust me, with the way he looks at you, I don’t even think you’ll have a chance to see anybody else, even if you want to.” She smirked. “If you get my drift.”“What she means to say,” Kate added, “is that he’s clearly not going anywhere. Let him give you time to catch up.”Hermione groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “God, this relationship shit is complicated."Charlotte hummed. “Exactly why I’m single.”“That, and your terrible taste in partners.”Charlotte reached around Hermione to throw the pillow in Kate’s face.

Hermione had to admit that portkey-ing to the cabin on the outskirts of Berlin filled her with excitement. With the Christmas Eve cheer settling into her, the nervousness and uncertainty whisked away as she travelled through space. Nausea from the travel dissipated moments after she landed, when an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her backwards. Malfoy’s chest was warm, his grip steady. She smiled when he bent down, his mouth to her ear.“About time, Granger,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her jaw. “I was starting to wonder if you’d abandoned me.”“Never.”“No!” Theo’s voice came from further down the corridor, and Malfoy groaned, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. “No canoodling until I’ve passed out drunk!”“What’s the matter with him?”“He asked Luna to come. She said no."“Oh.” Hermione pushed out of his grip, spun to face him. He lifted her knuckles to his mouth.“He’s half pissed,” he told her, “which means he’s already twice as annoying as he is when he’s sober.”“He needs you.”“I’ve told him what I think about the matter.”“Which is?”“Luna’s stringing him along.” He glanced down towards the corridor. “Has been since she broke up with him.”“It’s hard for somebody to admit that to themselves. Especially after so long.”“Yeah well, he had her. He lost her.”“That’s harsh.”“It’s true, and he knows it.”
He yanked her forward, smirking when she tripped, falling into him. Arm snaking around her waist, he pressed his body to hers, eyes of silver seas searching hers."Thank you for coming." His words were murmured. She raised an eyebrow at him."Next year I'd like to be asked by you, and not Pansy Parkinson."Malfoy breathed in deeply, a thumb trailing over the corner of her jaw.
"I meant to. I figured you would say no.""You know what they say about those who assume." Hermione smoothed her hands over his shoulders, down his biceps. "Believe it or not, Malfoy, but I do like spending time with you. And your friends.""Next year, we'll stay with yours."Next year. So many plans, so many hints at their future. After only four months, it might have made her antsy, unsure. Instead, all she felt was hope, any doubt obliterated the moment she saw him."You'll love Muggle Christmas," she said, smiling widely. "Next year, I'm in charge.""You're always in charge, Golden Girl."Pressing his thumb under her chin, he pressed his mouth to hers. Long, savoury kisses, the way he did it in the morning or when she was leaving. She felt she could die every time, lost in the feeling that he was memorising the taste of her, lost in the groans he made, the knowledge that all of his attention and thoughts were focused entirely on her. His arms tightening around her, pulling her up on her toes, their bodies lined up perfectly. That sense that they had been made to be this close to another, that separating was breaking the universe's plans for them.Loved his fingers twining over her neck, through her hair, tilting her head so he could kiss her deeper. Her hands fisting in his Oxford shirt, his dipping under the waistband of her jeans. It had been 24 hours since she had seen him last, since he had left her bedroom with a kiss much like this on-“Draco!” Blaise called from a room further down the corridor. “Stop shagging Granger and come help me!”Hermione laughed, Draco smirking against her lips. He kissed her once more, a small press of his mouth against hers, before leaning back. Tried kissing her again.“One of the things I like most about you,” she said gently, a hand pushing against his chest, “that you’re a good friend.”“Am I?” he muttered, mostly to himself.
“I’m going to go find Pansy,” she told him. “You’re going to go help Blaise.”“She’s in the kitchen,” he said, “droning on about some client. I left the room when Milly started arguing with her about taxing the rich, whatever the fuck that means.”Hermione laughed, and he shook his head at her.
“Tell me you didn’t make the situation worse, Draco?”He frowned. “What else am I good for?”Malfoy was dragged out of the villa by Blaise, desperate to get Theo sobbing drunk. He gave her a quick kiss as he left, muttering something about seeing her later. She was too busy ogling him in his dark trousers and shirt, sinfully beautiful. He smirked at her before he left. There was no need for legilimency; she told him what she was thinking with her eyes.“He really is obsessed with you, isn’t he?” Milly asked her after they’d gone. “Has he always been that way?"“No.”“Yes,” Pansy said at the same time. She rolled her eyes when Hermione gave her a look. “Oh, please. Just because you were oblivious to everyone except the Saviour and his sidekick doesn’t mean the rest of us were.”“I was not-”“You know,” she said to Milly, “Draco never remembered my birthday when we were together. But he always remembered hers. Even before the Yule ball. After fourth year he would order a bottle of Muggle wine and pay a first year to give it to her.”“What?” Hermione blurted. “That was him?”“In fifth year, he was so worried that Granger would get detention with Umbridge that he would distract her whenever Granger was around. Honestly, you should have seen his hands. If Lucius hadn’t been busy fi-”“Pansy,” Hermione stopped her.“What? Draco hasn’t told you?”“He’s told me,” she said, shifting on the stool. She smiled at Milly when the witch pushed a glass of wine in her direction. “Just… not the details. Mostly he’s told me why he behaved the way he did to my face.”Pansy rolled her eyes. “Typical Draco. Maybe you should ask him about sixth year.”“Sixth year. Sure."Hermione swallowed heavily, taking a large gulp of her wine. Of course Draco had told her about his crush, but she hadn't stopped to think about the repercussions of it. His need to keep her safe, even when they were teenagers. From Umbridge, from Death Eaters. From Bella.Pansy opened her mouth, stopped when Milly made a small coughing sound, shaking her head. Pursing her lips, the dark-haired witch turned back to the oven, giving Hermione a brief stint from hearing how Draco Malfoy had spent half his life protecting her, wanting her, despite his assumption that his feelings would never be returned.“So, Hermione,” Milly started, changing the subject, “tell me about S.P.E.W.”It was past eleven when the boys returned, apparating into the kitchen. Hermione was curled up in the corner of a two-seater sofa, watched Malfoy as he entered the living room, his platinum gaze finding her within seconds. Without hesitation, he collapsed next to her, in the middle of the sofa, his head falling onto her shoulder. So intimate, so normal. Hermione wrapped her arm around his shoulders, hand on his chest, his on her thigh.“Where’s Theo?” Pansy asked, just as a crashing sound came from the kitchen. She shrieked, running towards the noise. Malfoy laughed.“Every year.” He intertwined their fingers on his chest, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand.
Pansy dragged Theo into the living room, shoving him into a chair. Her expression was one of fury.“Next year, Theo!” She declared. “Next year you won’t have an excuse and I will avada you.”“You’d never,” Theo said, “I’m too heartbroken.”“For Merlin’s sake, Nott, get a grip.""It's Christmas, Pans. You have to be nice to me.""Not when you ruin the dinner I've spent two days cooking!""Two days?" Theo gaped. "Aren't you a witch, Pansy? Can't you magic food up?""And have you all complain about soggy vegetables on Christmas Day? I think not.""Luna loves vegetables." Theo sighed, placing a hand over his forehead. "Parsnips, especially.""I'm going to throw every single parsnip in the mud if you continue talking about your irritating ex-girlfriend.""Don't you dare!"Pansy stood, moving towards the kitchen. The possibility of her next actions had Theo gasping, rushing to follow her.“This happens every year?” Hermione asked Malfoy quietly. He nodded.“Theo always wants to eat the dessert. You’d think Pansy would learn and just not make it until the morning.”Hermione chuckled, and his hand tightened around hers. Her eyes raised, landed on Milly’s briefly, before the other witch looked away, just as her fiancé pushed Theo back into the living room."You fucking arsehole, Theo!""You can't keep the parsnips from me!""I can when you're acting like a child. Grow up."“Theo,” Malfoy called, interrupting just as Pansy lifted her wand, “have you thought about my mother's proposition?”“No." Theo fell into an armchair, expression sullen. "And I’m not going to.”"Funny," Draco licked his tongue, "Now it's on the other foot, I find I quite enjoy the idea of brunch at the Manor."“What proposition?” Hermione asked him.“My mother keeps trying to set me up with French women."“Oh?”“Obviously, she thinks I’m lying when I tell her I’m no longer single.”“You’ve told her?”“Of course. She won't believe me until she has proof. Anyway, I think Theo should be the one she focuses on. Seeing as I won’t be marrying any French women." He smirked up at her, angling his face so he could meet her gaze.Theo groaned. “I know who I want to marry.”“And yet,” Blaise said, “here you are. Alone.”“That’s harsh.”“Truth hurts.” Blaise handed Theo a drink. “If I can get over my witch, you can get over yours.”“Your witch?” Hermione asked. “I didn’t know you had a witch, Blaise.”“Yes, well, she’s not mine. Never will be.”“That’s-”“Blaise has moved on from the littlest Weasel,” Theo told her, “now that she’s engaged.”"Ginny's engaged?" Hermione asked, felt Malfoy's fingers tighten on hers again. She glanced at him. "I didn't know."He hummed slightly, his fingers tracing a circle over her knee. Settling back into the cushions, she held him to her, taking comfort in the way his body felt against hers. He drew circles on her tight, over her jeans."September," he told her, voice low, "around the same time I started seeing you, actually.""Who- Did Harry ask?""From what I understand, he planned to. She got there first."She laughed lightly. "That's Ginny.""When did you last see her?""Before I left," she said. Malfoy pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.Hermione knew it was her own fault. She had been the one to run away, the one who had left her friends behind. She hadn't expected their lives to pause simply because she couldn't come to terms with what had happened. Ginny was engaged. Her best friends were getting married, and she wasn’t there. Hadn’t been there. Wouldn’t be there. Because of her actions, her choices.Suddenly the idea of Christmas became overwhelming again, like she couldn’t breath. There was the voice again, in the forefront of her mind, hissing at her. Reminding her that she had missed out on the life she had earned, in the world she had defended. Fought a war and then abandoned everything she had worked for. Her mind took her back to the arguments with her mother, Hermione standing in the kitchen, her mother in the doorway, screaming.
You gave up on us.
Ron's face when she told them she was leaving, the clear anger and refusal to even try to understand. Ginny and Harry, who knew her enough to know that she had made up her mind.
“Granger.”His voice, deep and soothing, settled the fire in her blood. Since she had started using magic in small ways, it had felt less itchy when she was around him. More comfortable, exciting. Like she was being shown this world all over again, new and thrilling.
“Malfoy," she whispered in response.“I can practically feel your brain working.”He had shifted, dropped his head into her lap. His eyes were liquid metal, silver and shining. Hermione traced a finger over his cheekbone and they closed, a sigh escaping him.
“I love it when you touch me,” he said, just loud enough for her to hear.
"Do you?" She found she was smiling, despite what she had just been thinking about.He made a sound of contentment, at odds with the current war of words between Theo and Pansy."It's late," he said. "Time to go?"She went to stand, and he moved, watching her. When she held out her hand he followed quickly, clinging onto her. Hermione thought she heard someone saying something to her, missed it as Draco picked her up, bridal style.
“Malfoy,” she said, laughing, “I can walk.”“You’d be too far away.”He carried her to their bedroom, assigned to them by Pansy. The cabin sat on a hill in the country, their window overlooking the lights of the city. Hermione hadn’t had much time to appreciate the place, and with Draco’s hands running all over her as soon as her feet touched the ground, she didn’t think she would until morning.Draco Malfoy when sober was good at sex. Better than good, she had found. He was considerate and slow and honest. He worshiped her, committed her to memory. Draco Malfoy when drunk was passionate and impatient, not unpleasantly so, but she thought he’d never undressed her so fast. It was something he insisted on, her allowing him to take her clothes off, one article at a time. After, he pushed her gently against the door, the bed too far, his hand moving down to run his fingers through her arousal.“Always so wet for me,” he groaned. “It’s been too long.”“It’s been like a day,” she laughed. Stopped laughing when he raised his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean whilst he held her gaze.
“A day too long.”He gripped her hips, pressing her up against the wood, angling her hips so she could wrap her legs around his waist. She was wet enough that he slid inside her easily. Draco always liked to savour this part, kiss her senseless, play with her before moving. Force her gaze to his. Not tonight.Tonight, he pulled out, slammed straight back into her. Started thrusting so hard the door was banging against its hinges. Hermione thought just the sound of that alone would make her come, his clear, desperate need for her.
“Draco,” she gasped.
“That’s it, love,” he said against her neck, "I love hearing you say my name. I want everyone to know who’s fucking you. I want everyone to know who you want.”“You,” she told him, “I only want you.”“Every fucking day. Every fucking day since I was fourteen, I’ve thought of you. Now you're here, and you’re moaning my name. I’m going to keep you for the rest of my life.”He hitched her leg higher up his waist, his cock hitting so deep she thought she’d feel him inside her for days. She wanted to.
"More." The word came from her on a moan, from her chest. Her nails dragged down his arms, making him hiss."What do you want, Hermione?" he asked her, teeth in her shoulder. "Tell me.""I want... Touch me."He turned, large steps to drop her on the bed, pressing his hips to hers to stay deep inside her. His eyes roamed over her chest, one hand reaching to toy with a nipple, to make her squirm. A thumb pressed to her clit, small circles, before it was replaced, a cold, sharp object making her gasp.
"Look at you," he whispered, voice full of awe. She opened her eyes to look at him. "Are you going to come all over my family ring, Golden Girl?"His words, his touch. He had her careening over the cliff side quickly, crashing onto the rocks beneath her. Draco fucked her through her fall, hard and fast, pressing the Malfoy insignia over her. Enough pressure to have her orgasm lengthening, until she was whimpering wordlessly, until he was coating her walls with his come. Her name from his mouth, her legs around his waist.When they were finished, he carried her into the adjoining shower, cleaned her up the Muggle way. Never too drunk to forget looking after my witch, he said. Typical Malfoy.Typical Draco Malfoy, who, after running his soaped hands all over her body, went to his knees for her, looked up at her in awe, the steam suddenly not the reason Hermione struggled to breath. His mouth on her, his determination not to use anything else, to drag it out and keep her on the edge, until she was writhing, the tiles cold against her back. His grip on her thighs strong, bruising, her fingers pulling his hair so he rose up to meet her. Lined himself up and fucked her against the wall again, slower this time. Memorising the way she felt when he made her come around him, again.
Draco, murmuring her name into her ear, tone low and reverent, as if it were a mantra he had held onto for years. As if she were some kind of goddess, something to worship. The way he looked at her, she thought she might be. Felt it in her bones, the realisation of what he wasn’t quite saying.They laid in bed, sheets down to their waist, eyes drifting over each other in quiet reverence. Hermione knew it then, if she hadn't before, that he loved her. That he had loved her for years, and kept it to himself, knowing it wasn’t safe to love her in public. And even when it might have been, let her go so she might find someone he considered more deserving of her. Found her again, when she had left all of that behind, and brought her back. To him.“Pansy told me something today,” she whispered to him. She thought he had fallen asleep, so when he hummed in response she wasn’t sure what to say. “She told me… that you bribed first years to bring me wine you bought for me. For my birthdays. At school.”His eyes opened, bright through the dark. She propped herself up on her elbow.“She told me to ask you about sixth year.”He sighed, deeply, moving so his arm was under his head. Fingers toyed with the sheet.“Pansy talks too much.”“What-”“Granger, I’ll tell you that story," he turned his head to look at her. "I’ll tell you every story, from every moment that I thought of you. All the plans I had, the fantasies, the nightmares. All of it. But not when I’m drunk, and not in somebody else's home. I want to do it properly. Alright?”She nodded, thought for a few moments. He reached up, pushing her curls over her shoulder, dragging his thumb over her jaw until she caught his hand. Kissed his knuckles, slowlyYou should have seen his hands.“Did you know,” she told him, “that every year on my birthday, Ron and Harry would get me a book? As if I didn’t have an entire library at my fingertips. Everyone always got me books. As if that’s all I was. And then, fifth year, some tiny little Slytherin first year comes up to me with a bottle of wine, and told me it was to congratulate me on my latest potions essay-”“That little shit,” Draco laughed, “I knew he’d say something stupid.”“-and I thought that it was nice that somebody knew that I was more than books. Even if it was just once a year.”“I’d never just get you a book, Granger,” he promised her, sighed. “I’d get you the entire damn store. But you already have one, so it seems a bit pointless.”She smiled. Reaching over to trace a scar over his chest, touch stroking dangerously low, over his hipbones.“I wish you could have told me,” she said quietly. “Back at school.”“What would you have done if I had?”Hermione thought about it. What would she have done? Thought he was joking, being cruel. Lying. Probably would have run in the other direction, avoided being in the same room as him for at least two weeks.“I wouldn’t have believed you,” she said. “It wouldn’t have been the first time a boy played a prank like that on me.”“Boys are fucking twats.” He pushed her hair over her shoulder, fingers drifting down to her wrist, rubbing a thumb over her scar. “I was a twat. Worse. I should have told you.”“You couldn’t.”“I couldn’t, but I should have. If I’d have known we could have this, then. I would have told you. I would have told you every damn day if that’s what it took.”She dropped her head onto his shoulder, pressing herself into his side. His arm came around her, strong and tight. Anchoring her to him, as if he might mould their bodies together.“I'm not going anywhere,” she promised quietly, “I’m in, you know. In this, with you. Completely.”She felt him smile against her hair, his hug tightening even further. Hermione felt his feelings through his skin, in her lungs when she breathed in his scent. He exuded it, his emotions. She couldn’t believe someone so open to her was one of the best occlumens of their age, so closed off to the world around him. It was mind-bending, unreal. Draco Malfoy felt so much, and it was all for her. The words hadn't been said, yet, but she felt it, like he had pressed it into her mind using his skill.
I love you.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Part 5

January

Draco brought in the new year pressing kisses over the backs of her shoulders, stroking his fingers up the inside of her thighs. Past the door, in Pansy’s living room, the party continued, cheers erupting as the bells rang midnight. Draco would usually be pushing Theo off of him by now, the drunken idiot trying to slather him with a kiss as per “tradition”.
Draco much preferred this. Their tradition. To bring in the new year with him inside her, Granger murmuring his name. He vowed never to get drunk before midnight again, so he could remember every time he promised her another year. Every time he was granted something he shouldn't have.“Perhaps we should return to the party.” She gasped it, her forehead falling against the wall as he thrusted in a particular angle.Draco hummed. “You really want to?” When she groaned in response, he smirked. Kissed her cheek as she dropped her head back onto his shoulder, wrapped her arm around his neck.
“All our friends are out there.”“That’s right,” he murmured, “all our friends. Do you think they can hear you through the wall? Do you think they know I’m fucking you into the new year?”“Yes,” she said.
“Good.” Pulling out, he spun her, lifted her legs around his waist, pushed in slowly. Kissed her, swallowing her whimpers. “I want everyone to know.”The morning came with rays of sunlight crossing over her face, lighting up the caramel tones of her curls. He would have stayed with her, wanted to stay with her. But his phone was ringing for the third time, and when he found three missed calls from Leon, he knew it was time. He hadn’t heard from the man since he gave Draco the name. The name which Potter was still being decidedly itchy about. In his last conversation with the seemingly-immortal prat, Draco had threatened to withhold his work from the cursed box. But then he had heard the whispers of Granger’s screams from the basement, quickly changed his mind.
Either way, he wasn’t going to get any answers from the Ministry. So, he would get them himself.He rose from bed slowly, trying not to wake his witch. Blaise looked up as he came into the living room, made straight for the kitchen. Frowned at the oven.“Leon has an address,” Draco said, voice low.
“I take it we’re still following Plan A?” Blaise asked. Draco hummed in agreement. “I take it Plan A is still hidden from her?”Draco made no comment, hoping that it would be enough confirmation for Blaise.
“Do you know how to use this?” he asked instead. Blaise shook his head, sighing as he left the room.Ten minutes later, she emerged from his bedroom, decked in the dressing gown he’d started hanging up on the back of his door. It was a sight he wanted engraved on the backs of his eyelids, so he would see it every time he blinked. At first, he had considered getting her a green one, just for the principle. To show her that she was his, that she belonged with him. But the temptation had been too great.“You know, not everything you buy me has to be gold,” she told him as she walked over, pulling her hair into a bun.“Yes, it does.”“What are you doing?”“I wanted to make you breakfast, the Muggle way,” he said. “But the oven won’t turn on.”She looked at it, gave a small smile. Reached over the counter and switched the plug. He groaned.“Malfoy, do you remember when we talked about electricity? The plug has to be on.”“Sure.” He distantly remembered. It had been back when she had been sick, making him tea for the first time. Draco had known she was talking to him, but he’d been hyper-fixated on the fact that Hermione bloody Granger was teaching him. She was talking in that professor-ly tone, firm but gentle, and her eyes had been afire despite her confession about her father. It had been back when he couldn’t touch her whenever he’d wanted. But Merlin, how he’d wanted.“What are you doing today?” he asked her, eyeing her bare leg as her robe pulled up.
“I’m checking in on the bookshop.”“Granger, it’s New Year’s Day."“And?” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Are you taking the day off?”She had a point. He would not be taking the day off. Except, he couldn't tell her what he would truly be doing.“Actually, I have a lead about the box,” he said, “I think.”“You think?”“The box forces a person to relive their worst memory. There’s only one thing I can think of that does that.”Granger stilled. “The Dementor’s Kiss.”He made a sound of acknowledgement, taking over the making of coffee whilst she thought. As he pushed a mug in her direction, he glanced up at her face.“What’s wrong?”“This box… First the imperio rune, and now Dementors? I don’t like it, Draco.”“Nobody likes it, Golden Girl. That’s why they hired me to fix it.”"I need you to be careful." She ignored her coffee for the time being. “I need you to stay safe.”“I’m not going anywhere,’ he murmured, pulling her body close to his. “At least, not in a spiritual sense. I will have to go somewhere today.”“Oh?”“There’s a guy in Scotland. Knows more about the Dementors than anyone. Since they all disappeared after the war, it’ll be hard to figure out how the curse-maker has gotten their Kiss into his box. If I can find the Dementors, or even just understand them better, maybe I can figure out how they've instilled the Kiss into the curse."“Then maybe you can fix the box,” she finished. Moved her hand over his shoulder, down his arm. Sighed heavily. “Just be careful.”“Hermione,” he said, tone low, words only for her, “I told you before. I won’t do anything that puts you or our relationship at risk. That involves me staying alive.”Liar.Liar, as he kissed her, slowly, the way she liked. As he let her take over making breakfast, letting her teach him how to cook an omelette her way.
Liar, as he watched her dress, itching to touch her even more than he already had. Instincts begging him to grab her, keep her here, keep her safe. From them, from him.Liar, the word felt branded into his skin. Into his very being. Suddenly he felt he couldn’t look at her."How long do you think you'll be gone today?" she asked him as she was pulling on her shoes. He paused. Swallowed."Possibly overnight."“Well, you’ll be missing out.” He heard her inhale deeply. “I’m going out tonight.”Now he definitely could look at her.“You are?”“I’ve decided. The letters have stopped, the year is new. No more hiding.” He saw her swallow. “And I’m going to start doing more magic. Maybe think about getting a wand.”“That’s… big.”She nodded, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Pulled her into a hug, breathing her in.“Theo and Blaise will be with you,” he muttered, more to himself than her.“And Pansy. She's scarier than all of you combined."“You’ll be careful.”She rolled her eyes. “Of course, Malfoy. You know I will be. And you'll go, find the Dementors, and fix the box."He nodded.Liar.Draco met Leon at midday, apparating into Diagon Alley. He had barely been into wizarding London recently, and if he was honest, he hadn’t missed it. Even with the years that had passed since the war, he still got... looks. Now, though, he wasn’t sure if a person was glaring at him because of what he’d done during the war, or what he had done after. Considering who his father was, he would have thought they would have thanked Draco for what he had done.Draco and Leon didn’t bother with greetings. The wizard handed Draco the address, somewhere in the midlands. Nodded to a small key sitting on the table.
“I’ve done some reconnaissance,” he said, “but I figured you'd want to be there.”The portkey brought them to a cobbled street, narrow, surrounded by tall buildings on each side. It was raining, and Draco waved a quick repelling charm around them both. Following Leon to the front door of one of the smaller buildings, Draco rolled his shoulders when he felt the presence of magic.“It’s warded,” Draco said. Leon nodded.
Draco might have been impressed at the strength of Drigster’s wards, might have spent more time wondering how yet another talented mind could become so dark. It took him a fair amount of time to break the charm, trying not to trigger any alarms, trying to leave as little imprint as possible, opening the wards just enough for he and Leon to slip though. A quick alohomora to the lock had the door swinging open with a gentle push.Drigster’s flat wasn’t what Draco had been expecting. It was neat. Eerily so. No signs of life. No dishes on the side, charmed to wash themselves or waiting to be washed by hand. No mail on the coffee table, no food in the fridge. If Drigster did live here, he wasn’t coming back often.There was a single envelope, the kind dropped off by owl. That symbol on the front... He knew it. Would always know it.“Malfoy.”
He followed Leon’s voice, into what he first thought was a bedroom. The bed sat in the centre of the room, the placement of it seeming strange at first. Then Draco took a second look at the walls, and realised why.Most of them were Muggle photos, taken over the last few years. Draco could tell they were recent, from Granger’s face. His rage flared when he recognised an angle from the bookstore, looking onto the counter. Her place.There were older, wizarding photos, too. Strips torn from the Daily Prophet, interviews she haddone following the war. Cut out and stuck up. In chronological order, like he had been charting her life. If Draco spun in a circle, starting from the door, he could see the shift. From Brightest Witch of her Age, to war heroine, to bookseller.
“Malfoy, be careful.”He looked over at Leon, saw that the glasses of water on the bedside table were shaking. The electric lights in the ceiling were flickering. The air was sizzling. He rarely had such lack of control.“You don’t want him to know we’re here yet, right?” Draco nodded once, and Leon waved him over. “Come and look at this.”Leon was facing the wall, in the corner of the room furthest from the door. Draco supposed he should be somewhat flattered, that part of this lunatic's mind had fixated on him. Possibly even grateful, that some of his time was spent obsessing over him and not Granger. Draco's part of the room was small, cut-outs of war time news, wizarding photos of him being arrested. Still photos on him walking her home, before and after they had started dating.
“Her fucking birthday,” he muttered. She was frowning at him. He had just stolen a chip from her plate. That angle… “He was there.”“What?”“He was there, at the table. With us. Granger introduced him as a friend from university.’“She didn’t recognise him?”“She did, but not as the person she knew.”“Polyjuice potion?”“Must have been. I didn't sense a glamour."Draco couldn’t stand being in there any longer, seeing her life on display like that. She had been so careful, so desperate for privacy. And she had never had it, not for one second. Not from her best friends, nor from Drigster."This has to end today," Draco said.
"What do you want to do?"He hesitated, only for a second. If she ever found out... She would never forgive him. His lies were racking up day by day, the betrayal, the toxicity in his blood. One day soon she would touch him and she would know, that he was wrong for her.But she would be safe.Leon followed him back onto the street, Draco building the wards back up as they went. The plan was simple; wait for Drigster to come home. Ensure he never bothered Granger again.They were waiting for hours, well after the sun went down. Draco had told Granger he had had to travel for work, chasing information on dementors. When he’d told her, it had been true, but Draco knew how to delegate. He had sent Emily the Apprentice to do his dirty work whilst he sorted out Granger’s stalker problem.“Leon, can you conjure a patronus?”The wizard looked at him, frowning. “No. Why?”“Just wondering. It’s a rare skill, isn’t it?”Leon shrugged. “Not so rare as you’d think. If you practice enough.”Draco hummed in agreement. It was something he had been considering over the past few weeks, since Potter had told him that all of the guards assigned to the box could conjure one. Draco was the only one who couldn’t. The only one who could stand to be in the room with the box for more than five minutes. That eerie feeling of despair, of misery…
He'd never been kissed, had narrowly escaped it when the Dementors had been exiled after the war. But he had been told about it, threatened with it enough times. To relive your darkest moments, your greatest fears, whether real or imagined.
Whatever the curse maker had done, he had done it using Dementors. Draco had never heard of somebody instilling that feeling into a curse before, but he supposed with-“That’s him.”Draco snapped back to Lincoln, to his present. Drigster might have been an imposing man, Draco supposed, once. But now his clothes didn’t fit right - too baggy, too long - and his hair needed cutting. And washing. Draco couldn't see his face - it was the black of night, and the rain was making it hard to see anything, let alone smarmy gits. He blended in well.“It’s late,” Leon said. “Perhaps we should come back.”“If he’s as good as he thinks he is, he’ll know somebody has broken his wards. My fingerprint is all over them.”
Leon sighed. “Very well, then. I'll let you lead."As they headed into the building, a door slammed. Draco could feel magic being crafted, wielded. Could feel the wards changing, Drigster trying to stop them before they had even entered his flat.Draco didn’t wait.
His bombarda splintered the wood of the door. Having practised with the ward already, he practically waved it away. Draco felt like his magic was incinerating him from the inside out, ready to turn his blood to flame. Ready to avenge his witch.
The slicing hex hit inches from his face. He reeled, sent out a non-verbal stupefy. Flashes of colour filled the room, green and red. Draco heard the word crucio, heard the word avada.He had duelled before, of course. During school, after school. In his house, against his father’s guests. He’d practised against his aunt, trained with Snape. Most curses didn’t even require a verbal command from him anymore.
Drigster was almost as good. His hexes hit Draco’s shield charm right on target, sparks flying. Leon held back, ready to jump in if needed. He knew what Draco expected; he’d watched this very scene years prior, when it had been Lucius on the other end. It had been life or death for Draco then, the full knowledge that his father intended the Malfoy line to end with him, rather than his disappointing son.
Spinning away from a immobulus, Draco threw out an impedimenta, a jolt of satisfaction settling into him when Drigster reeled, almost hit. They both took a moment, stared each other out. Only for a second, Draco thought he had given up. Took a step back, feigning a surrender.Drigster’s incendio was waved away, countered by a sharp incarcerous. It worked, Drigster falling to the floor, bound. His head hit the tiled floor with a satisfying crack.For a moment, Draco stilled, ensuring his eyes were on Drigster’s. He was woefully underwhelming. This man who had kept Granger locked inside her flat for months. Stopped her living her life. Had prevented Draco from dating her properly, from showing her off. Had forced his lies to pile up and up and up, until they were all Draco saw when he looked at her.Drigster's face was gaunt, shrunken. Eyes shadowed. But other than that, he looked… normal. Draco might have even passed him in the street, never second-guessed it.
Leon levitated him, dropping him harshly into one of the dining chairs in the corner of the room.
“What now?”What now, indeed.
Draco had promised Granger he wouldn’t do anything she disapproved of. He swore he wouldn’t do anything that risked losing her. But this wizard in front of him was a risk. Every day he was left alive put Granger in greater danger. Draco couldn’t have that. He wouldn’t have that.She would know, certainly. There was nothing he could hide from her, especially since he had let her drag down his walls. She would know, probably the second she laid eyes on him, that he had done something she wouldn't approve of. This could change everything. He could lose her, for good.He stared silently for a moment, Drigster watching the floor. Draco's eyes flickered towards the bedroom.“Leon,” he called, “anyone else in the building?”“The flat downstairs is empty.”The firestorm charm came from his wand gently, at first. But as the pictures and papers set alight, his anger channeled through his wand, through the unicorn hair and into the flames. Draco waved a sealing charm around the room, moving to stand at the doorway. Turned to see Leon was moving Drigster so he could watch through the doorway.When he saw the flames, he sneered, his face becoming something sinister, something dark. Draco could see that face snarling down at Granger, causing her harm. Could hear her screams, feel her fear. Stalking over, he sent his own snarl down at the man who might hurt her.“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” he said, his voice a strange imitation of something. Draco could it quite place it, where he had heard that voice before.“I hoped you would.” Drigster’s own tone was full of hatred, of venom. Draco thought that if he heard it enough, his blood would turn black. “I wanted to ensure you knew.”“Knew what?”“That you don’t deserve her. That you never will.”Draco rolled his eyes. “And you do?”“I’m better for her than you. Than Weasley, than-”“A bloody Chimera is better for her than Weasley. Set the bar low, why don’t you?”“You’re a Death Eater!” He was screaming now, forcing Draco to hear him over the flames licking at the invisible screen at the doorway. “You’re a mangy, disgusting monster. You have dark magic in your blood.”“I do. It makes doing this much easier.”Snarling his fingers into Drigster’s hair, he forced the man's gaze to his own. At first they were narrowed, glaring. At Draco’s incessant stare, they turned wide, panicked.
"Legilimens."Draco dived into his mind like stepping into tar, slow and disgusting and awful. He had done this before, had crawled his way through pitch to drag out the truths he needed, the secrets and lies and pain. He had perfected it especially after the war, when he had been hunting for those he wanted dead. He had seen broken minds, thoughts like barbed wire, some files like an office building. Drigster’s mind was one of unorganised chaos, darkness unfurling from the corners.It centered around one person.Granger was everywhere. She was in the shadows behind his eyes, between the lines of everything he read, underneath every stone Draco turned. He had let her invade his very sense of self, since even before they had met. When he had been a few years younger at school, the table across from her in Great Hall, robes of blue. When finally she had seen him, his joy had been indescribable; she looked at him, she spoke to him. She liked him, called him a friend. She was all over him.Draco briefly wondered if his own mind looked anything like this.But no, he didn’t see her like this. In Drigster, she was hidden. Kept close, private, even more so in the years since she had left magic behind. Nobody else could have her, see her, know her. She was a dirty secret, a filthy obsession. She was his, his to own, hold, cover. Like a precious gem, like that ring Draco read about.Memories of her flitted past Draco’s eyes, Drigster’s increasing obsession. He saw it chronologically, Granger growing from the traumatised young woman to the glowing business-owner he knew now. Felt Drigster’s possessiveness growing. Felt his anger when a blond Death Eater showed up at Granger's birthday, fury when she blew Drigster off to talk to him.
Despondency when he noticed Draco was at the bookshop more, when Granger started being there less. She had never replied to his letters, but Drigster knew she loved him, knew she was just catering to this Malfoy, this lord-like wizard who was no good for her.
But then she starts disappearing. Wards are built around her flat. Every time he goes to the shop one of the Slytherins are there. He wants to tear them apart, wants to give them exactly what he thinks they deserve. Not here though, of course, not in front of her. She's seen too much already. He knows she wants to escape. He’s going to help her.Would have have helped her, tonight.Drigster is trying to keep that memory from him, the very last one. He’s been so focused on it that all the others have been thrown at Draco full-force. But he has clearly never practiced occlumency, for all his other talents. Draco kicks in his front door for the third time that night, strides into the memory with ease.He is watching her from across the bar, with her friends. He was hoping she would come out tonight, now that he had kept his head down, laid low for a while. Now that those snakes thought he was gone, they could try again. They could leave this place behind.
He knew she wouldn’t be able to come with him easily. He knew she would need help to leave. And he could hardly use magic in this Muggle pub.
Draco saw what he did. Pulled out of his mind so suddenly he knew he left Drigster reeling. Felt dizzy himself, the backs of his eyes engraved with Drigster's thoughts, his actions. He took a step back. Felt fury rising in him like he had never known, not even when he had stared his father down in much the same situation. Not even when Potter had threatened to sectumsempra him for the second time."You fucking cunt," he spat. "I'll kill you for what you've done to her.""She's mi-"He was sure he must have broken Drigster’s jaw with his punch. His own knuckles felt shattered. Especially after the fourth, the fifth. He would have carried on, but he had seen what Drigster had done. There was no time.Waving a stupefy, Draco pulled his phone from his inner pocket. He had placed it on silent earlier on, just in case. Idiot, idiot, idiot. Was going to ring her first, needing her voice, but the missed calls had him calling a snake instead.“Draco, finally."“Where is she?”Blaise paused, took a deep breath. “St Mungo’s.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hermione woke to a blinding white ceiling, alight with sun. Her head was ringing, her vision steeping in and out of blurriness. There was the strange feeling of unfamiliarity, the pillow under her cheek an unusual fabric, the sheet under her hand too scratchy as she pushed to sit up. Her stomach rolled, nausea washing through her as she moved. Had to blink away the sleep in her eyes, until the edges sharpened and she saw-She knew it was Malfoy, of course, but he didn’t look like the Malfoy she knew. Not even like the Malfoy she had seen at school. This Malfoy had shadows under his eyes, stark against his pale skin. His hair was messy, uncharacteristically so, his lips were dry. When he reached for a glass of water on the bedside table, she saw his knuckles caked in dried blood. Purple with bruises.“Malfoy, what-”“Drink this.”Obediently, she slipped at the water, eyeing him for a moment before that bell rang through her head again. Pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead, she groaned. Squeezed her eyes closed as if it would help.“What happened last night? Where am I?”“St Mungo’s.”Her head snapped up. “What?” His jaw tensed. “The last thing I remember… I went to the bathroom. I don’t…”"Drigster drugged you.” His voice was flat. His eyes even more so."What?" Hermione whispered. "I don't remember..."“Thought he could get you away without a fight. Theo noticed you looked off so, luckily, they went to take you home. That’s when you fell, hit your head. They didn’t know where else to take you.”"But I didn't leave my drink all night. I watched it the whole time..." Except that one moment. When she went to the bathroom, and left it on the sink so she could go into the stall. Slightly tipsy, comfortable. Safe.
Get a wand.
“Oh my god,” she gasped. “The others, are they-”“Everyone’s fine, Granger. Everyone except for you.”“And you.” She looked down pointedly at his hands. “What-”“Don’t worry about me,” he said, “can we focus on this?”Hermione swallowed heavily, moving so she was sat up against the pillows. Glanced around the room.“I never thought I’d be back here,” she mumbled.“I don’t think anyone hopes for it.”At the undertone of his voice, her gaze found him again. He was staring at the wall, body tense, ready to move. The chair he sat in must have been uncomfortable, but he was so still she could barely see him breathing. Reaching over, she took one of his hands in hers, splaying out his fingers so she could assess the damage.“You should episk-”“Granger,” he said, “stop. I don’t want to talk about me right now. I want to know what we’re going to do.”“What can we d-”“Don’t ask me that.” Rising suddenly, he let go of her hand to stalk across the room. “You know what you can do. You’re acting as if you can’t protect yourself.”“I can.”“Without magic?”“Magic wouldn’t have stopped me getting drugged, Malfoy.”“If you had have let me use magic to find him earlier, maybe it would have done. Or if I’d gotten there before…” He sighed, dropping to lean his hands on the window sill. “Something has to change, Granger. I can't protect you like this.”“What would you have me do?”“It’s not about what I want you to do!” He said. “I want you to remember who you are, the power you have. If you would just let yourself feel it, use it again, properly, you would see that. More than simple charms, I mean defence. Offence. Protection.”“Even if I do use magic, what could I do? Trace the letters to find him and then what?”“We’re past that, Granger,” he said quietly. His glance down at his knuckles had Hermione stilling.“Draco,” she said quietly, “what do you mean?”“Leon found him. His apartment. That’s where I went last night.”She let his words settle into her. Maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised, that he made the decision without her. That he didn’t tell her. He had spent his life doing so, by all accounts: protecting her, silently. Not letting her in on the decision, assuming she would pick the one he didn’t like.“You lied to me?”“If I’d told you what I was going to do, would you have let me do it?”“If you know I wouldn’t like it, why would you do it?”“To keep you safe!” He spun to face her, expression one of guarded desperation, a hint of anger. “Don’t you get it? I have to protect you, and he’s a liability. He’s been following you for years, Hermione. Since you left magic behind, since your parents died. This whole time.”Hermione was crying, she knew. The tears ran acidic rivers down her cheeks, stinging her skin, and when he noticed, she saw him wince. But he didn’t come closer.“What did you do, Malfoy?”“Not half as much as I had planned,” he said. “I saw what he’d done to you and left Leon to do the rest.”“Meaning?”“Meaning,” Malfoy glanced towards the door, “he won’t be a problem any more.”“Stop being cryptic! Tell me what you had Leon do.”He paused. “It was a contingency plan. I knew you’d never like it, but I…”“Is he dead?”“No.”Her breathing was coming faster, her head felt light. She closed her eyes. Felt the wash of sudden knowledge come over her, her stomach cramping again.
“You obliviated him.”“I had to.”“No, you didn’t have to!”“He was going to hurt you, Hermione! He would never have left you alone.”“There are other ways-”“You think I didn’t list all the other ways? You think I didn’t rattle through the ones you’d like, the ones you’d prefer, before I made my decision? None of them were enough.”“The risk-”“Is worth it,” he interrupted, “to keep you safe.”“It’s not!” She said. “You think it’s worth it at the time but it’s not! I told you that, didn’t you listen?”“I listened, Granger. It’s why I chose not to tell you. Had we not been here, like this, now, I…”“You wouldn’t have told me.” She opened her eyes, looked at him. His silence was the answer. Maybe it was good he didn’t say it; nausea was rising up from her stomach again. "If we weren't together, you wouldn't have told me. Just like school."“You can’t make the decision to protect yourself,” he said, “so I made it for you.”“And how would you know? You never gave me the chance!”“If you had put yourself first years ago, you never would have left. You chose this, and now we’re here.”“I didn’t choose this.”“You think he would have dared come near you if you were still working at the Ministry? If you still had your wand, still knew your hexes? If the bloody Chosen One and his ginger sidekick were still at your side, he'd have never touched you. You think that fucking specimen would have even thought of stealing you if you hadn’t stopped using magic?”“So this is my fault?”“No, I-” Malfoy brought a hand to his eyes now, covering them as if in pain, made a sound of frustration. “I don't mean that.""If he's been following me for years, this means he thinks he needs to save me.""He's not-"“If I’m right then the only reason Oliver thinks he has to kidnap me is because he wants to get me away from you. So if we’re placing blame, this never would have happened if you had just left me alone, like I asked you to."She regretted it as soon as she said it. There was only one man to blame for this, and it wasn’t Draco. But she saw that he heard it, registered it. Saw the way his shoulders straightened, his hand fisting as it fell to his side. She knew, then, that he had probably already thought about his role in this, was already placing the guilt on his shoulders, stacking it atop all the other things he had never forgiven himself for. And now, she had added to it, too.“Draco, I’m sor-"At that point, Theo came through the door, paused when he saw the two of them. Emerald eyes wide, he slowly took a step back out of the room.“I can come back-”“No,” Malfoy said, and Hermione found she couldn’t look away from him. “I have to go. Watch her.”“But-”“Leon hasn’t gotten back to me, so she might still be at risk.”“Stop talking about me as if I’m not here!” Hermione’s words were shrill, almost a cry, as she watched him move to leave. "Don't walk away from me in the middle of a fight."“You need to start thinking properly, Hermione,” he said as he moved towards the door, refusing to look at her.“If you can’t keep yourself safe, then I’ll have to do it for you. I don't need your permission."He left her, then, the door slamming closed with finality, Theo staring after him. After a moment, Hermione watched Theo place the two coffee cups on the table, and she brought her hands to cover her face. A sob broke through, the physical sound of her heart cracking, like glass. She heard Theo sigh, take Malfoy’s chair.“You know, he has a point.”“Don’t side with him!”“I have to, Granger, when he’s right. Unfortunately, that appears to be most of the time.” She opened her eyes to look at him. “He’s just trying to protect you.”“By lying to me?”Theo sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “Draco learned from a young age that truth was not a priority. Loyalty, power, safety. Those were - are his priorities. If he lies to you, it’s because he doesn’t know that he doesn’t have to.”“That makes no sense.”“You knew his father. You really think he was teaching Draco right from wrong?”“He knows,” she said, “he knew I’d hate it and he did it anyway.”“To keep you safe.”“I’m really starting to hate that excuse. He’s acting like I’m fragile.”“Well, when you won’t use magic…” She glared at him, and he held up his hands. “Anyway, shall we get out of here? Blaise is back at the flat with the girls but if we leave them any longer, Charlotte may genuinely kill him.”

Draco didn’t knock as he barged into Kingsley’s office. The two men sat across from the Minister stared in shock as Draco moved to stand in front of them, actively blocking any more of their conversation. No time for pleasantries.“I’m assuming you know what occurred last night?”The Minister looked up at him for a moment, gave a nod to the two men behind Draco.“I am aware that Hermione is in St Mungo’s,” he said as they left. Draco scoffed."Do you know why?""I can only guess it has something to do with Oliver.""He drugged her. Slipped some Muggle pill into her drink, so it would be easier to take her." From me."The Muggle poli-""No. No Muggle police."Kingsley sighed. "I suppose it's pointless. You and Leon are a dangerous pair. Oliver will hardly be a problem much longer."“He wouldn’t have been such a problem if you’d dealt with him earlier.”"Oliver Drigster was not like this when he worked here,” Kingsley said. “Slightly fixated, yes, but dependable. Loyal. One of our best, actually. You might have liked him.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Whatever happened between him leaving the Ministry and becoming… what he is now, is unknown to me.”"You mean you aren't stalking all of your ex- employees? Just the one?""Draco," Kingsley's tone was full to the brim with warning, authority.
"I saw a symbol in his flat, an invitation.""To?""The club.""Which one?" When Draco said nothing, Kingsley hummed. "The club.""If Drigster is in leagues with Death Eaters, then we have a problem.""Possibly."“Well, don’t you want to find out? Your Golden Girl is at risk.”“Not any longer. You've seen to Oliver, haven't you?"Just then, Draco’s phone started vibrating in his blazer pocket. He brought it out, saw Leon’s phone number flashing across the screen. Briefly wondered if the man had some seer tendencies, with his timing.“What?”“We have a problem.”Draco’s eyes caught the Minister’s as Leon's rushed explanation filled his head. He could feel his heart beat increasing, his blood simmering. The candle on Kingsley’s desk set alight slowly, earning a quizzical look from the man sat at said desk.
“Where are you?” Draco asked, when Leon was finished.“Home. Apparated straight here. Wife’s stitching me up and then I’ll be ready to-” Leon paused. Draco heard the sound of him being berated. “I have to go, it’s work.”“No,” Draco said. “I want you to rest.”“But-”“I’ll find Drigster,"
Draco told him. “I’ll deal with it. Get yourself to St Mungo’s and have your wounds dealt with.”He hung up, let himself sit in one of the chairs. Kingsley waited whilst Draco planned."Drigster escaped,” he said, slowly. “I had him in an incarcerous charm, but another wizard ambushed Leon after I left. It seems the cunt has a friend. They hit Leon with a few hexes, stunned him, and then bailed. Could be anywhere.”“So, no obliviate?”“No.”“Leon’s lucky. He might have done worse.”Draco hummed. Leon was lucky, sure. Granger was not.“How has he been hiding from you all this time?” he asked the Minister, who paused.“I don’t know.”"If he's getting invites to the club, that means he knows dark wizards. Not surprising, considering what we already knew about him. Could have been one of those who ambushed Leon."Groaning slightly, Draco let his head fall into his hands, elbows resting on his knees. Every time he thought he had succeeded, every time he thought she was safe... He kept failing her. Kept disappointing her. The look in her eyes, when she had thought he was blaming her. The pain in her voice, when she had found out he had lied.
He would do much worse to her, if she found out everything else. If she found out that he was here, sitting across from the Minister of Magic, talking about Hermione Granger as if they had the rights to her. She wouldn't be disappointed; she would be furious. Heartbroken. She would never forgive him.He had never planned for her to.Sighing, Draco dialled Blaise’s number, hoping the signal
this high in the Ministry would be just enough to get through.“Draco?”“Plan B,” Draco told him. There was a pause.“Draco, why don’t you just-”“Tell Granger to be careful. Keep your eye on her. I’ll call you when I know more.”“If you just-”Draco hung up. Stared at the Minister for a moment.“Got any Aurors spare?”

He wasn’t returning her calls.Not even a week later, when the anniversary came. Eventually, she stopped calling, assuming he wouldn’t answer. Assuming he was ghosting her the way he might have always planned to, if she couldn’t move on fast enough.Blaise had informed her that Drigster was still at large. Free, and unobliviated. Hermione had been trying to work out how she felt about that: guilt, at the feeling of revulsion that thinking of Oliver gave her; anger, that it had come to this. The slightest stain of hope, that maybe they could find another way to fix this, if only Malfoy would talk to her.Hermione sighed heavily, dropping her phone on the kitchen counter-top. Stared at it, his name plastered across her screen in harsh black letters. The red symbols of all her missed calls, the long list of them. Pathetically long, really. Perhaps he wished she would just get the hint.“Still nothing?”She turned her back to her phone, shaking her head at Kate. Reached over to switch the kettle on.“How are you feeling?”“Fine,” she answered. Felt like screaming, Fine, other than that my boyfriend won’t return my calls, my stalker drugged me, and I don’t have-She inhaled deeply, realised she had been clutching the tea bag so tightly it had ripped. Kate came to stand beside her, just as she realised she was crying.“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, “I don’t feel… I just want to know what he’s thinking. What he’s doing. I don’t want him to think that I meant what I said.”“I’m sure he doesn’t. You know he didn’t mean what he said.”“Right.”Hermione hadn’t been detailed in her relay of their fight, couldn’t be. But Kate knew that both Hermione and Malfoy had been sharp with their comments. Just like the last time Oliver had come between them, when he had first found out about the letters. When Malfoy had been so worried for her safety that it had over-shadowed his care of her feelings.“Maybe he’s just busy with work.”“Possibly.” Hermione shook her head. “I don’t know.”For a moment, they just sat, side by side. The way they used to do nearer the end of summers, when Hermione would be hyper-focused on returning to Hogwarts. When Kate would know that something was wrong, but never asked exactly what it was.When Hermione's parents had died, she hadn't been able to tell Kate the truth. Hadn't been able to give anyone the truth. A car accident had seemed the easiest option, the easiest lie. Hermione wondered if Kate knew that it was a lie: she always had seen straight through Hermione.“Do you remember year six?” Kate asked her quietly, “the one and only time our parents shouted at us?”Hermione smiled slightly. “That was your fault.”“Was not! You’re the one who filled the water balloons.”“You’re the one who threw the water balloons.”“Well,” Kate sniffed, “Peter Hake deserved it. Your mum was so mad.”“I don’t think I ever saw her that angry again.”Not even after Hermione had restored her memory. Not even when Jean Granger had screamed at her after Hermione had brought both her parents back from Australia, because that had been in desperation and sadness and confusion. Rather than disappointment.“Have you been to see them?”“I’m going today.”“Would you like company?”Hermione hesitated, then shook her head. She always did this alone, her personal pilgrimage.“Well, you know where I am.” Kate paused. “Malfoy will come back.”“I don’t know, Kate. I hate that I’m so…” Dependent, she thought. Couldn’t say it.“Everything will sort itself out, Hermione,” Kate sighed, reaching over to pull her into a hug. “I promise.”
Get a wand.

Hermione arrived in York early afternoon. She had no plans to stay overnight like she had with Draco; that time was theirs. And without him here…Not that she wanted him him to see her how she usually was when she visited this time of year. She hadn’t been since November, when she and Draco had stayed overnight in the city. But this was different.It had taken her a few days to realise. The revelation had come silently, gently, as she sat on the sofa with Charlotte, eating spaghetti. As the fleeting thought of her father crossed her mind and then dissipated, as gentle as snow. No sharp, icy pain, or heavy, heart-breaking guilt. Only a tinge of grief, like the prick of a needle, fast and almost unnoticeable. Almost. Still there, but smaller.For seven years, she had felt the pressure of her parents’ absence. The guilt had weighed on her, pressed upon her until she had flattened, until she felt shattered, until her entire self was unrecognisable. Unending, unyielding grief, so extreme that at times Hermione had been sure she wouldn’t survive it. Sure that one day, she would slip wholly into her sadness, fading away like the last ray of sun at dusk. Once blinding, once golden, now dull. Now dark.And she had accepted that fact, that she would, in the end, dissipate into oblivion. That her pain was insignificant compared to the pain she had caused, that she deserved to carry the weight of what had happened. Because it had been her fault.That stain still covered her. Still spread across her heart as if the words were branded into her: could have done this, should have done this, failed, failed, failed. Before, it had felt that the pain was in her lungs, that every time she breathed or spoke it spilled out of her, that everything she did spread despair and destruction.But then. As she had curled her fork around her plate, twining the pasta around the prongs the way her father had taught her, she had realised.
It’s quiet.
She hadn’t had time to think much on it, that statement that had drifted through her brain. It was alongside the confusion and worry that came with being on the edge of complete hysteria over Oliver, and the sadness at what her relationship with Malfoy was slowly breaking into. But it was there, in the back, that thought.And even as she stepped carefully through sodden mud, each step squelching uncomfortably, she tried to remember the feeling of visiting her parents before. The way she had crumbled as she had gotten closer, as if she was pushing a floodgate open by hand until the current was too strong and she fell through, drowning. She tried to think of all the things she had told them, words crackling through sobs, the way it her visits had alway ended with broken apologies, cries for forgiveness, please please please. How loud her grief had been then, how sharp and awful and uncontrollable.Then.Now.Now, she kneeled slowly, rather then fell, able to grimace at the cold, wet feel of the mud on the knees of her jeans. She could reach forward to brush the stray dirt from her father’s headstone, instead of collapsing onto the cold marble of her mother’s. Briefly wish she had a wand so she could transfigure some flowers. Now, she could breath in the chill, glance around to see if anyone else was visiting.Now, she could tell them.Little things, that maybe she might have missed before, so distracted by the noise of her guilt. Little things, like how she had finally mastered a lasagne recipe, or how she had caught Kate staring at Blaise just a second too long at the New Years Eve party. Little things, like how her favourite new release was selling out and how her father would have loved reading Charlotte’s latest piece on tax cuts.Her life. Her actual life, the one she had been living without bringing here, keeping her grief and guilt and loss separate from herself, as if they weren’t part of her. Still there, but calm.It’s quiet.Hermione hadn’t realised she had been doing it; growing around the grief. Accepting it, taking it as part of her. Knowing that, whilst the loss would never shrink, she would build her body and self around it. Think about her parents without shame, without remorse, without anger. Think about the light.So that, as she stood, there were no apologies. There was no begging for absolution, no desperation. As she walked away, she didn’t feel as if she was leaving her body behind, her mind and soul buried with her parents.There was a level of freedom that came with acceptance. The feeling that she was finally alive, after everything. That she could make decisions, step out of the limbo she had been living in. That she could feel things, without shame. Use the power that had been sitting inside her, waiting.It’s quiet.

Hermione noticed him as she left the cemetery. Against the grey background, he was stunning, pale and shining, an entity she shouldn’t be allowed to look at, shrouded by the darkness of his suit. Malfoy wasn’t an angel, by any means. But he could certainly pose as one.Neither spoke at first, even after Hermione had come to a stop. Despite the rift between them, there was still that sense of calm, like the surface of an untouched lake. Hermione wondered when the pebble would ripple over that surface, when the stillness would crash around them. She hoped it wasn’t right there, this moment; the energy to be angry wasn’t in her.“How did you find me?” she asked him.“Went by the flat. Kate told me, eventually.”His voice was unlike she had heard it, even when they were children. Detached, monotonous. Clipped. As if he was holding back, trying to stop himself from dropping words all over her.“Eventually?”“She had some choice things to say, first. Reminders, curses, all that.”“Right.”“I-” He stopped. Shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, not before she noticed that they were shaking. “I’m sorry I’ve been absent.”Hermione stayed silent, unsure what she should say. There was nothing to say, she thought, at least not from her. Or maybe she just didn’t know how to say… anything. Now that she could speak, there were too many things.“It’s not… you,” he said, and then exhaled loudly. “I mean, it’s not because of what happened. To you.”Then what is it? she wanted to ask. Couldn’t.“There are things we need to talk about,” he explained, “things I’ve been meaning to tell you. I don’t know…”Hermione wasn’t sure she had ever seen Draco Malfoy uncertain like this before. Like he wasn’t sure what to say, or what he wanted, or what he should do. Like he couldn’t look at her, or even anywhere near her, those silver eyes glancing around them. She wondered what she would see if he did look at her.“I think we could both do with some space. We both said some things that… I didn’t mean what I said. At Mungo’s. But it doesn’t mean that I can sit there and watch you ignore this. Ignore what happened. I have to-” He cut himself off again, muttering a curse under his breath. Rubbed a hand over his face, took a step back.And finally she could speak.“Draco.”At his name, he looked at her, eyes wide. Dull. Even across the distance she could see it; his walls, rebuilt, stronger. Able to withstand her, now. For the sharpest moment, she wondered when that had happened, when he had decided that he was no longer open to her. Wondered what was being kept from her, hidden, what shadows he didn’t want her to see.“If you want to end this, just tell me.”He blinked, and for a moment she thought he wavered. Just for a moment.“No,” he said, but didn’t take a step closer, “I don’t want that. Do you want that?”“No. I’ve been-” She swallowed, took a deep breath. “I’ve been completely honest with you. About everything. And I know the sacrifices you’ve made, to keep me safe.”He looked away.“And I can do and say what I need to," she continued, "to stop you pushing me away. I said I was in this and I am. But I- I can feel you pulling. Like you’re not being completely honest with me.”Now, he said nothing. Stared at the horizon, expression neutral. Perhaps that hurt the most, the lack of a reaction, the lack of a fight. So unlike him. So cold and separate from the Draco she knew.“If either one of us is leaving, it’s you,” she said, “and I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know how to stop this. I wish I did, but… Maybe you’re right. Maybe we just need some… space.”Again, she was crying. Hadn't meant to, hadn't wanted to, but was. Hoped that her tears were the reason he couldn’t look at her, and not because he didn’t care to.But after a moment, he simply cleared his throat. Glanced in her direction.“Theo and Blaise will still be with you,” he said, “until Drigster is dealt with.” There was a pause, one that felt larger, significant. So much so that Hermione knew she would remember this moment for the rest of her life, the tip of the scales. The dive off the edge.And when he looked at her, really looked at her this time, she knew he would remember it, too. Knew that somewhere, behind those walls, her Draco was in there. Keeping himself locked away for reasons she didn’t know. Three words, to tear her apart, to shatter her.“Forgive me, Hermione.”And when he disapparated,
he left that hole. One that had Hermione reeling, stepping back as if even the ghost of his presence was too heavy. Letting out a small sound of pain, large enough to replace the one she had just let go of. Hermione knew she would analyse this moment, commit it to memory, run autopsies and check star signs to try to find out why this happened. To try to make sense of the unique way he broke her heart as he left her, left her with no explanation or reasons or feeling.And when the air left her lungs, it did so broken, rattling in her chest as if her very being was breaking down. She thought she might cough up her heart, her soul. Found that she had to lean against her car because her body was failing her. It felt like losing, it felt like breaking, it felt like dying.But her eyes fell on the space he had once stood. Moved past, to the silhouette of her parents’ resting place. And suddenly the taste of Charlotte’s spaghetti was in her mouth, now associated with the feeling of hope. Brief, fleeting, almost unnoticeable. Quiet.Hermione straightened, gave herself one more moment to watch where he had stood. Just in case he changed his mind. Just in case he wanted to come back to explain why he was taking from her what had felt like a birthright, what had felt like hers.But Draco didn’t come.
Forgive me, Hermione.
Her mother had always told her not to dwell. To move past what you cannot change. Hermione had finally come up for air, seven years drowning. She wouldn’t go back under.Never.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“I’ll kill him. Give me his address.”Hermione sighed, pulling her feet onto the sofa. She was curled up in the corner, trying desperately not to look at the pitiful faces of her best friends. Perhaps the second glass of wine wasn't as helpful as she had thought it would be.The journey home from York had been sheltered under a blurry grey of fog. Hermione had been thankful for it; driving whilst sobbing was hardly safe. That state of shock hadn't even dissipated when she had finally gotten home; eerily calm, she had made herself dinner, watched an episode of some show she couldn’t remember the name of, and crawled into bed. It hadn’t been until she had woken hours later, shafts of moonlight breaking through her curtains, the fading scent of him on her sheets, that she had realised what had happened.
Realised, and felt that shard pressing into her chest. Not quite grief, but certainly a shade mourning. The pressure of pain, present and real, reminding her that she had lost something. That something had been stolen from her, with no explanation, no reasoning. Hermione had never had a break-up like this before; with Ron, it had been mutual, and anyone after had been hardly worth crying about. But Malfoy wasn't like the others.The day had passed in a slow blur, the strange feeling that time wasn't like it was just a week prior, when everything had been the way it was supposed to be. Waves of confusion kept lapping over her, oceans of sadness, tinged with the salt-spray of anger. It hadn’t helped that the bookstore had been fairly quiet all day. Theo had come to sit with her, and neither of them had mentioned Malfoy. Neither had mentioned much of anything: Theo was less chatty than usual. Hermione wondered if he no longer wanted to protect her, now that she wasn’t his best friend’s girlfriend.And as if that wasn’t enough, she hadn’t been able to stop looking over her shoulder. Wondering if that second would be the one where Oliver finally showed himself. A part of her wanted it, needed something to do, was desperate to end it herself so she could watch as the tumour that had grown between her and Draco was cut out at the root.
Now, it was evening, and she had told Kate and Charlotte what had happened in York, hating that the more she spoke, the more concrete it became. Hating that Malfoy was the bad person in this, despite all the good in him.
“I knew he didn’t take me seriously when I warned him back in September,” Charlotte continued. “I’ll have to be clearer this time.”“Nobody’s killing anybody,” Hermione said. “I just want to... forget it.”“He just walked away?” Kate said, incredulously, “No explanation, nothing?”“Imagine driving three hours just to stand there and say nothing,” Charlotte scoffed, “It’s not enough to be a twat in London, he has to drive up the M1 to do it, as well?”
Hermione buried her face in a hand, the sudden reminder that her friends still didn’t - couldn’t - know her, enough to send her over the edge. The tears came easily now, salt water running rivers down to her lips. The urge to break the Statute had never been so strong; even when her parents had died, it had been a sort of relief that her friends didn't know the truth. Like stepping away from reality.But now, she couldn't tell them that Oliver could simply apparate into her life. She couldn't tell them the fear that Malfoy was out there, somewhere, using killing curses and getting himself chucked into Azkaban. Or possibly obliviating, and breaking her heart either way. She couldn't tell them the three words that were tracing across her brain, over and over, every five minutes since she had woken up in St Mungo's, the hospital they couldn't know existed.Get a wand.She felt Kate’s arm curling around her shoulder.“Hermione,” her friend sighed, pulling her in for a hug. “I’m so sorry you’re hurting. What can we do?”“We can kill him,” Charlotte offered again, “slowly. I have plans.”“No, I don’t-” Hermione let out a noise of frustration, ripping her hands from her face. “I know something is wrong. I know he’s hurting, and he won’t let me help.”“Then he’s a stupid boy who doesn’t deserve you. You’re the one hurting.”“Or,” Kate said, pointedly, “he just doesn’t know how to tell you what he needs to say.”“I can’t tell him how to do that,” Hermione argued, “I can’t teach him this. I know he struggles, his dad-” Cutting herself off, she sighed, “I thought he could tell me things. I thought he was telling me things. But now, he won’t even tell me why he doesn’t want to be with me, and we’re stuck in this… fog. In York, it was like he barely knew me. Or knew me, and didn’t care. Like… back at school.”Back at school, when he had been desperately working to protect her. When he had risked his own happiness and safety to ensure hers, never looking at her in case somebody saw through him. In case she saw through him.
Suddenly, Hermione was reminded of a time in sixth year, when they had been paired up for potions. Remembered the way he didn’t even seem able to sneer at her directly, instead levelling his glare with her hands, or a point just over her shoulder. When they had both reached for the same stirring spoon, and he had flinched, pulling back to scratch at his cheek instead. Movements harsh, angry, clearly finding her presence hard to bear. At the time, she had thought it was because of the obvious rift between them; his darkness and her light, so different. Two sides, forced into close proximity, so that they threatened to burn the school down with their hatred for each other. She had thought, of course, that the idea of touching her, of even being near her, was so disgusting to him that he could barely look at her, as if her entire existence was a stain in his world.And then, York. When he had so clearly avoided looking at her, meeting her gaze, being anywhere near her. Occluding, to keep her out of him, to keep her separate.“He’s hiding something,” she said, quietly, “Something he doesn’t want me to know.”“Why would he do that?”“Because he thinks it’s the right thing to do?” Hermione suggested. “I don’t know.”“Maybe I should play stalker,” Charlotte said, leaning forward to fill Hermione’s wine glass. “Find out what he’s doing.”Hermione shook her head. “I want him to tell me. I shouldn’t have to chase him around London to work him out.” She reached for her glass, taking a big gulp. “I’ve told him everything. It’s his turn.”

Potter was looking at him with an expression akin to the one McGonagall had once laid on him. More than once. The confused pity in the eyes, the slight crease between the brows, the down turned corners of the mouth. It made Draco sick.
“Something’s wrong,” he said. Draco sighed.“Obviously, something’s wrong,” he argued, glancing pointedly around the room, “A bloody Hurricane stormed through your office and you haven’t seemed to notice. Been to the opticians lately?”“Don’t be snarky, Malfoy. It’s not becoming.”Draco rolled his eyes. “That’s a straight-up lie.”“It’s Mione, isn’t it?”
With a heavy sigh, Draco turned away, instead looking down to focus on the file in his lap. One of hundreds. All the information he had given Potter when he had been hunting, using his name to crawl through the darkest shadows of the underground movement left in Voldemort’s wake. Pretending that he still harboured that awful hate, loyalty to the cause. Looking for his father, and using Harry Potter as protection, for when he inevitably made himself the Malfoy patriarch.
It had been easy to be a spy. Easy to look into the eyes of his father’s lifelong friends and lie. It had been easy to finally tell his mother what he had been doing, what he had planned, knowing that he would most likely be shipped off to Azkaban. It had been remarkably simple to do it all in the name of a witch he would never have, a witch who could never even know. It had even been easy to lie to her face, call it protection.It hadn’t been easy to leave her.“I know that symbol,” he said aloud, tapping his index finger on the small, square card he had in front of him, “Its a calling card.”“For who?”“Some Death Eater or another. Before fourth year, when it wasn’t certain he would return, they would share cards like these to identify themselves. Sort of like a code.”Potter frowned. “Oliver can’t be a Death Eater. He’s obsessed with Hermione Granger, the most famous Muggle-born there is.”Draco almost laughed. Almost. Maybe it was a a rite of passage, for dark wizards their age. Becoming obsessed with somebody you could never have. Theo, Blaise, Drigster. Draco Malfoy.Or, more likely, it was just her. The light she emanated, even on her darkest days, breaking through the shadows that surrounded him. Until he made her cry, until he knew he was hurting her, and the only way to keep her safe was remove himself from her life.
“The meaning changed, when Voldemort was resurrected. Nobody needed to hide any more. Instead of being a message, they become invites.”“To?”“The club.”Potter sighed. “That fucking club. Think it’s still going?”“Of course it’s still going. You think a few dead Death Eaters matter to the rest?”“I thought the lack of a victory might have meant something, in the end.”“Then you're even more naive than I thought,” Draco snarled, “That hate will never dissipate, the war will never end. There will always be someone else willing to do what it takes to get what they want. Another Voldemort.” Looking away, he studied the card carefully. “I have to get back inside.”“You’ve been away so long. Your reputation will have faded. They probably also know you worked for the Ministry at one point.”Now Draco did scoff. “Hardly matters. How many Ministry employees were working there when I first spied for you? Seventy?”“At least,” he muttered. “They’ll wonder where you’ve been.”“I’ll make up some excuse. My name will do the rest.”
Potter sighed. “We’ll need perm-”The door opened, despite the sign begging privacy, and the Weasel strode in, brows drawn low in a frown. Draco rolled his eyes, closing the file with a snap. Propped his ankle on a knee, waiting.
“What’s going on? Kingsley said you needed me.”“About two hours ago,” Draco said. The ginger glared at him.“I was on a job. Remember that box we’re supposed to be fixing? I was chasing a lead." His brown eyes eyed Draco. "Must be nice, having one thing to do, being shit at it, and still getting paid.”“Remind me, Potter, how much am I getting paid?” Draco asked. “Oh, right. Nothing. And I’m still here.”“Here, and doing fuck all.”“Ron,” Potter interrupted, tone strong, “Mione got hurt.”“What?”Draco had to give the Weasel some credit. If there was ever another that had been even half as protective of Granger as he had been, it was the youngest Weasley boy. Perhaps that was the reason they could never get along, aside from the man's innate ability to push Draco to the wrong end of fury. They both wanted her safe, happy; they both knew the other was the antithesis to that.For a while at school, Draco had tried to back off. During sixth year, when that undercurrent of sadness had been trailing through them all, like a plague. He had tried to remind himself, constantly, that if he couldn't distract Granger from the troubles, than he could at least be thankful for the boy who could. The one who made her laugh gently over breakfast, who was so shit at charms that tutoring him was a must, who gave her something to think about that wasn't the impending danger.He had tried. But Merlin's tits, the ginger prick was so annoying.
“How?” the Weasel asked.
In his head, Draco listed the hows; drugged, almost kidnapped, stranded in York by the one person who told her he would never leave her. Briefly, he wondered what Ronald Weasley would try if Draco told him he had broken her heart, left her crying outside her parents’ cemetery. Draco wondered if he would even bother to put a protego over himself.“Why didn’t you tell me?” Weasley was asking, after Potter had caught him up. “I could have helped.”“How, exactly?” Draco asked, only slightly curious.“I can’t have done a worse job than you, getting her put in Mungo’s when you should have been protecting her.”When Draco didn’t argue, Weasley sent him a look, partly of confusion. Draco stared out the window.
“Malfoy recognised a symbol in Oliver’s flat,” Potter said quietly, “from the club.”“The club? The one your fathe-”“Yes, that one,” Draco interjected tiredly, “if you don’t mind, Potter, I’d really like to get started. The Minister’s upstairs, and we need his seal of approval.”“Right. But… The box.”“Fuck the box.”“Malf-”Standing, Draco pushed out of Potter’s office, heading straight for the elevator. The Chosen One made it just in time before the doors closed, Draco not bothering to hold them open for the ginger.“You know,” Potter said slowly, “you should really see someone about your self-destructive tendencies.”“Don’t psycho-analyse me, Potter.”“I don’t think this is going to end well for you.”“I don’t care,” Draco blurted out, then sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”“It would matter to her.”Not anymore, he thought. Then wondered if that was true, if she had brought herself home and forgotten him already. Or if she was still standing there, where he had disappointed her. Draco certainly felt like he had left a part of himself there, like he was on autopilot, hyper-focused and unable to be truly present.
For a moment, he let his occlumency waver, just enough for that sharp knife of guilt to pierce him, enough to remind him of why he had left her. What he needed to do, and how hard it would have been if he had known she was waiting on him. Perhaps, if he got out of this without being imprisoned, he would try to write her another list. Tell her the truth, give her the reasoning she so deserved.
But apologies and explanations would have to wait, no matter how important. Her safety took precedence, over everything. Over joy, over truth. Over love.
Yet again, Draco was able to storm past the wards that should have kept him out. It seemed the Minister of Magic now expected his random, angered visits. This time, Kingsley was alone when Malfoy dumped the form on his desk, his sloping signature already defacing the bottom of the page. Signing his life away was as simple as breathing.For a moment, he and Potter waited whilst Kingsley read the report, the action plan. Then, he sighed.“Are you sure you want to do this again, Draco?” he asked. “There are others who could go in your place.”“No.”“I must say, I have concerns. The last time you were undercover, it took three lawyers, Harry Potter's resignation threats, and two mistrials to get you out of an Azkaban sentence.”“Don’t forget the three months of Ministry hell I put up with.”“The three months that was supposed to be a year long contract, at least,” Potter pointed out. “You got off lightly.”“I rid the wizarding world of two raging lunatics. You’re welcome.”“We’re not going to have this discussion again in a month's time, are we?” Kingsley raised an eyebrow in his direction. Draco shrugged.“Depends.”“I want Oliver alive.”“Why?”“Have we forgotten the box is forcing innocent witches and wizards to target Muggle-borns?” the Minister reminded them. “If Oliver is attending the club, he might have information.”“What makes you say that?” Potter asked, missing link, as per usual.Draco sighed. “Death Eaters are chatty, always have been. If Drigster has been visiting the club enough to get a Death Eater as his personal body guard, then he has to know something. The man who ambushed Leon at his flat was wearing a mask. They're protecting him.""How can Oliver be in league with Death Eaters? He must know what they would do to Hermione if they got their hands on her. Or what she would do if she found out.""You'd have to ask him that," Draco muttered.“Exactly. So I want him alive,” Kingsley said again, “Not least because it will save me a lot of time and money keeping you out of prison.”“Fine,” Draco said. There was a pause. “Fine.”“Good.” Kingsley signed underneath Draco’s name. “I assume you’re leaving Ronald in charge of the box whilst you’re gone?”“Have to,” Draco muttered, “Potter will have to come with me.”“I will?”“I’ll need a Ministry employee to monitor me,” Draco reminded him, “seeing as how I’m a child who can’t monitor himself.”“Seeing as how you’re an ex-Death Eater attending an illegal dark wizards' club,” Kingsley correct, “and have been known to use the killing curse. Post-war.”“Fine,” Draco repeated. “Emily can assist the Weasel. She’s been helping compile my notes as I’ve worked.” When he glanced at Potter, the Auror was wincing.“She and Ron don’t really get on.”“Who exactly does like the ginger twat?” Draco asked. “His mother?”“Actually-”“Is Hermione aware of the plan?” Kingsley interrupted, eyeing Draco.“No.”“Perhaps-”“She won’t become aware,” Draco said, standing.“But it’s for her,” Potter said. “She would want to know.”“No, Potter,” Draco said. “I have people watching out for her. They’ll inform me if they hear or see anything of Drigster. Other than that, she’s to be left alone. Like she wanted.”After a moment, Potter nodded. It wasn’t until they had left Kingsley’s office, until the weight of their situation was sitting between them, that he spoke again.“I assume that the reason you’re in even worse of a mood than usual is to do with Mione,” he said, “and I’m not going to ask for details. But just remember what I said, before.”“You say a lot of things. I hardly listen.”“Above all, Mione values honesty. Even if it hurts.”When the elevator came, Draco let Potter get inside alone. Let the doors close, just so he could have a minute. A minute to collect himself, to glare at the sconce to the side of him until the flame of it flared, then spluttered out.
A minute, to force himself to remember her expression, the blatant heartbreak that had spread across her face. She never had been good at hiding her emotions; it was part of what had first drawn him to her. Her open nature, her honesty. Even when she had been uncertain of what their future together held, even when she had been unsure of his present in her life, she had allowed him to see her. Hermione Granger had given him everything she had, and in return, he had done what he had promised he wouldn't; locked her out. Built up his walls and fortified them, avoided looking at her, knowing he would shatter under her gravity.
He had let himself glance at her, just once. Long enough to engrain it into his memory, as penance. Long enough that he would remember what he had done to her, moving his gaze away before she could tear his walls down. If he had looked at her much longer, perhaps even half a second more, he would have second-guessed what he needed to do, found ways to keep her in his life and keep her safe at the same time.
But he had never deserved her. The past four months had been a glitch in the universe, a breaking down of what should be real. In the end, this is what he would have; the memory of her, bright and painful.
A minute was what he gave himself, to wish things were different. Then he straightened, called the elevator.Got to work.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Time passed. Days turned to weeks, and the end of January came with a frosty chill.
For Hermione it felt much longer, as though time had slowed. As if she was crawling through quicksand, becoming engulfed, trapped. She refused to allow a break-up to be her undoing, and so she had gone back to work. Not one of the snakes had mentioned Malfoy when they had come to watch over her, but still, they were there. Hermione was thankful for it.
Oliver hadn't contacted her - she was started to believe that maybe he had finally gotten the message. No letters, no feeling as if she was being watched. It had been almost a month since he had drugged her, since Malfoy had, by all accounts, broken into his flat with the plan to obliviate all memory of her. Hermione wasn't sure of the details, but she knew that Leon had gotten hurt. She knew that Malfoy had resorted to other means.
What that meant, nobody could tell her. And the silence, the mystery; it was becoming frustrating. Hermione had never been one to let others fix her problems and yet, she was doing exactly that. Her mother would have frowned, her father would have shaken his head in disappointment. And still, those three words:Get a wand.It was a Tuesday morning that she decided something had to change. Decided, with a pointed snap of her file closing, loud enough to have Theo straightening from Malfoy's chair in the corner. He gave her a confused frown, Hermione's deep inhale the only sound in the room, her eyes closing at the scent of orange that had become so intertwined with him.Enough of this.
She was a witch. A damned good one. Time to act like it.“You’re serious?” Theo asked, after she had voiced her thoughts.“Yes.” She nodded, her hands behind her back so he wouldn’t see them shaking. “Yes, I’m serious. Will you help?”"Maybe I could go and collect it for you," he offered. "The Ministry's not really-""I want to go. I have to do this, myself." She gnawed at her lower lip with her teeth, not letting the shred of doubt that still clung get its claws in her. "It's... about closure. Responsibility. I just... don't think I can do it alone.She didn't tell him what she was really needing; a man with platinum hair and silver eyes, who would probably smirk at her, say something snarky along the lines of, about time, Granger. She couldn't have him: the last time she had seen him, that man had been distinctly absent. Whatever Malfoy was doing, wherever he was, whoever was there with him... He wasn't here.
And she shouldn't need someone so desperately. So acutely that everything else stopped until his return. It wasn't her.
"I need my wand," she said, speaking it into the space before her as if saying it meant she never had to go back on it. As if words were concrete.Theo sighed heavily, nodded once.They walked to the apparition point in silence. Hermione wasn't sure how to define how she was feeling; as if she could unravel at the slightest inconvenience but, simultaneously, slightly closer to herself. As if the choice was enough, saying it was enough, and the rest was just noise. An impending sense of something, just in front of her, past all the fear and shakiness.The Ministry was exactly as she remembered it. Strange, that in all her years of being away, this place hadn’t changed at all. Whilst she stayed rooted in grief and loss, this building had been here, a tear in time, ignoring all that happened outside of it. Here, she hadn't made all those mistakes, hadn't torn her family apart. Left herself behind.The queue for reception was long, as it always was. But if she was going to do this, she would have to remind herself - and others - of just who she was. Hermione Granger did not wait. Setting her shoulders, she strode up to the counter.“Hermione Granger, to see Harry Potter. Please.”The receptionist looked up at her, eyes wide. His mouth opened, once. Closed. Opened again.“Hurry up, mate,” Theo said, “The Golden Girl doesn’t have all day.”“Mr Potter is… well, he’s busy, but…”"He'll make an exception," Hermione told him, hoping only she heard the quiver in her voice. What if Harry had thrown it away; worse, what if he'd never kept it in the first place? What if he didn't want to see her?The boy swallowed. “He did say to never turn you away so…”Hermione nodded when he motioned to the elevator. Stepping inside, she tried to ignore the slight dizziness that was coursing through her, the feeling that she was going to pass out. Tried to instil some Malfoy-esque control into herself, settle her breathing. Hide her panic.“Deep breaths,” Theo murmured from beside her, as if reading her thoughts. “We’ll be in and out. Hopefully.”As the elevator brought her to the right floor, as she stepped out into the maze of offices, as she saw a flash of red hair from across the room, she felt far away. She felt like she was dissociating, like she was watching from above. Like this was a dream and she was only watching.She remembered where Harry’s office was, walked over to it slowly, almost mechanically. A young girl sat at a desk nearby gave her a funny look.“He’s in a meeting,” she told Hermione. “Said not to be disturbed.”Hermione knocked. Knocked again. Tried the handle. Heard the girl tut.“Told you.”Hermione clenched her jaw, fought the urge to glare. This time, she knocked and knocked and knocked. Finally the door flew open.“What part of- Hermione?”Harry had aged, was her first thought. He no longer had that innocent, boyish quality. Now a man, feint smile lines around his mouth, depth to his emerald eyes. He was looking at her in shock, his mouth slightly agape.
“Hi,” she said quietly, “I… uh-”“What are you doing here?” he asked, pulling the door slightly more closed. Hermione frowned.“I just-”“Can you come back later? I've got-”“I'm just here for my wand, Harry.”“Right, I’ll get it for you, if you just wait there?”Hermione scoffed, pushing past him and into his office. As always, her gaze found what she always seemed to be looking for, even sub-consciously. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, for her brain to process what she was seeing. But her heart felt it instantly, felt the vision rip through her.Malfoy stood to the side of the door, leaning against the wall. Ankles interlocked, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were on her, blank, not cold but still lacking the warmth she had come to know when he usually looked at her. Not the man she had laid with, laughed with. Not the man she had given everything, told everything. This was more like a taller version of the boy she had schooled with; distant and separate. Aloof and almost cruel in his silence.They stared each other down for a moment. Hermione felt weight pressing down her, thought she might cry.
Do not cry for him. Charlotte’s voice through her mind, strong and powerful.She was Hermione Granger. She did not let stupid boys make her cry.“Harry,” she said, proud when her voice didn’t break, “my wand, please.”“Perhaps I sho-”“Harry,” she repeated, eyes still locked on his.“But-”“Would you just get me my bloody wand?” she asked him suddenly, finally looking away from Malfoy to face Harry. Her old friend was staring at her, unsure. When they met gazes, he nodded, stepping over to his desk. As he lifted the long box out of a drawer, Hermione felt her magic singing. Felt herself reaching out for it even before she could hesitate.Stealing the box, she left the office, rushing past Theo. Knocked into him as she moved for the elevator, almost sending him to the floor with the force at which she was trying to escape.
“Granger."She knew Malfoy was following her, knew it as she stepped into the elevator that had held open for them. Spun as the doors closed, feeling him behind her, her movements mechanical, her mind working in distinct stages rather than flowing freely.Hermione wasn’t sure how she had gotten her wand out of its box and into her hand. Wasn’t sure why, after seven long years, it was her first instinct to brandish it. To hold it to his throat as she stared him down with her eyes. They had been here before, as children, her wand to his throat. He had told her once, in the heat of passion, that her eyes were one of his favourite things about her, how he always felt that her gaze upon him was a blessing, an honour.
She wondered if he still felt that way now, with fire in her eyes, her wand at his neck. Even as rage surged through her, Hermione hesitated. Felt the first crack through her heart as she stared at him, what was once hers, lost.“Hex me, then, Granger,” he said, voice steady, words echoing what he had said to her that very first day. “I’ve been waiting for it.”As the elevator descended, she felt herself falling. From the height of her rage, into confusion, uncertainty. Overwhelming sadness. Tumbling into despair, so fast she felt dizzy again. Worse, now.The opening of the elevator doors shocked her, and she lowered her wand. Taking one last look over his face, she turned to run.“Don’t- Granger!”The cart she collided with righted itself by magic, letters flying everywhere. A hand on her elbow, pulling gently, into a room. The door closing. To Hermione, it felt as if the world shrunk when that door shut, to this moment, to them.
“How long?” she asked him suddenly, as she turned to face him. Malfoy took a deep breath, hands fisted at his sides. “How long have you worked here?”To look at him, was painful. Excruciating. No longer was he open to her, no longer did his eyes shift from slate gray to ocean blue with his emotions. He was shut off, occluding, in a more control and purposeful way than she had seen before. Even in his Manor, back in - when was it? October? When he had been desperate to push her away.
She wanted him to give her something. Something real, honest, like he had been. She wanted to see him. But instead, he glanced away from her, at least had the decency to meet her gaze when he said it, two simple words.“Since August.”A small cry left her, she was sure, and she had to step back, away from him. This room, the world, wasn’t big enough, didn’t have the space she needed to be away from him. It would have been one thing for him to have come here recently. But since August? The-“The whole time,” she said. Tears tracked down her face, she could taste salt. “You’ve been lying the whole time?”
“I didn’t want-”“You didn’t want to,” she interrupted, “don’t say that. If you didn’t want to lie, you wouldn’t have!”“Give me a chance to explain.”“Why should I?”“I never wanted this, to hurt you.” At his words, she let out a short laugh.
“I remember. I’m not here to hurt you, Granger, isn’t that what you said?”“I wasn’t lying about that.”“Then what is this? Look at me, Draco! I am hurt, you’ve hurt me.”At that, finally, his occlumency broke, walls crashing down. It was a sight to see, really. Draco Malfoy coming undone. Hurting, because of what he had done to her. He winced, took a small step back. Physically reeled, his hand coming up to rub his jaw, as if she’d punched him. A mark of stress, she'd realised over the last few months.Months of watching him, of learning him. Of touching him and letting him hold her. Enjoying it. Listening to him and telling him things nobody else knew. Telling him everything. Realising he had loved her for so long and waited, patiently, for when she would be ready to love him back. Protected her, when no one else would, when she wouldn't even protect herself.
And the whole time, he’d been lying to her.“How did you find me?” she asked him. “The truth, this time.”His eyes found her, storms of grey, and she wanted to turn invisible so he couldn’t look at her like that. Suddenly, she regretted her wish for honesty, for openness, because she could see his heart breaking in the silver of his gaze, felt the heat rising between them. The knife sharpening, the guillotine rising.“Potter requested my help with the box. I told him I would need your help and he told me… He told me you’d left.”"And, what, you thought you would just come and say hi?""I couldn't leave it to chance, that you were..." Malfoy shook his head slightly. "That you were unhappy, or unprotected. That you wouldn't be doing magic, it was... I had to see you.""Why?" she demanded, and he let out the smallest laugh.
"Come on, Granger," he said, tiredly, "Haven't you been listening?"When she swallowed, her throat stung. Dry, narrow. Of course, she had been listening. Draco Malfoy had been obsessed with her since school, of course he would come to find her. And of course he would ignore any who told him to forget her.“How did Harry know where I was?”“They’ve always known," he said softly. “They’ve been checking on you, the whole time.”Hermione laughed again, just once. Liars, liars, liars.
“So I have more than one stalker, right?”“I-”“So that’s what this was? You came to find me, just for my magic?”“No!”“I can’t-” I can’t believe this, is what she wanted to say. But her heart was in her throat, or was that vomit? Because it felt like her heart was missing, actually, had been ripped from her chest the second she had found him standing in Harry’s office. God, what an idiot she was. Brightest Witch. What a joke.“Granger, please, breathe. Can you look at me?”“No.”“Please. Herm-”“Don’t call me that.” Don’t say my name like that, she wanted to scream.
“I can’t look at you. All I see… How could you lie to me like this?”“I was going to tell you.”“When? Before or after you fucked me?”“Don’t say it like that.”“How should I say it?”“I know what I looks like. But I swear, I never meant for it to go this far.”“What, you thought one night would be enough? You did say you were greedy.”“Granger, it’s not like that. That’s not what I meant. When I found you-”“You mean when you dug out my location from Harry’s spying?”“Yes. Well. I thought I’d just convince you to help me with the box, bring you back. I never imagined it would go further, that we... Then it just got too late to tell you, and we were-”“Why didn’t you tell me when I told you about the letters? You were so angry that I kept them from you and yet this whole time you were lying!”“I knew you’d never let me use magic to find him, and I couldn’t leave you unprotected."“I’m not some fragile little girl, Malfoy. I can protect myself.”He scoffed. “Clearly. I leave London for one night, and you end up in the hospital.”At that, she winced. Grip tightening on her wand, air heating with magic. He was right, of course; she hadn't been protecting herself.
“Perhaps it’s a good thing," she said. "I never would have found out the truth without this, would I? You never would have told me.”“Of course I would have.”“Why did you do this, Malfoy? Why spend months acting like this was something real when it was all a lie? Are you really that bored?”“This is real.”“None of this is real! It’s based on lies. That first day… You said you wanted books from me.”“I did. I do.”“I can’t…” She was hyperventilating again. “I can’t believe this. This whole time, I thought we had something. I thought we were building something. We had plans, I thought you loved me, and now it’s all a lie.”“No." His voice broke, but she couldn’t see him. Her vision was blurry, as if she was were standing underneath a waterfall. “That’s not true. I wanted-”“I gave you everything,” she realised she was speaking much too loudly - screaming was probably more accurate - and she didn’t care. Nothing felt loud enough. “Everything. I told you everything.” She paused. “And you already knew it.”“N-”“I told you things no one else knew and you already knew it. My parents-”“I didn’t know about your parents." He was talking quickly, rushed. "Neither did Potter. We didn’t know about that, or Drigster, until I-”"Did you tell Harry about my parents?""Of course not.""Did you tell him about the letters?" She wasn't looking at him when she asked, and she had to force herself to move her gaze to his face when she repeated her question, getting only silence. "Malfoy. Did you tell Harry about the letters?”
He said nothing, and a strange cry came from her. The throbbing in her forehead intensified, the air in her lungs dried out. They had argued about this already; she had begged him to keep it to himself, snakes only, and he'd done the opposite. Exactly what she had asked him not to.
“Hermione, please just let me explain. I wanted to tell you-”“All you want is my magic! You only came to me so you could use me.”“That was my excuse but it wasn’t my reason. I wanted to remind you of who you are. I wanted to bring you back, to where you belong.”“It was none of your business! I wasn’t anything to you, I-”“You have always been everything to me!” Now he was shouting, too, and this was their first real fight. They’d argued, of course, but not like this. “You really haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve told you? Everything I’ve ever done has been to protect you, Hermione. Every mistake, every choice, every word and thought has brought me back to you, every time.”“Such nice words,” she said, “You’ve always been so good at that.”“Please, Granger, I know I’ve messed up-”“Messed up?” She laughed. “You lied to me!”“I did.”“You made out like we were something-”“We are.”“-like I was the one holding out on you when you were keeping things from me. The whole time. Told me you were telling me the truth, being open, but you weren't."“And what would have happened if I hadn’t lied?” There was anger in his voice now, desperation. “You think we would have built what we have if I hadn’t? If I’d have told you the truth that very first day, what would you have done?”She would have run, she knew it straight away. If he had shown up, asking for her magic, told her everything, she would have bolted. Maybe even sold her shop and left London. Left her friends, her livelihood. Left him in the dust.
“You would have run,” he said, reading her mind, “just like you did seven years ago."“That’s not fair.”“Well, here’s your second chance, Hermione,” he said. “What will you do this time?”
Run.

Get a wand.
But every time she looked at him, she felt she was already home, even as if he was breaking her heart. It felt like it did back then, leaving the world you had wanted, the people you relied on, the life you loved. It felt like doing the opposite of what she was supposed to, like what they had spoke about feeling at the Yule ball. Being with the wrong people, saying the wrong things, making the wrong decisions.But she couldn't stay here, couldn't look at him, couldn't understand how they had gotten here. Her home, their relationship, tearing itself apart. Because he had lied, because he hadn't bothered to tell her as he put her above everything.
“Well you got what you wanted, so it hardly matters now,” she hissed. “You got me using magic again, you got me in the Ministry. You got a quick fuck, y-”“Quick,” he scoffed. “Now that’s just insulting.”"This is why you left me, isn't it? Not the letters, not Oliver, not me. It wasn't any of that. It's this. Your lies, that came between us. This is why you left me in York, isn't it?"Now, again, he said nothing, and Hermione brought a hand to her face. Hoped that if she hid from this, covered her eyes from the sight of seeing him as broken as her, maybe it wouldn't be true. Maybe it would all be some nightmare, and she would wake up, back on New Year's Day, in his arms and happy.
But when she dropped her hand, there he was. The slight pause in their collapse had given him ample time to collect himself, his eyes a flat grey, dark and guarded. His body tense, as if ready for an altercation.
She couldn't look at him.“I want to leave,” she said, speaking to the wall. He straightened. “Are you going to let me?”“Of course,” he said quietly, “I’ve never forced you to do anything you haven’t wanted. I never will.”She went to move past him, realised she would have to be near him. Hesitated.“Drigster is still out there.” He spoke without looking at her, eyes on a spot just above her shoulder. “I can-”“I’ll protect myself,” she said. “I have my wand back. This is what you wanted from the start, isn’t it?”His eyes re-focused on her, and she remembered sitting in a pub in York, a dark corner, one of her first spells in seven years. His confessions, her secrets. The first time she had felt the weight of grief and guilt lifted from her. Because of him.“No,” he said, “this is not what I wanted.”For the briefest moment, he let her in. Emotions flashing across his face, and she couldn’t take it. Couldn’t cope with knowing that she was only one who saw him this way, the one he had risked everything for. The one he had lied to.Pushing past him, she threw herself into the corridor, gaining some shocked expressions. She left the Ministry, hair flying out behind her, wand in hand.
Her first lone apparition in seven years left her stumbling onto the street, left her dizzy and shaken. Knees weak, cheeks stinging against the cold. When she fell to her knees, hands scraping against the ground. Wand strewn out beside her. For a moment she simply stared at it, waiting for it to bite her, waited for this all to be over.Grabbing it, she shoved it back in its box, hugged it to her chest as she hurried home. In her room, she placed it in her bedside drawer, paused when she saw the box of things he’d given her, that she’d saved. His list of apologies. His phone number. In the box with her initials carved onto the top, the gift he had so thoughtfully given to her.Lifting the list, she turned it to the back, the memory of him rifling through the pages as she readied for York. She hadn't ever stopped to see what he had written, the apologies he had added. Maybe if she had, they wouldn't have come this far. It wouldn't have hurt this much.
I'm sorry for lying.

I'm sorry for hurting you.

I'm not sorry for lov-
Slamming the drawer shut, she collapsed onto her knees. The sobs came from her loudly, then, shuddering through her body until she was shaking, a broken wreck on her bedroom floor. She was still there when Kate came home from work, and twenty minutes later when Charlotte came rushing home from Toby’s house.
They held her, without even knowing why. As she cried and cried and cried, her tears staining the collar of her jumper. They had done this for her so many times, after she left magic behind and felt like she was being torn in two. When she had been wracked with pain and loss and heartbreak, even when Charlotte had been halfway across the world. They had listened, defended, advised. Her best friends, there for everything without even knowing, sometimes, what was wrong. They held her, again, as her heart split. When all else failed, Kate and Charlotte were there.
Her heart left at the feet of a man still standing in a room at the Ministry, alone.

“Merlin, you’re a fucking idiot, you know that?”
Theo was waiting outside his office when Draco returned from downstairs. The snake shook his head.“Why did you bring her here?”“I tried to stop her but-” Theo paused. “Don’t blame this on me. You should have told her.”“Too late.”“Right. And just what are you still doing here?” he asked Draco.
“Working.”“Your witch has just legged it, I assume?”
Draco didn’t answer, instead shrugged off his blazer, hanging it on the hook. Grabbed a set of robes and pulled them on.“You’re not going to go after her?”“She doesn’t want to see me.”“Who cares? You have explaining to do.”“I will,” Draco said, “I'll tell her everything. But first, I have to do this.”“Do what?”“Plan B.”“Which is?”“I’m going to find Oliver Drigster.”“How exactly?”“The Minister has finally done what I asked and actually found some competent Aurors. We think we have a good idea of where he might have gone.”“And?”“And, I’m going to kill him.”“Whoa,” Theo placed a hand on his shoulder as Draco tried to push past. “Really? That’s your solution?”“It’s the only way to keep her safe.”“Bit overdramatic, Draco, don’t you think?”“No.”“So, what, you avada the prick, and get sent to Azkaban for it?”“They haven’t sent me back yet.”“You’ve certainly made it hard for them. What will this be, the third? And that’s only the ones you’ve told us about. Your father, Doloh-”“Stop it, Theo.”“You really think this is what will get her back?”“I don’t need to get her back!” Draco shouted. “I never deserved to have her in the first place. But I will protect her. Whatever the cost.”“Don’t be stupid, Draco.”“She’ll need you. You can… Keep an eye on her while I’m gone "“Gone? Gone wh-”“She might still let you. Just…” Draco stopped for a moment, gave himself a minute to process what had just happened. The look on her face, the heartbreaking sadness in her eyes. He thought he stumbled.I thought you loved me.“Draco, for fuck's sake, just go talk to her.”“I can’t,” he said, “I can’t. She won’t talk to me. And even if she did, I don’t… I don’t know what I’d say.”I'm sorry, he thought, and almost laughed. As if the two words would ever be enough, would ever mean enough, to fix what he had done. To erase that expression of heartache and betrayal from her face, to have her smile at him the way he had gotten so used to. Too familiar, so that he had gotten comfortable. Assumed, partly, that it would all work out, and he would be able to keep her, even as his lies piled atop them. Even as he knew that he didn't deserve her, that it was all just a glitch in the universe's plan for them both.

Your lies, that came between us.
“Whatever you say to her," Theo continued, "it can’t be worse than running off and avada-ing the first person you come across.”“I won’t do that."“I know, Draco. But you know what I mean.”Draco looked at Theo, straightening. Every time he blinked he saw her, wand at his throat, angry and vengeful and powerful. Exactly what he had been intending to return to the wizarding world; Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch, war heroine. But if protecting her meant he had to push her away again, shove her out of the magical world by breaking her heart, he would do it.

This is why you left me.

Perhaps he could have told her the truth, now that he had had the opportunity. That the reason he had left her was because, above all, she had to be safe. And if he was going to find Drigster, he couldn't risk dragging her further into the darkness. Could stain her any more than he already had.He knew what he had to do. Theo sighed, Draco's decision clearly marring his features.“Keep her safe until I’m back.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Pansy gave her three days.Three days, which passed like waves lapping at a shore of sand, dark and dotted with glass. The aftermath of her visit to the Ministry had Hermione reeling, sore all over, as if she had physically shattered. Had her staring into space for long periods of time, stuck halfway through a task, brief and painful thoughts lashing through her mind like old injuries.
But she went back to work, the comfort of her shop welcoming her home, the feeling akin to a gentle hug. Here, at least, she could focus on something other than the absence of him; even with his chair empty, she had enough work to do that she could go longer without glancing over at it.
Until, of course, Pansy sauntered in. The bell ringing her arrival, Hermione did not give her a greeting, only stared. With Hermione still at risk from her old colleague, the witch refused to leave her completely alone, invading her flat when Charlotte and Kate were at work. Now, she sat in Malfoy’s chair. Theo had shown up once and, at Pansy’s glare, had quickly disapparated. Blaise hadn't come.There had been no communication from Malfoy - she wasn’t expecting any. After telling the others that it had ended, she had entered a sort of dissociation. Knowing that, in her rage, she had said things she didn’t mean, that he was letting her pull away from him, that they were over. And she couldn’t even talk about it to her best friends.
Perhaps that was why she didn’t curse Pansy away when the witch showed up. Instead, they sat in a sort of silence, comfortable and patient. Hermione was desperate to speak to someone - a particular person, if she was honest with herself. She wanted him near her, his presence, even as the thought of him had her heart wrenching, chest aching.
More than anything, she wanted answers. The man she had come to know, the one who placed her above all else, wasn't lining up with the one who had stood in front of her a week ago. Gaze blank, closed off, cold. It had felt more like looking at a younger version of Lucius Malfoy, a comparison that Hermione hated to make.After Hermione had closed up, four days after she had fled the Ministry, Pansy raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.“Ready yet?”Hermione waited, knowing Pansy would talk whether she liked it or not.Pansy tutted. “I knew Malfoy was working at the Ministry, but Theo told me you didn’t like to talk about it. Blaise told me you knew. It was hardly unimaginable, what with your current situation. It never came up, and I figured if you wanted to talk to me about it, you would. I'm sorry for that: I should have checked.” Hermione saw her swallow. “I never expected the boys to lie to me.”It seemed all Hermione could see was betrayal, pain laced through with confusion. It was no secret that the four snakes had been friends since birth, supported each other through darkness. If anyone would know how she felt, it was Pansy.
Sighing, Hermione fell onto her stool. “It’s not your fault. They shouldn’t have brought you into it.”“Well, I’m sort of glad they did. Or else you’d be alone now that they’ve all fucked it up.” Pansy gave her a weak smile. “Have you tried calling him?”Hermione looked down at the orange candle, sitting unlit on her desk. Putting it in the cupboard felt too final, as if she were shutting him out completely. And despite what had happened, she couldn't close that door the last inch, couldn't help but want to wait, to see if he nudged his way back to her. But the things she had said, the anger she had thrown at him...
“No.”“Has he tried?”“No.”Rising, Pansy came to stand across from the desk, manicured nails tapping on the wood. There was a moment of silence, where Hermione looked for words.
"I don't know what to think," she said eventually quietly, talking to the candle, "I can't line it all up. I know that he..." Loved me, she thought in her head. Wondered when the word had become stuck as past tense, when she had been so convinced that they were on the same page. "I know that he doesn't want to hurt me. I know that our relationship is real, even if the way it started wasn't. But four months, Pansy. Four months where he could have told me, at any point. And then the stuff with Oliver... He wants me to do magic again but doesn't want me doing that magic?"“You know that whatever he did, he thought it was protecting you.”“I do know. I just wish… He had told me. And with Oliver,” Hermione groaned, “it’s just so messy.”“Nothing to do with Draco is ever clean,” Pansy said, laughing gently. “Maybe you should talk to him. Get some answers.”“I can’t… The things I said to him. The things he said to me. I wasn’t exactly reasonable.”“He’ll understand.”He would, Hermione knew it. He would accept that she had been angry, that she didn't mean some of what she had screamed at him. And she, eventually, would understand that he was simply putting her safety in front of their happiness, again. But how many times would it take, for his priorities to switch? For him to finally rest, and just enjoy what he had?“I need time, Pansy.”“Well, don’t take too long. Malfoys are an impatient bunch.”

The buzzer rang about an hour after they had arrived back at Hermione's apartment, empty save for the two of them. Hermione was boiling water for pasta, her eyes resting on the wand millimetres away from her left hand. A simple wave and the water would be steaming, so easy. It was hardly anything new, or complicated. The sound of the buzzer broke through her daydreaming, Pansy's heels clicking on the floor.“Piss off, Blaise," was her greeting. Hermione heard Blaise's voice through the speakerphone.“Pansy, would you just-”“No. We don’t want to talk to you.”“I left my jacket in the flat. Will you at least bring it down?”Pansy scoffed, giving Hermione a look. “What am I, your servant? Come up and get it.” She buzzed him in, standing like a sentry with the door open.
It was coming up to a week since Hermione had last seen or heard from Malfoy. Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered his face as she pushed past him, as she ran, as she left him behind. She had tried to call him, gotten voicemail. He hadn’t attempted to contact her, which wasn’t surprising. Neither had he been by the shop, or the flat. Pansy hadn’t heard either, had visited his apartment to find him gone.“-liars!” she was saying now, as Blaise stepped into the flat.“Yes, I’ve heard,’ Blaise muttered. He found Hermione, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “Granger, have you-”“No,” she said, by way of answer. “If anyone’s going to hear from him, if won’t be me.”“If you just have ten minutes, I’ll explain.”“I don’t want to hear it from you,” she said. “I want to talk to him.”“He’s not available.”Hermione felt her grip curling around her wand. "Do you even know where he is? If he's okay?""He's fine," Blaise told her. "He's working.""Working." She swallowed. "For the Ministry?""I can't te-"Letting out a groan of frustration, Hermione could have ripped her hair out.
"I hate this," she said. "If it's all for me, why is it so secretive? One day he's going to have to be honest with me, instead of running off and just assuming that he'll have to do everything alone."“He only lied to protect you,” Blaise said to Hermione, who scoffed.“What a convenient excuse. It seems he uses it for everything he does wrong.”“He wanted to tell you.”“When? Why didn’t he?”“He was…” Blaise sighed, shifted his eyes to Pansy. “Pans, come on. You know he’d never-”“Don’t do that,” she said, “I’m so angry at you, I can’t even look at your face. You’re all liars! All three of you. Imagine if Granger had never found out, what would you lot have done?” She shifted on her feet. “You’ve never lied to me before. You told me she knew.”“Pans-”“Just go, Blaise. Granger was making dinner and I’d really like to enjoy it. Your face would ruin the taste.”Blaise gave one last sigh, looked at Hermione. “You know what he’s doing, don’t you?” When she didn’t reply, turned her back to him, he said, “He’s gone to save you. Whatever he has to do, he’ll do it. Even if he gets himself killed.”Hermione heard the door slam, felt Pansy come up beside her. The witch put her arms around Hermione in a side hug, resting her head on her shoulder.“Boys are idiots,” Pansy said, and Hermione nodded.“I don’t think you should shut them out because of me, Pansy.”She straightened. “They lied to me, too, Granger. Besides, you're not friends with them right out, and your psycho stalker is still out there. Someone has to look after you." She patted Hermione's head in a demonstrative show of affection. "You may have your wand back, and you may be some uber-talented brainiac when it comes to magic, but," Pansy sighed, straightening, "you're out of practice, babe."Hermione couldn't argue with that. Despite having her wand back, despite the feeling that her magic has risen up inside her, alive and intense, she didn't feel as if she had control over it. Similar to how she had felt before her letter to Hogwarts had arrived, before she had known exactly what it was that sat inside her chest, before she had known how to channel it. She was waking drenched in sweat, the lit lamp beside her flickering. She was lighting candles with just a thought, quickly snuffling them when the air filled with orange. Her craft was out of balance, and only time would bring her peace again. Time, and practice.With that thought, she walked back over to the stove. Wove her wand over the water to bring it to boil.“Do you think Blaise is right?" she asked quietly, knowing Pansy had followed her into the kitchen. "That Malfoy’s gone to save me?”“Absolutely.""I wish..." Hermione swallowed, twirled her wand through her fingers distractedly, "I wish I hadn't run from him. Maybe if we had talked it through more, he wouldn't have-""No, not doing that." At Pansy's tone, Hermione turned to face her, found her shaking her head. "If's are just going to drive you crazy. Draco made his decision before you waltzed into the Ministry - are you forgetting York?""I know, but-""They do this, you know. Malfoys. Boys. Put themselves in the firing line on purpose, claim it's the only way. If they just communicated..." She rolled her eyes. "You’re not in control of his actions, Hermione. If he does something stupid in the name of protecting you, that’s on him.” A small raise of her shoulders before she pushed off the counter, stepping away. “Besides, he’s Draco Malfoy. It’ll take a lot more than some creepy wizard to kill him. Didn’t work ten years ago, won’t work this time.”It was a few hours later when the buzzer went again. Pansy looked over to where Hermione sat with her laptop, doing inventory. Waving a hand, the magical image of the dark-haired witch's latest design project dissipated. Hermione thought she felt the heat of the craft settling against her skin, sighed.“I swear, if this is Theo, I’ll kill him.”She picked up the phone this time, listening for a moment. Glanced at Hermione. Paused.
Hermione stiffened slightly, closed her laptop slowly. Maybe he had seen her missed calls, maybe he had-“Don’t worry,” Pansy said, “it’s not Draco.”Of course it's not Draco. Because Draco was off saving her, despite knowing she was angry with him. Saving her, without telling her how.
Ron hadn’t changed much in the years she had been away. There was a shadow of stubble now, the feint beginnings of lines around his eyes. He’d always been tall, but now he towered over Pansy as he walked through the door, giving the room a cursory glance.
At the sight of him, Hermione faltered. She had been ready to rage at whoever entered, ready to punish and fight and beg. But for all his faults, Ron had been there for her during times when no one else had. He could be inconsiderate, thoughtless and impulsive. He’d almost gotten them killed on countless occasions, and when she had told him she was leaving, he had cursed her. Told her she was stupid, overdramatic.
But he had been her best friend. She had loved him, had been told for half her life that she belonged with him. He represented the part of her that she had abandoned; the Hermione Granger she had thrown away. What they had shared together, being friends with the Chosen One, was something nobody else would ever understand, or even come close to. For a long time, she had been sure that nobody would ever know her the way Ronald Weasley knew her.
Hermione wasn’t sure exactly what she started crying for, whether it was the shock of seeing him, the memories he carried with him, or some left-over hysterics from the events of the past month. Either way, she let out a small sob, dropping her head into her hands. Ron’s arms came around her slowly, as if she might push him away. He still felt the same as he had when they had been at school, at war; strong, sturdy. Reliable.
“Hey, Mione.” His voice grumbled through her, and she let out a small laugh. Wrapped her arms around him. “Been a while.”

Pansy watched from the corner as Ron settled on the sofa, looking completely out of place in Hermione’s muggle apartment. Although his magic wasn't as crisp or sparkling to her as Malfoy's, there was a warmth to it when she sat next to him. Hermione handed him a mug of coffee.“What do you want?” Pansy said, out of the blue. Ron frowned.“I… Why are you here?’ Ron asked, pointedly.“Granger and I are friends," Pansy told him. “In fact, whilst you've been lounging about the Ministry, I’ve been helping to protect her. From the stalker that you apparently worked with.”“I never worked with him,” Ron rolled his eyes, “Get your facts straight.”“I’ll get your face straight, if you’re not-”“Pansy," Hermione said, shaking her head, "it's fine. Nobody who worked with Oliver could have known what..." What he would turn into, she was going to say. But even she wasn't sure, still couldn't match up the man she had known with the person who was tailing her every move. Instead, she focused on answers she could have.
"Ron, why are you here?”“I would have sent Harry, he was always better with words.” Ron gave her a small, lopsided smile, which quickly faded. “But no one’s heard anything. I've tried, but... They're in deep, apparently.""What do you mean?"“In January, Malfoy was given leave to take a team of Aurors off duty. I was angry, at first, but then Harry told me it was for you, so… Anyway, Harry told me they were going undercover - or, at least, Malfoy was. A few days ago, they left me in charge of the box and took off. The reports have stopped coming, nobody’s heard from either of them.”Hermione’s heart was racing, her hands were shaking. She pulled her knees to her chest, curling up onto herself, to try to hide it.
A few days ago. That meant that Malfoy had taken off after she had left him at the Ministry. She had assumed that maybe he was just ignoring her calls, but to be missing. To have gone that far...Whatever he has to do, he'll do it.“They’ve gone to find Drigster,” Pansy said. Ron gave a small shrug.“I’d guess so. You should have seen Malfoy when he found out he’d worked at the Ministry. I thought Kingsley was a goner. It would have been funny, if it hadn’t been completely terrifying.”“Can’t you ask Kingsley where they are?” Hermione asked, voice small. Ron shook his head.“Won’t tell me. Said I should be focused on fixing the box, but I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I can barely read Malfoy’s handwriting, let alone understand what it means.” His eyes shifted to her warily, and Hermione finally understood why he was here. She sighed.“You want my help.”“I wouldn’t ask, if I didn't-”“Seven years,” she said. “Seven years you’ve managed without me and now you’re asking for help?”“I can’t do it on my own, Mione.”“Then wait for Harry to get back.”“What if he doesn’t come back?”“He’s Harry bloody Potter,” Pansy said, “isn't he, like, immortal? Of course he’ll come back.”Ron looked at Hermione imploringly. “Would you at least come and take a look-”“I’d like you to leave,” she said. Stared him down until he sighed, placed his mug on the coffee table."People are dying," he told her, "Muggle-borns, in fact. Dozens, now. If I don't fix it, then more. Don't you care?"Hermione hesitated, knew he saw it. It wasn't that she didn't care, but to have the words thrown at her like that. Malfoy had never openly told her that people had been killed - hurt, yes. Cursed, of course. But killed. Muggle-borns. Just like before.So, nothing had really changed. Her blood still had her cast as something different, something worth hating. And those people were still using that craft against her, the one she had used to destroy her own family. A thread of understanding started to unravel inside her, the slow stain of longing spreading through her chest.
Four months ago, had Malfoy told her that Muggle-borns were being hunted, murdered, however it was happening, she would have fled before he could even have finished his request. The idea of being sucked back into this war, of being in the centre of something so dark - she would have fled from it. Without a doubt. Even now, even after everything, she felt the flight instinct rising up inside her, the guilt at being part of something so horrible.
Malfoy hadn't told her. Perhaps this was why.
And now, she couldn't run. Wouldn't run. But she wouldn't allow herself to be sacrificed.
"It's not my job to care about that," she said, "not any more. I left, remember?"“I don’t get it, Mione,” Ron said. “I didn’t get it then, and I don’t get it now. You’re a witch, for fuck’s sake. You’re useless here, like this-”“Hey!” Pansy stood, pointing at him. “Don’t talk to her like that. She asked you to leave and you’re going to, or do I need to show you how a Muggle woman kicks a man out of her house?”“And now you’re hanging around with them? With Malfoy? We hated him, Hermione. And he hated us.”Not me, she thought. Not for a long time.“Just leave, Ron,” she said. “I’m not coming back, and I’m not helping you. I said I was done and I am.”Finally, he shook his head, stood to let himself out. The door slammed behind him. Hermione settled further into the cushions.Now she knew exactly what she was crying for. Not because of Ron - she’d stopped crying for him during the war. Not because she was angry or sad or hurt.She cried because she missed him. Missed the weight of him, the comforting presence he provided even before they had started dating. The consistency of him, always there, always... honest. Even when he wasn't.
Rushing to her room, letting the door close softly, she grabbed her phone from where she had left it to charge, adamant that she was through with calling him. Determined to let him go. But that was before she had found out that he had left to save her, before she could be certain that he wasn't just ignoring her. It felt like an age before the monotonous dial tone and grating voice of the machine died off. Suddenly, she didn't know what she wanted to say.
"I want you to come home," she said, so quietly she wondered if he would even be able to hear her. "I want you to come back. I know we'll fight, I still can't... But I want to fight. I want to fight for us. I don't want to be in the dark any more, and I don't want you to constantly feel like you have to keep me safe. Please, Draco, just come home."

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”The Chosen One stood in the doorway, arms crossed, face serious. Draco rolled his neck, working out a kink. The club had been a special sort of taxing of late.They were a month into this and still nothing. The symbol on Drigster’s wall had lead him back here, a place he’d sworn never to return to. Deep in the heart of London, he’d found it again. The club was unnamed - to keep its secrecy, Bella had always told him. A sort of safe house, always moving, the passcode constantly changing. But the rules stayed the same. Only a dark wizard or witch could enter, and they had to prove themselves.Draco, thankfully, skipped that criteria, lifelong eligibility thanks to his father. He strolled back into hell as if he owned it, as if he had never left.The clientele had only worsened during Draco’s time in the light. After leaving Azkaban, he’d been forced down here whilst he hunted for Lucius, and he’d hated every minute. Hated imagining what she would think of him, had she seen him.But now, he knew exactly what she thought of him. How much he had hurt her, betrayed her. Lost her. And every night he waltzed into that club and failed her all over again, because he couldn’t find Drigster. Couldn’t keep her safe.“Worried about me, Potter?” he asked. “I’m charmed.”“Worried about the mission,” Potter said. “The Aurors we have in there are barely allowed last the door. You’re the only one with any chance of finding anything.”“I’m aware.”“It’s not just Hermione on the line.”
Draco gritted his teeth at the reminder. He was well aware of the strings tied to him: Drigster alive; curse-maker found; instigator brought to justice. None of it mattered. Only she mattered. And every second that Draco was down here chasing ghosts, was one more second she was at risk. Draco wouldn’t have it.His phone buzzed, reminding him of its presence in the chest pocket of his robes. It would hardly help his case, if it were seen in the club; pureblood prince, toting Muggle tech. Pulling it out to leave it on the side, he found himself pausing when her name flashed across the screen.Briefly, ever so briefly, he thought about answering. Just to hear her voice. Maybe she would say his name, that way he had gotten used to, or maybe she had simply phoned to curse him, remind him how he had hurt her. Either way, he would listen. He would take it, happily, one more chance to have her attention. Maybe she would even give him a few seconds to explain, to apologise.Because if he was going to speak to her, if he had the opportunity, that's what he would say. Without even a thought of anything else. Whether or not she accepted it was a whole other issue, but at least she would know...Whilst unfamiliar with actually apologising personally, Draco knew the criteria for a good one. He knew a simple I'm sorry over the phone wouldn't be good enough. A please forgive me would hardly have him on the right path to redemption and a quick I do love you before jumping headfirst into a group of wizards who would see her dead would hardl-The buzzing stopped before he could change his mind, before his instinct could press accept and have him groveling at her feet. A minute passed, before he saw that she had left him something.By the time Potter came to find him, he had listened a total of six times. Memorised the way her voice broke over his name, the italicised way she begged him. Pictured her, mouth moving around the letters, eyes bright and teary. Teary, because of him. Because he had never explained, never apologised. Draco imagined the way she would look at him when she finally forgave him, a moment that might never come.As he left, he paused in the doorway, wondering if she would try him again. But the phone didn't buzz, and the door closed with a quiet click.Tonight, the club was disguised as a potions shop, dusty and neglected, but not abandoned. The bouncer, posing as a shopkeeper, nodded at him as he stepped inside, the chime of the clock ringing midnight. Candles dimmed, flickering, the self-playing instruments giving a low noise for ambience. He had always felt cornered in these places, despite the space, despite the luxury.
Draco had been there about an hour when someone came to stand at the bar beside him. Placed some galleons on the table nonchalantly, without dignity. Close enough that Draco noticed him, far enough that they were clearly separate.“I hear you’re looking for a curser,” the wizard said, without looking at him. Draco scanned his side-profile quickly, gave a small shrug.“I’m always looking for something.”“There’s a rumour,” the wizard nodded at the bartender, “that Drigster’s back on the cards.”Draco ensured his occlumency was in prime place, his walls the strongest they had ever been. Ensured she was locked tightly away in his mind, no chance of any emotion seeping through. Of course, they had known there was a link. That Drigster had been here, enough times to build relationships, alliances. Somebody had to be using him, consider him important enough to storm his flat when called, to save his from Leon. For Drigster to be the curse-maker himself, though... Draco had been angry enough to overlook the possibility.“Oh?”“For a price, though.”“Of course.”“Last I heard, the box he’d cursed was causing havoc for the Ministry.” The wizard smirked. “Bit pointless, don’t you think? To curse an object and then get it stolen right under your nose.”Draco made a noise of agreement, but his attention was half-lost. The box he’d cursed.It couldn't be. It made no sense. Drigster was obsessed with a muggle-born witch, why would he curse a box to have others kill theirs? It was paradoxical.But it didn’t need to make sense, Draco decided. It just needed to end.“Well,” he said, with some finality, “where would one find a curser like that?” He grinned, felt his chest caving in. “For a price, of course.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Her mind was changing.
It had taken a week, or so, to happen. But slowly, Hermione had processed all that happened, and why. The break-up, the reunions, the words thrown at her. The emotions they woke in her chest. The facts, as it were. She had always been an emotional person, but to ignore the needs of others because of her anger? She thought she had been taught better - hadn't she given up her childhood for that very same cause?For years she had kept herself separate, isolated. To just step back into that world, where she wasn’t Hermione Granger, but a war heroine. Where people didn’t look and see a bookseller, but a sacrifice. Overdramatic, perhaps. But there hadn’t been a year at Hogwarts where the lives of her and her friends hadn’t been put at risk. And even after the war ended, death had followed her, erupted from her very own wand in flashes of green.
Ron’s words, said in frustration and a lack of understanding, kept drifting over her. The desperate look in his eyes, morphing into confusion when she told him no. No she didn’t care, no she wouldn’t help.
It was a lie. She did care. She could help. It wouldn’t take much, would it? Just a quick read of his notes. She wouldn’t even have to see the box or step foot inside the Ministry, and since Malfoy wasn’t there-Malfoy wasn’t there.Because he had gone to save her. Again.
Perhaps it was time she stopped letting others save her. Perhaps she could go back, without feeling as if she were thirteen again, throwing herself into danger at every opportunity. Move on from all that had happened.Hermione had made the decision by lunchtime, only a week after Ron had visited her flat. She was alone today, the first time in what felt like an age, with everyone working. Pansy had had her practicing her defensive spells just last night, knowing nobody was around to help her. Just in case.
Just in case. Later, Hermione might consider that perhaps Pansy had a touch of the sight in her.He must have been watching. He must have known - the first day she was by herself? Hermione didn’t believe in coincidences.
The bell ringing his arrival with a light, cheery chime. As if he hadn’t made her life hell for the past few months, as if she hadn’t put her life on hold for him. As if the man she loved hadn’t left her to find him. When she first glanced at him, it was with her usual smile, reserved for customers. Very quickly, she did a double-take, reached for the top drawer.“Hermione.” He said her name just as her hand curled around her wand.“Oliver.”The last she had seen him, Oliver had been trying to tell her something. She couldn’t quite remember what it was, too busy packing up her desk to truly listen. When he had learned that she was leaving, his eyes had widened, the amber in the dark brown deepening, until meeting his gaze had given her shivers. He hadn’t asked her why, had only asked her to meet him for a drink. She had told him she would, just to get him to leave her alone. By the time the evening had rolled around, she had disappeared.Or, so she had thought. But him showing up here, finding her life and infiltrating it… He had known where she was the entire time. Just like Harry, just like Ron, but different. They hadn't forced her to cower in her apartment, hadn't tried to rip her away from the life she had chosen. They had only wanted to watch over her.
When Oliver locked the door, her hand tightened around her wand. His movements were nonchalant, just another day. Just another moment.“It’s so good to finally see you,” he said, taking large steps up to the counter. His breathing somewhat harsh, his wand already in hand. He looked as if he had come straight from a duel, that crazed look in his eyes one Hermione remembered distantly.
“What are you doing here?”He blinked. “I’m here to get you.”She would have to be smart here, she knew. Strategic. Anger him, and she couldn’t predict his actions. Play into him too eagerly, and he would know she was faking. Oliver was a smart man, logical and task-oriented. If he had come here for her, nothing would stand in his way. Even refusal.“I read your letters,” she told him, quietly. The corner of his mouth twitched.“Did you?”“I thought you would come here sooner.”“I had planned for us to leave on New Year’s, but,” he shrugged, “something got in the way. It’s been dealt with.”“What does that mean?”She took the opportunity to round the counter, glancing at his grip on his wand. Ready, willing. Maybe not to hurt her, but stun her, certainly. If he had drugged her, he hardly cared if she was conscious when he stole her. She couldn’t ride on her spell hitting him, or even distracting him long enough for her to unlock the door, throw herself out onto the street. Something else…“I’ll tell you on the way. We-"“Stupefy!”She saw him counter it, knew her spell hadn’t taken, even before she reached the first step. Thought she felt the ghost of fingers in her hair, trying to grab her, as she ascended the staircase, two at a time. Malfoy had placed powerful defensive wards in the attic, where no one but her ever went, if she could just-Fingers snaked around her ankle just as she reached the top stair, and she fell, face-first. Felt something crack in her nose from her weight hitting the floor, and let out a cry of shock at the feeling. Blood gushed over her mouth, her eyes watered, pain bursting across her face as those hands climbed up her legs.“No, no, Hermione.”She fought him as he clambered up the last few stairs, his fingers wrapping around her upper arms, turning her to face him. Her wand, her gift, pried from her hand, nails digging into her jaw, forcing her chin up. Thighs straddling her hips so she couldn’t move. There was a flash of memory, the view of a high ceiling as a word was carved into her arm-Helpless.Screaming, she lashed out, fingers bent into a lioness' claw. Aiming for the face, for the throat, for anything.
“Hermione, stop! Let me-”“Get off me!” When she spoke, she felt blood in her mouth, down her throat. Choked on the taste of it.Oliver's face blurred as her eyes teared up, pain and fear, as her mind came to terms with what her brain and body couldn’t face; that this was it. That he had come for her, and she would be lost. For good, this time. At the thought, she tried to push herself up, throwing her head up as if she might move him with the force of her body.A hand on her throat kept her from lurching up, and nausea rolled in the pit of her stomach. Such a possessive gesture, like she was his. His free hand waved his wand, voice murmuring an episkey, and she shrieked again as her nose snapped back into place. Gagged at the metallic taste of blood over her tongue, her teeth, the inky feeling of it on her face. Felt skin breaking under her nails, before a strong grip forced her wrist to the floor.“Stop fighting me!” His words were almost growls, feral and angry. Confused, even.“Get off of me!”“I don’t want to hurt you.”“Then let me
go!"“Will you stop fighting?”
No, she wanted to scream, never. Was close to it, her fright and panic almost winning her over. A flash of logic, of strategy, flared through her mind, stopping the words from escaping her chest. Denying him wouldn't save her here. Noncompliance wouldn’t get him off of her. She had to play it right.
So, she paused, forced herself to take deep breaths, willed her pulse to calm. She had done this before, countless times. Forced herself to nod.“Swear it," he said.“I swear it. I won’t fight you.”Nodding, he moved backwards, desperate to believe she was on his side. Fighting the urge to vomit, Hermione
let him help her up, moved only one step away from him, onto the landing of the first floor. Dragged her sleeve across her face. If she was going to get out of this, she had to be careful.“It’s time, Hermione," he said, following her further onto the first floor.“Time for what?”“We need to go. I put it off as long as possible, but they found me at the club.”“Who fou-" Her voice broke, and she inhaled again. Willed her heartbeat to slow. "Who found you?"“I’ll answer your questions, Hermione, but we need to leave.”“You’re right,” she said, the words thick in her throat, “You’re right, we need to leave. But I need some of my stuff, Oliver. Crooks is at home."“I have everything you could need.”“You-” she swallowed, “You’re so prepared.”“Of course. I’ve been waiting so long for you. Planning this. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way but that fucking Death Eater got in the way.”“Who? Who got in the way?”“But don’t worry," he continued, "that blonde bastard won’t bother you any more.”Hermione tried to foster some occlumency, any ability she had inside her, not to shatter at his choice of words. Death Eater. Blonde. He had to mean Malfoy. And his choice of words...“What do you mean, Oliver?”“Can we-”“I can’t leave until I know I’m safe,” she said, “from him, I mean.”“Right. Well, he found me. Thought he could beat me one-on-one, but I…" Oliver licked his bottom lip slowly, "I suppose I cheated, but I had to get rid of him, so I could get back to you. I had a friend help me out, distract Malfoy so I could finish him off. Now we can leave.”Hermione was trying not to hyperventilate again, trying not to show him that the thought of Malfoy being… finished, was tearing her heart into pieces. Finished, protecting her. From the man who stood in front of her now. If she had time, she would delve further into that.She didn't have time.“Oliver… can I have my wand? I want to clean myself up.”“Oh,” he frowned down at his hand. “I’ll do it for you.”Her stomach sank at the thought of his magic settling over her. "But-”“Hermione, where we're going it won’t matter what you look like. There’s nobody else there. Peace and quiet, just like you’ve always wanted. No Death Eaters or Slytherins will ever bother you again, I promise. And if they do, I’ll be there. But we need to leave.”“If I could just-”“Hermione.” Now when he said her name it sent an uncomfortable shiver down her spine. It was dark, authoritative, full of warning. She fisted her hands by her sides. “Don’t make me stun you.”“Why would you stun me?”He took a step forward and, on instinct, Hermione took one back, keeping the distance between them. He caught it, pausing.“Whatever they told you about me, it’s not true,” he said. “You know that. You know me.”She nodded. “I know, Oliver.”“They’re liars, all of them.”“Of course they are. It’s you and me, just like before I left.”He frowned. “Just like before?”“Right, when we worked together. At the Ministry."Somehow, she knew. That in three words she had lost him. His gaze darkened, his face becoming shadowed. The grip on his wand tightened.“I’ve been here the whole time, Hermione. I know you couldn’t reply to my letters, but I know you saw them. I know you knew it was me when I came into the shop, I saw the way you looked at me. And on your birthday… I wanted to kill him for daring to touch you, but I knew you wouldn’t want that, so I held back. But I’ve been here, the whole time.” His face changed, his mouth curling into a snarl. “He got to you, didn’t he?”“Who?” Her voice broke, and now she was certain: she had failed. She wasn’t a good enough liar to get out of this.
When he lunged for her, she leapt backwards, tried to put the table in between them. But he was faster, and stronger, and the shelves were at her back, and when he grabbed her by the neck and pushed, she fell. If he’d grappled her before, it was worse now; both his hands on her throat, not restricting her breathing but taking ownership of her. Reminding her of who was in control. His sneer hovering over her, spit flying as he screamed in her face.“I did everything for you! How cou-”A green flash. Oliver refocused, raising his wand to counter the curse that flew his way. Hermione had been so terrified that she hadn’t heard that familiar crack of apparition, but she saw her wand fall from his hand, tried to reach for it against the weight of Oliver on her stomach.“Get your filthy fucking hands off my witch.”There was a moment - later, she might think it was mere seconds, but it felt longer. Felt like the world finally did them one favour, and let her see him. Her guardian, wand raised, face and knuckles streamed with red. She thought she saw something dripping from his blazer, but couldn't focus on it, only his face. It felt, just for that moment, that time stood still. Almost like when he had first stepped into her bookstore. Back into her life.“You won’t kill me,” Oliver sneered, his voice shattering the sense of timelessness, “I have too much information.”"You think I'll place information above her?"
"Only I can fix the box."“Quite frankly, I don't give a shit. The Ministry might want you alive," Draco's eyes met hers, only briefly, "but I see blood on her face. That puts you top of my kill list.”“They’ll send you to Azkaban.”“See if I care.”“You’re not strong enough.”“Try me. Touch her again, and I’ll slice your hands from your body before you can blink.” His eyes flickered down to her face again, held there. “Granger. You’re probably going to want to re-carpet.”“Drac-”“Crucio!”Draco rebounded Oliver’s curse, sent it careening into a shelf. She knew she saw him stagger, just briefly, before he sent a particularly damaging stinging hex in their direction. Hermione cowered, felt the edge of it hit her waist, heard Oliver cry out as he got the worst of it. But he fell to the side, just long enough for her to scrabble out of the way.A hand wrapped around her ankle, trying to drag her back to him. Hermione went to kick him away, the sole of her shoe connecting with a nose. Tried not to feel guilty at the satisfying crunch, tried to clamber backwards on her hands.There was a flash of light. Screaming, warmth soaking her leg through her jeans, under where he had been reaching for her. The slicing hex hit true, as Malfoy's spells always did, cleaving through skin and bone, setting her free.
"I told you not to touch her," she heard him say, past Oliver's shocked shrieking. When she felt her hand grip her wand, dropped carelessly to the floor in the chaos, she waved it to silence that sound. Pain, anger. When his gaze rose to find hers, Oliver's eyes were filled with a desperation that sent a shiver through her.
Pushing herself from the floor, she stared down at him, watched as he cradled his arm to his chest, blood soaking his robes. Mouth gaping in a soundless scream. With her wand in her hand, her magic rising to the surface, she felt it.
Power.Oliver wasn’t looking at Draco now. He was watching her. Seeing which of the two men she would side against. Hermione saw his face break as she raised her wand against him, saw the desperation lashing through him. Wondered if he still thought there was a chance-She murmured a clotting spell, aiming for his wound, before stunning him. Having her look at him like that... With her attacker now grounded, a silence descended, air settling, magic calming. Hermione felt, in that second, that something big had ended, that it was over.A thud, weight hitting the carpeted floor, destroyed that second. Smashed through the haze of shock and panic that had blurred her senses, the red fog that shrouded her vision. When Draco hit the floor, it was in stages: from standing, to a knee, confusion marring his features. As his body crumpled completely, Hermione met him there, her hands to his chest.“Draco?”She had known something was dripping from his blazer. As she pulled it open, a sob finally broke through, that hand around her throat now lying on the floor, ruining her carpet. Draco's shirt, once white, soaked with red. When she went to lift it from his skin, he tensed. Cursed.“You-”“Splinched,” he answered, let out a strange sort of laugh. “Apparated with a sectumsempra. Stupid, right?”“You’re such an idiot!”“I knew-,' he gasped when she touched his torso, "this fucking curse would kill me.”“Don’t say that. I can get you to Mungo’s, just-” But she knew she couldn’t. If she apparated him in this state, it would tear him apart even more. And she didn’t have anything to heal him with; only her wand. Episkey wouldn’t work here. “Draco, tell me the counter-curse.”“You-”“Help me!”His throat worked, and he lifted his hand to cover hers. When he said the charm, his voice was quiet, weak.
“Valnera sanentur.”She repeated it, moving her wand over the gashes. Hoped that the fabric of his shirt wasn't thick enough to prevent the spell from getting to his skin. Had to let out another sob when the red of his shirt deepened. When his hand dropped.“Draco, you have to stay awake.”“Tired," he mumbled.“Please, stay with me. Please, Dr- Valnera Sanentur.”When Hermione felt a presence beside her, she didn’t look to see who it was. Didn’t need to know who raised their wand to help her, to cast their own counter-curse. Didn’t watch the others come in and take Oliver away. She didn’t need any of them.She only needed him.

They must have waited for days, the four of them. Theo had owled Narcissa, but she was currently touring South Africa, off-grid. It would take time to reach her. Hermione supposed Draco had planned it that way, pushed all his loved ones to the sidelines so he could work without having to explain himself.
When the healer called Blaise’s name as his emergency contact, the room paused. It felt as if the very Earth waited in suspense, as if time was still waiting, still frozen. Hermione had Pansy’s hand in hers, knew that her nails were digging into the witch’s skin. Pansy's own nails were bitten raw.“It’s going to take time,” the healer said. “He’s lost too much blood. We can only give him so many replenishing potions. The counter-curse stopped the sectumsempra, but not the splinching. That was worsened when he was apparated here, although... I can’t have seen any other way of saving him.”Her eyes landed on Hermione’s over her mask; she was the one who had been on call when Hermione and Harry had apparated into Mungo’s reception so many hours earlier, when Hermione had refused to leave Draco’s side, even as they’d levitated him into surgery.
“He’s safe, for now," the healer finished. "But it will take time.”“He’s safe," Hermione repeated. She felt Pansy turning her, forcing her to meet her gaze. Hands on her jaw, gentle but strong.“He’s safe,” the witch said a third time. “I told you it would take more than some crazy wizard to kill him, didn’t I?”Hermione broke then, finally, felt arms around her as she fell. Felt the cold of the Mungo’s tiled waiting room floor against her cheek, against her palms, against the blood she still hadn’t washed off her body. Oliver's and hers, but mostly Draco's. Scared that it would be the last part of him she had on her, scared that if she washed him away, his soul would leave, too.
Scared, scared, scared. That she had lost him, that he was gone. Because of her, because this had happened to him for her.
Later, after a calming draught and a scourgify, she let them lead her to his room. Let her eyes drift over his exhausted body, the dittany wrappings around him. The second sectumsempra he’d taken for her, the thousandth time he’d thrown himself into danger to protect her. She didn't realise how close she had gotten until she was pushing his hair away from his face, the feint tinge of red staining his platinum locks. Felt him under her fingers, one more time, his skin cold.
“I can’t be here when he wakes up,” she whispered, mostly to herself. When Blaise sighed from beside her, she knew he had heard.
“I know. He’d know, too.”She would have met his gaze, but found she couldn’t look away from the man in the hospital bed. He had broken her heart, torn it to pieces in an instant. No counter-curse or dittany would solve that. No sense of accountability or apologies for throwing her rage in his face would change what had happened, what had led to that. They weren't... fixed.And she had felt something else when she had picked up her wand, when she had wielded it again. A rawness, the strange feeling of change. She had last felt it kneeling beside the bodies of her parents, the knowledge that she would never be the same. That she didn’t know who she was any more."I don’t…” she swallowed. “I don’t want to hurt him.”“I’ll tell him that you were here.”She nodded. “If he doesn’t wake up-”“He will wake up," Blaise said. "And he’ll be fine. Sad, angry. Self-destructive and frustratingly morose, as per usual. But fine. I won't leave him."Hermione nodded. Took one last long look at the man she loved. Wished things were different - wished she were different.
But she couldn’t be near him when her magic was so intertwined with his, couldn’t figure out what she wanted or who she was when all she could think of was him. She needed him, had relied on him so much since he had found her. Hermione couldn’t be that person, not after she had watched it almost kill him. She had to remind herself of who she was. Of what she was.Bright. Golden.
Powerful.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Draco had faced terrifying ordeals in his almost-thirty years. Dark Lords with seven lives, masked Death Waters who liked to torture children for fun, the excruciating feeling of having one's mind torn to shreds, every day, over and over again. The thought of losing her, of failing her.
Only the latter compared to facing his mother after he had disappointed her.Narcissa Malfoy was pissed. Not just a little pissed, either. She was furious. As was Theo, and Blaise, and Pansy. Draco was standing in a room with four people who wanted to kill him for, in their eyes, being such a fucking idiot. Theo’s words.“How could you be so reckless?” Narcissa was screaming. “Again?”“Mother-”“Do you think your life worthless? Do you think my love for you means nothing? You are my son.”“I know that.”"You swore to me, Draco, that you were done.""I know." His words were sighs, morphing into groans as he pushed his legs to hang over the side of the bed."You swore that you would not do this again, this hunt of yours-""This isn't that. It's different this time.""It's always different!" she pointed out. "Every time you find some excuse as to why this has to be done, and why it has to be you. Do you think they won’t take the first chance to send you back there? Do you want to go back to Azkaban?"“Of course not.”“Then why? Please,” she said, holding up a hand, “assuming you will actually answer me this time."This time. It appeared the years hadn't dulled her memory. The last time Draco had been this close to getting runes branded across his neck, prison-style, Narcissa had ended up in the hospital bed. Not just any hospital: that Ministry floor, where the box's victims were currently being held. It hadn't been his intention, but it had certainly been his doing. Later, when he thought she might be ready to hear an explanation, she had never asked. So the past had stayed buried, until he had needed his old strategies once more.
Luckily, his mother was now slightly more prepared for his reckless behaviour. Perhaps because this time, the victim was not her husband.“I’ve always done what you taught me.” For better or worse. "To protect the ones I love."She sighed. “This was for a witch?""The witch, actually," he corrected, winced at the impending feeling of a migraine, just on the outskirts of his mind. Occlusion was hard to keep on top of when his body had been ripped, cursed, and hexed as much as it had. When every time he blinked, he saw her, face bloody, caged to the floor.Maybe this time he would be the one who ended up in that Ministry bed. Maybe they could just transfer him over, straight from Mungo's.
"Thank Merlin,” Narcissa said, and Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes, “I was starting to think I’d never have grandchildren.”“Really, mother? I almost died.”“For love.” She smiled. “What I always hoped you would have.”“Had, I suppose,” he said, unable to stop himself.Pushing to a stand, he ignored the waves of dizziness that came over him as he readied to leave the hospital. Whilst his blood levels were back to normal, internal organs no longer in shreds, there was nothing the healers could do for the painful aftermath. His body was battered and bruised, in multiple ways. If it was up to his mother, he would be staying in this very bed. Instead, he was packing his bags, getting ready to floo back to his apartment.
She hadn’t come to see him - not since he had woken, anyway. Draco hadn’t expected her to - almost hadn’t wanted her to. Just the thought of seeing her, watching her walk away for the second time, had him wishing her counter-curse hadn’t worked. That he would have died with her magic falling over him. Whether she had forgiven him wasn’t a question; she hadn’t. And he hadn’t done what he had for her forgiveness, but her safety. He didn’t need her forgiveness.Or, that’s what he’d been telling himself for the past two days.
“Who is it, then?’“It doesn’t matter, mother." He shoved his clothes into bag Blaise had brought for him. "She doesn’t want me.""How is that possible?""I broke her trust, and I left her. To keep her safe." Again.He stood, going to the window. Blaise's sigh was loud, resigned. His friend and roommate hadn’t left the hospital, just like Draco. Watching over him. Probably scared he would do something stupid, like throw himself out the window. Or run to Granger’s apartment, fall to his knees, and beg her to reconsider. Try to explain, even as she tried to deal with the aftereffects of being physically assaulted by a raging lunatic.
Again.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Narcissa asked, her voice laced with hurt. “I could have helped.”“Because she’s mine to protect," he said. "She always has been.”“So stubborn,” she murmured.Maybe he was just like his father: so determined to keep Granger safe that he ruined her life. Draco was well aware that Lucius' decision to side with Voldemort had, in the very beginning, been based in an idea that it was only way to keep his wife and son alive. And Draco had chased Oliver Drigster across the country, only to watch him disapparate, knowing exactly where he was headed.
The idea that, perhaps, he was following in his father's footsteps a little too closely sent a wash of nausea through him. Leaning on the windowsill for support, he shook his head."I can't see her," he said, in a strange bout of honesty that seemed to come out of nowhere, "I can't see the way she'll look at me.""So stubborn,' Narcissa repeated. "It’s hardly going to get your witch back in your arms, Draco. You’re going to have to compromise a little.”“She hates me.”“For now. It’s your job to remind her why she loves you.” Narcissa hesitated. “Do you want the ring?”Draco frowned, turned to face his mother. Saw Blaise raise his eyebrows.“She wouldn’t accept it, not now.”"Perhaps if you explained the history-""No, mother. I won't put her in that position, even if we weren't..." Apart. Broken. Separated.
Ruined.
"She won't want it," he said, in the end.“Don’t you love her?” After a moment, Draco met his mother's gaze, nodded slowly. “Then you’ll have to change her mind.”

“Again.”Hermione’s boil-inducing hex landed on the mannequins face, plastic and fabric bubbling, until it slipped off, leaving behind a shiver-inducing wire structure. She waved her wand, muttering a reparo.
“It’s like you never left,” Pansy said from where she sat at her kitchen island. Hermione sighed and joined her, dropping her wand on the marble counter.Pansy’s home was as to be expected: gorgeous. Light and open and airy. Everything my childhood wasn’t, the witch had said when Hermione had commented on it. She had been visiting almost every day for a week now, practising her magic. Mostly her offensive spells.
Considering she hadn't slept since she had left Malfoy in the hospital, her magic was coming on fairly strong. If only she could eat something with flavour. If only she could go back to her shop without feeling as if she was going to descend into full-blown panic. If only she could say it, how terrified she was. She knew that, of all people she was currently talking to, Pansy Parkinson was probably one of the few who would ever truly understand.Understand, that Hermione felt as if she had some kind of slime all over her, where he had touched her, despite showering twice, three times a day since Oliver had shown himself. That she kept seeing his face, hovering over hers, the flash of pain as he fixed the nose he had broken. Kept hearing the weighted thud of Malfoy hitting the floor, kept seeing the carpet becoming red with his blood-“Do you think I made the wrong decision?” Hermione asked her instead, as she twisted open a fresh bottle of wine.“When?”“When I left,” Hermione said. Pansy raised an eyebrow.“That’s not what I thought you’d ask me.”Hermione swallowed, toying with the stem of the wine glass Pansy handed her. Took in a deep breath.
She had thought of going to see him. It was her first line of thinking every morning, before she even opened her eyes. Every time she caught herself in the mirror, saw the thin white line over her stomach where his stinging hex had hit her. When she had been able to stomach stepping into her shop, just to the counter, and saw his chair.
Charlotte and Kate had been told that Oliver had assaulted her. They had been told that Malfoy was there, and that he had been hurt. Hermione had to tell them something, because the pain of not being there with him as he recovered had been… excruciating. But she hadn’t let herself bend.“I think if you hadn’t left, you wouldn’t be who you are now. So, no. I don’t think you made the wrong decision. Had I been there, though, I might have dissuaded you.”Hermione smiled gently.“Now, the other, more recent decision.”“I can’t see him, Pansy. It’s too hard. I can’t look at him, knowing what he did, what we were. I can’t have him ask me if I’ve forgiven him and see his face when I say no.”Her voice broke on the last word, and she put a hand to her mouth, trying to stop the sob from escaping.“I understand, Granger. I wasn’t going to say that you did the wrong thing.”She looked up at Pansy. Saw the witch give a small shrug.“He’s an arsehole. A good arsehole, but still. Saving you doesn’t mean that he didn’t lie, and it doesn’t make it hurt any less. And besides, you’re going through a lot of change right now. You need to figure out who you are without your parents, with magic.”Hermione nodded, slowly. “But it feels… We always said that it felt like we were doing the wrong thing. At the Yule ball, or being with Ron, or just… not being together.”“It might feel wrong. I, just like anybody else who has ever seen you two in the same room, am fully of the belief that you and Draco are,” she clicked her tongue, “written in the stars, or whatever. But for you to try to forgive him, you need to forgive yourself. For what happened.”Hermione had told Pansy what had happened with her parents, in a tearful and yet-again-heartbreaking way. Like Malfoy, Pansy hadn’t said much. But she had understood.“I can’t speak of missing parents,” Pansy said gently, “but I can speak of regret. And of moving on, even if that guilt is still there.”“I don’t know how to do this,” Hermione said.“Yes, you do. You’re the smartest person I know. Out of everyone at school, you were always the most well-adjusted. You’re emotional and heart-broken but that doesn’t mean you can’t ever be fixed.” Pansy sighed. “Do you know what it was about you that drew Draco to you?”“He told me it was the Yule ball.”“That was when he first noticed you, differently to before. But it was a few months later when he knew. The rest of us, too.” She sighed. "When Cedric died, the Slytherin common rooms were… weird. All of us knew him, most liked him. I was in charms group with him. There was this feeling that something big was going to happen, and it was going to be bad, and there was nothing we could do. Everyone was looking at us like it was our fault, because Voldemort had been mentioned, and…" Pansy glanced away, reached for her glass.“Anyway. The End of Year Feast. We were in our usual spot at the Slytherin table, you in yours. Nobody was eating. And Draco was watching you, as per usual by that point.” She tilted her head. “During Dumbledore’s speech, you started crying. It was the first time I saw Draco truly scared.”“He hates me crying.”“He’s not used to emotions being so openly expressed. He tore his room apart that day. Had Blaise not stopped him, I think he would have marched into the Gryffinder common rooms and kidnapped you. By the time we came back for fifth year, it was set in stone. He loved you.” Pansy shrugged again. “You’ve been broken before, Hermione. What makes you different to others, what made Harry Potter choose you to help him defeat the Dark Lord. You get back up, and you keep going.”

Hermione stared out of the window of Kate’s cafe - the new one, the one mostly free of ghosts - hands wrapped gently around her mug of chai. The rain was coming down so hard she thought the glass might shatter, the sound of it hitting so loud it sent the whole cafe into a contradictory, quiet sort of lull. Hermione had always loved the rain. She loved sitting with a coffee, a book, listening to it. But her coffee was cold, and she hadn’t opened a book in weeks. She had one on the table in front of her. She couldn’t read it.February was over; two months since she had found out about Draco’s lies. Almost two weeks since she had watched him bleed out in her bookshop. Mere days since Pansy’s words had sent something clicking, like the second hand of a clock, timing her.

You get back up.

Now she had had time to think on it, all of it, she had settled into a sort of anger only reserved for the people who have broken your heart. The people you trusted, who threw it in your face. An old friend, who had tailed her and made her miserable, who had assaulted her in her own business because he thought he had some sort of ownership over her.Her.
She was Hermione bloody Granger. She had saved lives, won wars. She had helped bring peace to the wizarding world at only seventeen years of age. Had torn her life apart to do it, made sacrifices others could barely comprehend. She had given everything: her childhood, her safety, her peace. She was the Brightest Witch of her Age, and she did not cry over a fucking man.And yet.
“Hermione, you coming?” Kate called from the door. Hermione nodded, grabbing her coat and bag as she stood.The rain hit hard as they hurried home, soaking through Hermione’s coat. Kate led her up the stairs, the quiet of the stairs eerie now.
When they opened the door, Hermione became stuck. She hadn’t seen him since they had collapsed into St Mungo’s, since he had silently helped her save Draco’s life. Now, though, he stood in her kitchen, hands in his pockets. Charlotte was glaring at him from where she stood, leaning against the kitchen counter.“Harry."He looked up at the sound of her voice, gratitude crossing his face. Hermione swallowed. Her reunions with her old friends hadn't exactly gone well, and the times that she had seen Harry weren't memories she wanted to relive. Malfoy in his office. Malfoy dying, in her shop.
And there was still that sense of betrayal. Harry and she had always had a different sort of bond, one built on trust and loyalty and understanding. And whilst she could try to empathise, try to remind herself that maybe she would have done exactly what he had, if the roles were reversed. But still. That sting.“Mione,” he said, his voice full of relief, “we’ve been waiting for you to get back.”“He’s been waiting,” Charlotte corrected, “I’ve been plotting.”“What are you doing here?” Hermione asked Harry, dropping her bag on the floor.“Can we talk?”“I'm not sure I-" Swallowing heavily, she glanced at her friends. Turned to step quickly into her bedroom, hanging her coat on the radiator to dry. Her socks squelched as she pulled her shoes off with a groan.“Please, Mione. I have to tell you-”“I can't talk to you right now.”“Then just listen. Five minutes, that’s all.”She looked at him, sighed. “I can’t force you to leave. It’s up to you whether you speak or not. I might be listening. I might not.”“Right.” He shifted on his feet. She looked away. “I’m not going to apologise for checking on you all this time. We just wanted to be sure you were safe. But I understand that it must feel like a betrayal.” He waited for her to speak. She didn't. “Well, the first thing you should probably know is that Oliver Drigster is currently being interrogated for crimes against the magical world. One of the charges is, of course, his assaulting you-"She flinched, turned away. Begged herself not to ask-“-as well as producing... Well, I don't know how much Malfoy told you about the box."People are dying. "Not a lot.""Right," he said again. "Well. Malfoy is currently awaiting trial for illegal use of the Unforgivable curses.”No. Her head snapped back to look at Harry.“I don’t want to guarantee anything, but I’ve got him the best defence lawyer I could find. Someone who knows him, and knows how to fight his case. Even when Malfoy doesn’t want him to.”You fucking idiot. Hermione leaned against her dresser. Tried to find some words and found that, now she wanted to speak, she couldn't figure out what to say.“We found some information that linked Drigster to the cursed box Malfoy was working on. We think we can fix it if he is honest with us.”Drigster cursed the box? Briefly, she remembered him trying to use it against Malfoy at the shop, throwing it in his face. At the time, she hadn't been listening.“The second thing, is that… well… the issue of the box. Whilst Malfoy and I were gone, Ron was in charge… Mione.”When his voice broke, Hermione forced herself to watch him. Really look at him, see the shadows under his eyes. The desperation on his face.“Ron is currently in the hospital, fighting... whatever it is the fucking box is doing to him. I have no idea what to do. I can't fix it on my own. With Malfoy out for at least another few weeks, and Ron… I need you, Mione. Ron needs you.”Her breath wasn’t finding her lungs, her heart wasn’t beating. It felt like information overload, like heartbreak and loss and betrayal all rolled into one.
This was her fault. Indirectly, maybe, but it could be traced back to her. Her and her decisions, her running. If she had just gone with Ron when he had asked... She could have helped. Should have helped.
She couldn't just leave him. Couldn't leave Malfoy. Couldn't pretend that this wasn't happening because of her.
“Why is Malfoy on trial?” she asked quietly, reaching for her bag.
Harry blinked. “He used-”“Whatever he did, he did it to save me.”“That’s exactly what our defence is. Kingsley’s trying his hardest, but-”“Well then, he’s not trying hard enough, is he? Malfoy should be celebrated, not…”Hermione took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment. Let the decision settle. She had to do this properly, make sure the pieces moved the way she wanted them to. The sort of thing she knew Ron would be good at: arranging people to give you exactly what you wanted. Strategy. The plan was only a draft, had her moving so fast she saw Harry flinch as she ripped her coat from the door.
“What-”“Hurry up, Harry, I don’t have all day.”Harry must have figured out that they were going to the Ministry, must have known what she planned to do even before he apparated them into the building. The receptionist stared with wide eyes as Hermione stalked past, straight to the elevator. She heard Harry’s swallow as she pressed the button for Kingsley’s office, the top floor.“Maybe we should-”“Fucking ridiculous,” she interrupted, “that I have to do this. Does nobody around here have any common sense? Any dignity?”“It’s not as simple as-”Hermione scoffed, shaking her head. The anger inside her was almost stifling, sudden and strong, different than it had been the past few weeks. Then, she had been unsure, guilty. Now, she knew exactly what she wanted. She had a purpose.Kingsley was in the middle of a meeting when she barged into his office, Chosen One at her back. He looked at her over the rim of his glasses, then slowly took them off. Dropped them to his desk.“Hermione,” he said.“I want Draco Malfoy exonerated of all charges.”“Excuse me?”“I want him given leave to decide if he continues with the box or not, and I want him compensated for the sheer insult of being threatened with Azkaban for simply doing his job.”“His job was not to-”“You know everything that happens in this Ministry. You must have known Harry was having me followed. You must have sent Malfoy and Harry to find Oliver.""Malfoy didn't quite give me a choice in the matter, Hermione," the Minister said, tone pointed. "I'm sure you know what he's like. Narrow-minded, determined. Stubborn. He wanted to go, and nothing I or Potter or anybody else said would have stopped him.""You wanted him alive, didn’t you? Drigster? You knew Malfoy would use the Unforgivable curse against him, and you let him."“I did not give Malfoy leave to avada anyone he came across. He killed two people, Hermione.”“All dark wizards, all being hunted by the Ministry for dealing in cursed objects,” Harry said. “Quite frankly, Kingsley, he did us a favour.”“If we allow this, we set a precedent. That as long as you’re killing anyone you consider bad, then the killing curse is free reign.”“Those wizards were attacking him. They would have killed him,” Harry said. “We have witnesses. I watched them crucio him.”Hermione winced, tried not to picture it.“All witnesses will all be brought to trial.”“The Wizengamot barely let him pass last time,” Hermione said. “You think they’ll do it again?”“I don’t have the power here, Hermione.”“I’ll come back,” she said. “I’ll come back and fix the box in his place. I'll cure Ron." She swallowed, wondered if this would add to her long list of sins. I'll save my friend, but only if you... "But only if you free Malfoy.”The Minister paused, sighed. Leaned back in his chair. Glanced at the man who he had been meeting with, a raised eyebrow. The man waved a hand, eliciting a sigh from Kingsley that Hermione thought must have been brewing for weeks.“It’s a deal.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

They wanted her to start immediately.
As the quill moved seamlessly over the parchment, Hermione felt somewhat that she was signing herself away. She could imagine the look Pansy would be giving her, the raised eyebrow and purses lips. Malfoy's reaction she couldn't quite place in her mind: he had wanted her here, after all. Perhaps he would be happy to hand off what appeared to be an unendingly difficult and complex job.Harry was waiting for her when the elevator dropped her off on his floor, a worried smile on his face. There was a moment of strange silence between them, both still unused to the other's presence. In the end, he cleared his throat, threw a thumb over his left shoulder in a gesture so like him, that Hermione felt a crack in her composure.“I’ve given you the office next to mine, for privacy,” he said, “although all the reports are in Malfoy’s office.”"You've had a resignation?" she asked, nodding her chin towards the apparently-empty room he was motioning to.
"Actually..." Harry said, "the Auror it belonged to was an earlier victim of the box.""Oh." Hermione swallowed. "So which is Malfoy's?” Harry pointed to another door, and she nodded. Had the sudden urge to hide.There was another moment of quiet, and Hermione felt the air of the Ministry weighing down on her. She had never felt easy here, not even when she had worked in Muggle Liaison. It had always felt too large, too oppressive, in a way Hogwarts had never. School had been, for the most part, a place where she had experienced joy, comfort, success. Even in the dark days, there had been light.
But working here hadn't been what she had expected. Liaison had involved more obliviating than she had liked, even though she wasn't the one doing the charm. And everybody had always looked at her as if she were separate to them, something shiny and strange. When darkness had descended in those days, it was all she had seen.
“When will I be able to see Ron?” Hermione asked.“I’m ready when you are.”“Right.” She paused. “Let me just…”Her plan had been to go into the empty office, just to take a moment. Instead, Hermione stepped past the threshold into Malfoy's, shutting the door quietly behind her. Let her head fall back against the wood with a dull thud. God, why was she doing this? She had been clear with herself, all those years ago, that their safety was not her priority any more. That they should and would fend for themselves.She knew though, that it wasn’t true. That the minute she heard Ron was in danger, and Malfoy... Whatever the curse was, she knew she had to fix it before it killed her friend. Malfoy had never been clear about the effects of the curse, only the consequences if it wasn’t carried out. Perhaps she hadn't given him the chance, flinching at the first charm he wove in front of her, placing barriers where she shouldn't.
Perhaps he wouldn't come back, now she had taken his place. The messenger was on their way to him now, carrying his pardon, an apology, and an allowance. Perhaps, once he learned that she was here now, he wouldn't feel the need.
And so, this was how his office would stay. Hermione's eyes drifted around the room, her left hand raising enough so that her fingertips could graze the sleeve of a blazer hung on the coat rack. Shoes, shined. Spare ties, formal robes. So neat, so Malfoy. Over on his desk, an orange-coloured candle.
A mosaic of post-its on the wall.
Hermione turned, throwing open the door, stalking over to where Harry waited. He blinked at her.“Let’s go.”The hospital floor was cold, eerie. Hermione had never liked it down here. It wasn’t like St Mungo’s, more official and clinical. The healer that met them was pulling off some gloves.“How is he?” Harry asked.“Better than the last. The curse-diagnostic used by Auror Malfoy allowed us to prepare for each hex, however,” he paused, “the curse is fighting back.”“How?” Hermione asked, and he nodded in a direction, started walking.“It’s almost as if it’s charmed to respond to changes,” he explained. “We expected something like this, seeing as how the curse had a built in contingency plan for when its demands couldn’t be carried out. But I’ve not seen a curse evolve so quickly before.”Demands. "What is it doing now?”“It’s strange. After we healed the last hex, the curse appeared to lie dormant for a few hours. This is the longest any of the victims have survived, as I’m sure you know, so we thought we might have cracked it. But then, well…”The screaming started as if on command, just as the healer pushed open a heavy, white door. Hermione recognised that scream - she had heard it when Ron had been splinched in seventh year. Back then, though, she’d known how to fix him, had been able to use her knowledge to help him.
It was always a bizarre sight, Ron in a hospital bed. From the first time she had witnessed it, it had felt wrong to her. Such a strong, imposing character. To see him weakened this way was almost unimaginable, unexplainable. Even now, when she didn't know him anymore.
Her eyes found the dark mark splayed across Ron’s arm immediately, left bare, contrasting against the cold white of the room. The black ink spreading from it was curling under his skin, a curse made physical. Hermione had never seen a mark waking before, had never watched one summon its maker. She heard Harry mutter a gentle muffliato.“None of the other victims have succumbed to stunning charms,” he told her quietly after Ron’s screams had finished echoing around the room.“None of them have gotten this far,” she said. Moving to stand over him, she assessed the mark. "Does Padma know?""She knows he's here. She doesn't know all the details."Hermione leaned in closer, tilting her head over the Mark."It looks like Malfoy’s did in sixth year. Do you remember?”Harry nodded. It had been him who had seen Malfoy brandish the mark, after all. Him who had described it to Hermione in such detail, the awfulness of it. The pain in Malfoy’s face. And then Hermione had seen it herself, when she had watched his memories during his trial. Saw the broken patches, the blurry lines of cursed blood snaking up his arm. An unwilling dark mark.
“He’s fighting it,” Harry said.“No,” Hermione murmured. “I don’t think that’s it. I think the curse is changing.”“How?”“I don’t know. Dark marks can’t be removed, with spells or Muggle methods. The only time we’ve seen one change is when Voldemort died."“Only Voldemort knew how to place the dark mark.”“Clearly not.” Hermione looked at him. “A Death Eater has to be behind this.” Harry shifted on his feet. “Harry, what aren’t you telling me?”“I can’t…” he looked around the room. “It’s confidential.”“You’re joking. This is Ron we’re talking about!”“I know. But I can’t tell you.”"You asked me to come, Harry," she reminded him.He nodded. "But I still can't tell you."“Fine," she said, straightening from where she had been bent over Ron's arm. "Then I’ll just have to read whatever Malfoy’s got.”Whatever turned out to be simultaneously everything and nothing. Malfoy had cabinets of notes, textbooks with post-its stuck on the edges, parchments of ideas stacked at the side of the room. His notes were filed with questions, letters he had sent to Kingsley, requests for access to confidential information. All denied. So he had worked on the curse itself, trying to work a million different counter-curses into one.Lately, he had been focusing on that rune he had spoken about, when he had watched her draw a silencio rune. This, though. Imperio.
Dark, dangerous. Hermione shivered as she touched one page, scratchy ideas of an awful rune.
Then there was the Dementor's kiss, the newer, fresher scrolls on his desk. To instil that into a curse, into an object. It had to be impossible. No one would be that skilled, or that stupid, to try. Besides, Hermione wasn’t even sure where all the dementors were, after they had been banished by Kingsley following the war.An imperio rune. The Dementor's kiss. Instilled into a box and an urn.
When she went to the start, all of Malfoy's notes helpfully dated, she started to understand why he hadn't told her. All those Muggle-borns, hunted and taken and killed. Just like before. Hermione had been so sure it was over, that she had helped to end the war.
Now, reading what Malfoy had kept from her, she started to wonder. Maybe her work wasn't finished, after all.

“She what?”The guard clicked his tongue, eying Draco as he stood in the doorway of his flat. Blaise, standing behind him, had his wand out, ready to defend despite Draco's protests. They had been sure that this was it, that Draco's time was here. But now...“Miss Granger had you exonerated.”Draco stared. Knew he was gaping.“Yes, that’s what I thought you said. Are you sure-““Straight from the Minister’s mouth.”The stranger was holding out some rolled up parchment, which Draco took, movements slow and unsure. There was still a chance this was a ruse, a trick. But as soon as the scroll was released from his grasp, the guard disapparated, and Draco let the door swing close.“So…” Blaise said, “what does it say?”“It thanks me for all I did for the Ministry," Draco told him, reading out loud, "and promises compensation for the… insult of threats of Azkaban. Then it says that they have found-” a small laugh escaped him, “sufficient replacement to complete my current tasks.”“The box?”“Yes.”“Her.”Draco’s jaw was tight, his hand clenching into a fist, crumpling the letter. Those waves of dizziness had lessened since he had left Mungo’s but now, he felt another. A wash of something else. So strong he found he had to place his empty hand against the wall, feel the cold strength of it keeping him up.
“Yes.”“Well,” Blaise slapped his hands together, “you did it. You got Hermione Granger back where she belongs. You’re done.”No. Not where she belongs.Draco Malfoy was many things. One of those things: a liar. He had used her disappearing act as an excuse, told himself that he wanted her to fix the box, needed her to help him. If that had been true, if that had been his priority, he would have told her that first day. He wouldn't have spent months re-learning her, coaxing his way into her life. He wouldn't have memorised the feel of her under his hands.Hermione Granger was back. In the Ministry. Not back with him. Maybe if he had asked her straight out, if he had never lied, this would be fine. If they hadn’t built a relationship, made plans for their future. If he hadn’t been sure that she could fall in love with him, despite everything… if he hadn’t known what it was like to have her.He should never have taken her rejection for what she thought it was: an end. Whilst he was away, tending his wounds, they had swooped in to steal her back. Used him, to force her out of the life she wanted.
Blaise saw the look on his face, sighed. “You’re not done are you?”“With her?” Draco exhaled slowly. “Never.”“You know it’s going to time for her to trust you again.”Time he didn't have. Space he didn't want. Or maybe just an explanation. He just had to be honest with her, more than he ever had been. It was easy, for him to be open to her. But to give her everything, parts of him he had never planned to. To show her what he was capable of when she was in danger…
“Potter promised me he wouldn’t involve her,” Draco said, “when we figured out it was Drigster who had cursed the box. Shit. I knew I should’ve asked for a Vow.”“Sneaky, that one,” Blaise said. “Bit of Slytherin in him.”“I can’t leave her there alone. She’s only just recently doing magic again, who knows how the box will react to her?”“So, what then?”“Plan Z?”Blaise made a face. “I’ll get the whiskey.”It was evening by the time he left his flat, just enough drinks to get him moving without wincing, not enough to take away his control. Draco knew that Potter would still be working, still holed away in that office of his. With the recent events, all the Aurors were on overtime.
He must not have been occluding as much as he thought he was, because when he stepped into the elevator, those already inside hopped out. When he arrived on the right floor, a deathly silence filled the air. He wondered if his rage was spread across his face, or just in the air around him.
Or maybe it was in the way he kicked Potter’s door open.It could have been the slicing hex he sent in the Chosen One's direction, shredding paperwork and a strange glass ball with small bits of white floating inside it. He heard a shocked sound from behind him, watched Potter's expression go from shock, to anger, to resignation as he figured out who was attacking him, just in time for the incendio to reach him.“I hope you have a good explanation for why my witch is being blackmailed into working for you.”Potter held up a hand, nodding over Draco's shoulder. When he followed the look, Draco saw the Aurora behind him, wands ready to defend their leader. Scowling, he kicked the door shut with a swift knock of his shoe, gave Potter a chance to put out the quickly increasing fire on this desk. For a moment, Draco stood, expecting something. Anything. Held his hands out to his sides. Finally, the man at the desk placed his palms on the wood, trying to push the ash left from Draco's spell into the bin."You can't assault people without warning, Malfoy."“Really, Potter?”“You could have burn-"“What was it, a week? Before you did exactly what we agreed we wouldn’t?"“Malfoy,” Potter sighed.“We agreed,” Draco repeated, “when I told you I would go back to the club, we agreed. That under no circumstances would we drag her into this. That she had done enough. That we would leave her alone. Especially considering the curse-maker we were hunting was stalking her."“I remember.”Draco made a noise of consideration. “You remember. Strange, then, that not two weeks later I get a letter from your fucking boss, saying that she’s replaced me.”“There are unexpected events.”“Why is she here?”“She-” Potter stopped, sighed. Leaned forward on his desk. “She came of her own accord.”“Her own accord? Is that what you call it? Her own accord had her abandoning this shithole. Building her own business, her own life, away from you, away from the Order and all your pretentious, irritating bullshit.” Her own life, that Draco himself pushed his way into. “What exactly did you tell her to get her here?”Potter had the decency to wince, to look ashamed, for just a moment. “Mione made the conditions of her return clear.”“My freedom,” Draco offered.“Partly.”“Partly?”“She’s being compensated fully, for the loss of income.”“Compensated enough? I doubt it. This place hardly pays a reasonable wage. Poor Emily is having to scrounge for her morning coffee, and Gods forbid anyone forgets it.”“Mione came back to get you out of going to Azkaban,” he said, “but also because of Ron.”Draco looked at him now. “What’s wrong with the Weasel now?”“He touched the box.”Shit.Draco fell into the visitor's chair, propping an ankle on a knee. That would do it. That would be enough to drill right into Granger’s saviour complex, yank her back into the Ministry’s grip. Enough to pull at her guilt, place her directly in the middle even when she didn't want it.
“I could kill you, Potter. I should burn this fucking Ministry to the ground, just so she doesn't have to step foot inside it.""That will definitely get you sent to Azkaban.""Oh, murder's alright then, but arson is actually unforgivable?" Draco scoffed. "Absolute joke."“Are you forgetting that you wanted her here?” Potter sat in his own chair. “You went to her first, Malfoy.”“Right,” Draco muttered, “so we’re all agreeing to come together and collectively ruin her life, are we?”“If she didn’t want to-”“She doesn’t want to! She’s only here to save your arse, and that idiotic ginger’s.” He inhaled deeply, clutched the arm of the visitor’s chair to keep from launching himself across the room. “You shouldn’t have told her. I thought that she belonged here, but-” He swallowed heavily. “She shouldn’t be here.”“She’s safer here than she was out there.”“From Death Eaters and stalkers, maybe. From you lot?” Draco laughed once. “I’ve dragged her right back to you. I’ll be damned if I let you hurt her, or put her in harm's way. She’s not going near that bloody box.”Potter sighed. “She signed a contract. She’s legally obliged.”“Fuck that. Undo it. I’ll ship myself to Azkaban if needed. I’ll fix the box.”“You weren’t fixing the box.”“I’ll try harder. I’ll do it, Potter. Just tell her-”“Tell her what, Malfoy? That you’re free and you want her gone? That you decided actually, you don’t want her back.”Draco groaned, suddenly standing. “Are you trying to kill me off, Potter? Don’t tell her that, for Merlin's sake.”“She won’t let you push her off this now. She's made her decision, and she's here. Maybe she feels a little safer, after what happened at the shop."Draco winced, suddenly wishing he had drank a lot more fire-whiskey before coming here. His body was suddenly aching, his skin itching. Bed rest, had been his treatment plan. And he had been going to follow it, thinking her safe."You look like shit, by the way," Potter said. Draco's laugh was short, scathing. "You should be at home.""I was at home," Draco told him, "until one of your lackey's decided to come and uproot my peace and quiet.""You don't have to come back. We'll take care of her. Whatever you might think of us, you know we'll do that.""Will you?" Draco murmured. "Successful at that before, were you?"He heard a heavy sigh. "Take it as a win, Malfoy. You said you needed the best witch, and now you’ve got her.”No, Draco thought. He didn’t have her. Potter was right: she wouldn’t let him push her away from this now. If anything, she would make a point of staying exactly where he didn’t want her. If he was going to keep her safe, he needed to stay.
“I can't leave her here, alone,” he said, wondered if his words were loud enough to be heard.“So don’t. You have a choice, to stay and have her help you fix the box.”“She hates me.”“Well, maybe if you piss her off enough, she’ll change her mind and leave. Then you’ll get everything you want, this week at least. If you know what it is you want, that is.”“I assume you gave her my office."“Well, actually…”

Draco heard rushed steps out of the elevator, knew instantly that it was her. It was early, but the floor was already busy, Aurors flitting around the place. Draco had already noticed that it was decidedly less noisy with the Weasel in the hospital. He hadn’t allowed himself time to admit that he didn’t like it all that much.He had spent the last few hours staring at his post-its. She had moved some, already figured out where he was going wrong in a part of his counter curse. Had scribbled a tiny note about the shape of a rune that might help. He was just pulling his wand out, ready to practice, when he heard her opening the door to the office Potter had assigned for her. He heard a shocked sound, smirked.It took her an hour to work up the courage. A true lioness; a Hufflepuff might have taken all day.She stormed into his office, throwing the door open with enough force to send it flying back. He glanced at her, moved his eyes back to his wall.“I want my office back.”“Excuse me?”“Harry gave me the office next door. I turn up this morning and I’m told by a decidedly moody young woman that you gave her that office last night, and told her that by no means necessary was I to be given it back. Where is all my furniture?”Draco pushed off his desk, turning so he was facing the other end of the office. Slowly lowered himself into his chair and leaned back.
Finally let his eyes land on her.Merlin, he had missed her. He hadn’t really let himself think on it whilst away, the thought of her hating him. Knowing she wanted him out of her life, that he had destroyed her trust, had been enough to forbid himself from thinking of her.
So now he watched her, as he always had, as she found her desk sitting opposite his own, facing each other. The way they had worked in the library at Hogwarts. The way he was determined to have her every day of the rest of his life. Even if he had to work at the damn Ministry.“I want my belongings back.” She had yet to look at him.“They belong to the ministry, of which you do not work.”“Malfoy-”“Granger.” He fought the urge to smile, knowing it would only lead her from calm fury to otherworldly rage. And it was much too early to be enraging Hermione Granger. He would save that for later. “This is my office. I’ll decide what stays and goes. And if Golden Girls are going to work here, they absolutely must be protected. I am a dragon, after all. I hoard gold.”“I’m not staying in here with you.”“You don’t need to. You can turn around and walk out of this fucking building. I’ll ensure your contract gets ripped up.”“You know I can’t do that.”“You can,” he said. “You can leave, Granger. I told you in Rome, didn’t I? I won’t let anyone make you do anything you don’t want to. You don’t belong here.”“You-” She paused. “You didn’t tell me about the box.”“No,” he agreed. “I didn’t tell you.”“Why not?”He hesitated. Decided which reason to give her, where he should start. Knew, from that guarded look in her eyes, so unfamiliar to him now, that she didn’t expect him to answer. That she thought he was closed to her, because when she had thought he was being honest with her, he had been choosing which parts of himself to share. The parts to keep hidden.
“At first,” he said, slowly, “because even the mention of magic had you frozen. After York, I knew if I told you, you would come back to the Ministry. And I would-” lose you, he should have finished with. “You would come back and everything would be as it was at school. You, in danger, with no one looking out for you. I couldn’t do that.”“Isn’t that why you sought me out in the first place?” she asked him. “To bring me back?”Draco straightened, exhaled heavily. Wondered how, for all her brightness and intelligence, Hermione Granger still did not understand. That he hadn’t gone to bring her back to the Ministry, or to the magical world, no matter what he had said at the time.
“Not quite.”“You should have told me,” she said. “I deserved to know. They’re targeting Muggle-borns. Ron is lying in a hospital bed with a Dark Mark on his fucking arm.”“It’s not your job to save everyone.”“Maybe you should say that to the mirror, Malfoy.”“I don’t give a shit about saving everyone,” he reminded her. “One person. You. Nobody else matters, Hermione.”
Granger hesitated, and he watched the hand at her side curl into a fist. He felt the air crackling, marveled briefly at the feel of it against his skin. Wished she would set him alight just so he could have her magic over him again, just for a few seconds.“I’m not leaving,” she said.” I know the truth now, and I’m going to help fix that box. I’m going to fix Ron.”“Then we’ll be seeing each other on a daily basis for a while.”“I’m not staying in here with you. I appreciate that we need to work together, and I will be civil, of course. But I will not be sharing an office with you. It's not professional."Draco laughed, a low, dark sound that had his chest vibrating. When she cut him a glare, only short, he rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to contain it. He didn't have her gaze on him for long enough, barely a second.
"Now, since you apparently moved all this furniture yourself, I insist that you move it back." She paused. "Now.”He liked her like this. Finally. Settled even further into his chair, eyes settled on her. Ready for her reaction, ready to see her rage. It did feel a little like Hogwarts, riling her up just so he could watch her wrath. Enjoy her attention, even if it was hate.“No.”At his refusal, her eyes snapped to his. And suddenly he was no longer smirking, because the air was fiery, heated. Her magic was stifling, overwhelming. He wanted to breathe it in deep, have it carved into his skin, bonded to his soul. He wanted her all over him, like she had been.
And he knew she wanted it, too. He could see it in the way she faltered, her mouth opening slightly, as if stunned. He knew she felt it.“If you won’t move it for me, I’ll get someone else to do it." Her declaration was daring, as if it might change his mind.
“You can certainly try.”She disappeared. He got out his wand, practised the movements she had jotted down on his wall.It was only thirty minutes later that Potter showed up, ready to levitate her furniture back into that other room. Draco laughed, again, loud enough that he hoped she could hear it.“Go on, then, Saviour. Get on with it.”She sent him back his reports, through Emily, of course, with notes on the idea of the imperius curse being broken. It wasn’t something he had been able to crack himself, but one line she’d written about intent had him pulling out some of his old textbooks. He was halfway through a chapter when he saw a flash of curls heading towards the elevator. Standing, he went to work.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

She was going to kill him.She would do her time in Azkaban, gladly. She would suffer the trial and the funny looks. Hell, the magic suppression would be nothing on what she had done to herself for the past seven years. She wasn’t even sure if she would feel guilty, afterwards. Maybe slightly.In two days, Hermione's furniture had been moved five times. First, Harry had moved it back to her office from Malfoy’s. She had gone down to the archives to check something, barely ten minutes away. By the time she came back, her furniture had vanished. When she had stormed into Malfoy's office to find her desk exactly as she'd left it except now sitting opposite his, he had given her that familiar little smirk.
Angered, she moved it again. Herself.
When she had come back the next morning, he had returned her desk to his office. Set up so that they would be facing each other, just like the day prior. Hermione moved it back before he even arrived, heard him laugh when he showed up at the Ministry.Trying her best to avoid him wasn't working out well for her. When they weren't arguing about her exact location, he was trying to convince her to go home. His fear for her safety was clear, made worse by the fact that somewhere beneath them was the man who had tried to kidnap her. Hermione was actively trying to avoid that fact, knew that eventually someone would have to speak to Oliver. She knew they would ask her: she knew Malfoy would lose his mind.
Around noon, she entered Harry's office, accepting his offer of a cup of coffee in his office - although, he had suggested tea. Mostly because she wanted to ask him about the Death Eaters she had read about in Malfoy’s reports. But, within five minutes, she heard a resounding crash, multiple sounds of discontent. Sighed.
Pulled open the door to find her desk wedged in Malfoy’s doorway. Emily, who did a very good imitation of Malfoy’s childhood sneer, was watching in irritation. Hermione hadn't needed to spend much time with the girl to see the resemblance between her and her childhood rival. Smart, logical, narrow-minded.
“How is anyone supposed to get any work done?” she asked. Hermione stormed over.“You’re right, Emily,” Malfoy said, grinning, “it’s not exactly a suitable work environment, is it? That office is much too small for the Brightest Witch of Our age.”Emily huffed, narrowing her eyes at Hermione."He won't give me the report you asked for," she said, "or the notes I compiled about the Dementors. Notes I made when I went up to Scotland to find them.""If you want a career as a messenger owl, Emily, I'd be happy to provide a good transfiguration charm. Although, I think you're much better suited as an actual Auror." Malfoy looked at Hermione. "The Golden Girl is more than capable of getting her reports herself.""And how exactly would she do that?" Emily asked. "Every time she walks into your office, chaos ensues.""That's not true. The chaos comes from when she walks out of my office, not i-"“Stop it,” Hermione interrupted. "You're being difficult, Malfoy."“It’s not me,” he put a hand to his chest. “Somebody keeps moving your furniture. I’m just ensuring everything gets placed exactly where it belongs.”For a moment - yet another moment - they simply stared. Held each other's gaze. His hand slipped from his chest, as hers fisted by her side. Hermione felt - yet another feeling - that the distance was wrong. That the space she was holding between them was wrong, that the resentment and confusion between them was wrong. Doing the wrong thing, making the wrong decisions.
Hermione let out a cry of frustration. She turned, storming towards the elevator, heard a pointed look what you've done now from Emily. Pressed the button for the archives, determined to keep that space, to force it where she needed. She was only here to fix the box, on that Kingsley had been more than clear. Once that was done, she could go back to her friends, back to her life. Or at least, what was left of it.The archives of the Ministry sort of gave her the same feeling as the Hogwarts library had done, as a child. A feeling of separation, the perfect space to focus and ignore whatever was happening past the doors. Down here, the break-up didn't matter. Oliver didn't matter. Lying to her best friends and keeping her true self a secret didn't matter. Only answers.She was close to something. Hermione could feel it, that familiar excitement of standing on the precipice of some great knowledge. As irritating and frustrating as not being able to remember the next line to an old song, just on the tip of her tongue. Reading Malfoy's notes had made it clear that whatever Oliver had done, it hadn't been done before. Combining the imperio spell into a rune was one thing, but imbuing the kiss into an inanimate object was entirely different. Entirely dark. Figuring it out would change everything about what they understood magic to be.It only pissed her off that someone like what Oliver had turned out to be, had gotten there first.After an hour, she placed the textbook she had pulled, sliding it slowly back into place. Harry hadn't wanted her to do what she knew she had to, but there was no way around it. Hermione had never actually been to the basement. Her time in Muggle Liaison had never required it, although she had heard Ron and Harry complaining about it enough.
As the elevator descended, she noticed it. The quiet, the stillness. As if the very air was frozen, all sound prohibited. Nearing the room, Hermione strained for some kind of noise - anything. All of Malfoy’s notes had spoke off hearing a voice - although it hadn’t said whose - from the box. The urn, he believed, forced people to relive the sounds of your worst memory, the Kiss reaching through space. He hadn’t written what his was, only that it was so strong he could sometimes hear it all the way upstairs.Hermione heard nothing.She felt the magic, though. The darkness of it. It wafted around her as she pulled open the door, stepping inside the viewing room. Small enough that she noticed him first, his back to her, head bowed. At the sound of the door, he turned, straightened.
"I didn't know you were down here," she muttered. Malfoy shrugged. Held up a notebook so she could see it, scrawled runes, scratchy writing."Practising," he said. Lowered his gaze, before turning away. Not fast enough for her to miss his occlusion, the slate-grey of his eyes. Nothing like the brightness he usually looked at her with.Inhaling deeply, she took herself to the glass panel, getting her first sight of the box. Antique, tarnished. Something you might find in a Manor, or maybe a museum. Beautiful, at first glance. Horrifying, with its context.
“Don’t you hear it?”She didn’t turn to face him, continued staring at the box. Titled her head to try to see the back of it.“No,” she said quietly, “I don’t hear anything.”“Count yourself lucky.”“What do you hear?” she asked, and then wondered if that was rude, if he even wanted her to know. When she didn’t get an answer, she continued, “Your reports don’t mention anything, but I assume you can. I think you’re right with it being something to do with a patronus, but if you can hear it and I can’t, I’m not su-”“I hear you.”
She turned, then, to face him. Realised briefly that this was the closest they had been without screaming at each other since new year’s eve. The look on his face as he watched the box was… haunted. Painful to see, that emptiness in his eyes, those walls. Hermione wanted to console him, hold him, bring him back. She wanted to forgive him, knew she couldn’t, when she didn't have what she needed.“Me?” Her voice was quiet, hushed.“At first, I didn’t realise it was you. But, at some point… I realised. And then the urn…” He looked at her then, eyes glassy. “My worst memory. The manor. Bellatrix. Until recently, of course. It seems the curse shifts when one experiences something even more traumatic and terrifying.”
Hermione's throat was dry, painful as she swallowed. Everything he had been through, all the things he had seen, done, had done to him, and that was what he was reminded of? She wanted to be sick.“I’m… not sure what to say."He sucked in a harsh breath. “You don't need to say anything, Granger. I'm the one who needs to say things, to fix us."Us.
It wasn't wholly him, she knew. He had the answers she needed, the backstory and history and details. But it was her who needed to take the leap, to decide whether she wanted to go back to a life of not having him. Of not having her magic. A life away from Charlotte and Kate, who could never truly know her when she was in this world and so would, inevitably, fade from her. Away from her shop, the place she had once felt safer than anywhere else.“If it’s to do with being able to cast a patronus, maybe it’s not just about dark magic. Maybe it’s about dark memories.” He hummed at her words, waited. “If you can conjure a patronus, it’s because you have a memory that’s so pure, nothing else has tainted it.”“Right.”“But you can't conjure one, and you hear it. I could conjure one, and can't." Hermione swallowed heavily as she made she admission, the heavy weight of could, the past tense of what she had been able to do.“How do you know Oliver cursed the box?"“It’s how I found him.” She glanced at him, looked away. “He was cursing for cash. A lucrative opportunity when Death Eaters are around every corner. He admitted it to me, but since back-tracked. Said he's never touched any boxes or urns. He’s sticking to it, so I hear. They won't let me near him."“What about the Death Eaters found with the objects?”Draco sighed. "I don't know anything about them. Nothing."“At all?”“They refused to tell me.”She scoffed, rolled her eyes. “Me too.”“You? They refused to tell you?”“Yes.” He tutted, and she turned to see him shaking his head. “What?”“You still don’t get it, do you?”“Get what, Malfoy?”“You are one of the most powerful witches in the country.""I was, maybe," Hermione corrected, heard him snort with derision. "That was a long time ago.""No, it wasn't. It isn't. You have saved lives with magic no one else can do, you know more about anything than anyone else, you are strong and powerful and yet you let them treat you like… Like you’re brand new, or something.”“I do no-”“You think they’ve ever refused to give Potter information? Or Weasley? You think they’ve ever had to ask twice for anything? They were given their Auror positions without even taking N.E.W.T.s, for fuck’s sake."“What’s your point, Malfoy?’“My point, Granger, is that if you want information, go and bloody demand it. You got me exonerated, didn’t you? You are the Greatest Witch, their Golden Girl. They should deny you nothing. I know I can’t.”Hermione looked away from the box, found he was staring at the object with a deep frown. Feeling her gaze on him, he shifted, glancing in her direction, rubbing at his jaw, fingertips marked with ink."The rune," she said, "How is it coming along?""I'd like to say not well, just so that I didn't admit how much I've been practising.""Let me see?"After a moment, he nudged the notebook across the table. "Some of them feel close, but just not... Without Drigster, I don't think I can do it. I don't want to do it.""Maybe that's what's holding you back. The rune will need true intent, just like the spell.""I know," he said, "and I'm never going to want this to work. So it won't.""How do we get around that?""We need Drigster to open up. He needs to tell us what he did to the box, so we can undo it. It's the only reason Kingsley is keeping him here.""He's not going to tell.""And there was nothing in his mind that would prove useful. Although, I suppose I wasn't exactly looking for that at the time."Hermione pushed his notes back towards him. "When did you use legilimency on him?""New year's."Oh. She sighed. "That feels like an age away.""It does, doesn't it? Not sure how I've fared this long without being yelled at by Charlotte or attacked by your cat."Hermione's lips twitched. "If you'd like to know, she still threatens you when you're not there to hear it."A small sound came from his throat. "I deserve that.""It's been hard," she confessed suddenly, "not being able to tell them. About Oliver, or you. It's always been hard but... Worse, now."He was nodding, slowly. "I can understand."Of course he could. Maybe not exactly, but Malfoy knew the weight of secrets better than anyone. Better than her.
"Right," she said, "I think I have an idea."

Potter didn't hide his confusion when he showed up to the Minister's office to find them both waiting. Together, without arguing. Progress, Draco was happy to call it. She still couldn't look at him for longer than five seconds, and he had reverted back to his childhood behaviours: watching her when he knew for certain she wouldn't notice. It all felt so... school-like.
"I don't know that this will work," Potter said. Draco fought the need to roll his eyes.
"We have to try, at least," Granger told him."Kingsley doesn't want anyone knowing that Death Eaters are involved, in anything. If this gets out-""It won't. But if they find out Oliver's been caught, they'll vanish. We don't have time to try to fix the box or the urn without first knowing the curse. And the only way to know the curse is to try to get him to talk.""Malfoy already used legilimency on him, and found nothing," Potter pointed out. "If he knew anything, he's had it obliviated.""What about the Death Eaters you found with the box? They were left for a reason.""It's a message," Draco answered. "They want us to know who's behind the curse.""They might know something.""We've already asked, Mione."Draco tutted, pushing off the wall. He probably could have knocked, at least, before striding into Kingsley's office, but he was past manners.
"Draco," Kingsley greeted. "You know, one of these days I'm going to start locking my door.""You could certainly try. I bring your Saviour and the Golden Girl with me.""I hope this is a progress report.""Sort of," Draco glanced back at Granger, watched her enter the room quietly, expression somewhat unsure. She caught his motion to the chair, sat in it without arguing. Not letting himself stew for too long in her nonverbal acceptance of his offer, he moved behind her, shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers.
"We think the Death Eaters might have information about the box," she started, "something we're missing. The ones left with the objects.""They've been interviewed fully, on multiple occasions."“How fully?” Draco asked.“As much as what sits inside the law.”He scoffed. "So barely, then.”“Their memories are gone,” Kingsley told them.“That’s what they say.”The Minister threw Draco a healthy glare. “What exactly are you implying, Malfoy?”
“Believe it or not, but people don't just tell you the truth because you're the Minister, or even the Chosen One. They're hardly going to be honest. Let me search them.”“No,” Kingsley said. “We don’t use legilimency as a form of interrogation, especially forced."“What a ridiculous rule.”“It’s law,” Kingsley said.“Fuck the law!” Granger said suddenly. “Ron is in the hospital. He could die. So many already have, and nothing is being done!”“Mio-”“I want everything you have on those Death Eaters. Names, histories, recent activity. I want to know what was asked and what their answers were.” She hesitated. “And I want Malfoy leave to search their memories. And interview Drigster.”“Absolutely not. He tried to kill him, despite my orders."“If he can’t do his job properly, then Ron is lost. I won’t stand here and watch my friend die because of some stupid rules.”Draco was fighting the urge to smile. Quite honestly, he shut off from the conversation. Watching her take her power back wasn’t something he had thought he would ever actually see, not like this. He thought it would be gradual, small changes. Instead, he was getting to watch her as she realised exactly who the fuck she was, and what she deserved.Bittersweet. Because as she remembered that, she would also remember what he was. That he didn’t deserve her, even before he’d broken her heart.
"These aren't simply Death Eaters, Hermione," Kingsley said.
"They're Elders, aren't they?" Draco asked. He saw Potter shift. "That's why you're being so shifty.""Elders?""Ministry spies for Voldemort," Draco answered, Granger's amber gaze on him for only a moment, "Most of them worked for the Ministry before the war. Most of those were fairly high up, some even frequenting the Minister's office on a daily basis.""Yes, they are Elders," the Minister confirmed.Draco made a noise. "Thought they'd have all died off by now.""The fact that these Elders have been left for us to find means that whoever cursed the box was close to Voldemort. Only he and his most trusted allies knew their identities.""It's a message," Draco repeated, mostly to himself. "The Elders went into hiding when Voldemort started to lose control. Spies generally aren't very brave. They're considered traitors, since they didn't answer when he called. Whoever is finding them wants them out of the way, for whatever's next.""You think there's another object?" Potter asked."Possibly. Although, considering how busy Drigster's been ruining lives outside of deadly curses, I don't know how he would find the time. Perhaps we should ask him.""We will," Potter said.
"And what, he'll tell you simply because you say please?""Legilimency with Drigster is off the table," Kingsley said, "we barely have enough evidence to charge him. If you break the case, he'll go free."“We need to do something," Granger said. She stared the Minister down. Draco wished he was behind Kingsley’s desk, so he could see her face. Drink her in.Finally the Minister sighed. Looked at Draco with resignation. "You can't harm them, Draco. They're under the protection of the Ministry."Draco held his hands in the air. "No hexes, curses, or jinxes.""I'll give you leave to interview Drigster - verbally. Since we've already got enough to charge the Elders, I can give you leniency with them under the Safety for Muggle-borns Act, but I don't imagine you'll find anything. If Oliver was smart enough to have himself obliviated, we can be sure that anyone else involved got the same treatment.""We won't know that until we see for ourselves."Kingsley leaned back in his chair. “Alright, Hermione. You’ll have what you’ve asked for.”“One more thing,” Draco said, as Potter and Hermione were readying to leave. “I myself, have a request.”“You don’t have any bargaining chips, Malfoy,” Potter said. “Last week you were on the list for Azkaban. You were offered compensation, which you blatantly refused. You’re only here because Herm-”“I’d like to remind everyone that I’ve been working here for free.”“You were offered money! You don’t even need it.”“Correct. I’m practically swimming in gold.” His eyes flickered over to Granger, who was turning away. He hoped he wasn’t imagining her blushing. He hoped he wasn’t the only one imagining all the times he called her golden as he pressed into her, her dress around her waist, his tie in her fist-“So what do you want, then?”He faced the Minister. “Granger has two Muggle friends who have supported her through the last seven years, no questions asked. I want her to be able to break the Statute to tell them what she really is.” He knew she was staring at him, met her gaze, “The real her.”She gaped. Potter spluttered. Kingsley leaned back in his chair.
“No, I-” Granger stopped herself, straightened. Held his gaze.
“I don’t want anything else,” he said. “I don’t need money. I don’t need a job. I don’t want anything from you, except for this.”"Nobody has ever broken the Statute," Kingsley reminded him. "I can't give you this. If I do, and the public found out, there's a risk it could be broken further." Now, Draco did roll his eyes."Let me be clear. Granger is going to tell her friends about magic. You can either give her permission and keep her, or you can have her break the law and attempt to send your very own Golden Girl to Azkaban, which will be hard when anyone who touches her mysteriously disappears. Now, I haven't seen Skeeter in a while, but I'm sure she would love to hear all about how the Ministry for Magic treats his war heroine. What do you think, Granger?" He grinned at her. "I'm sure they'll let you pick the headline."Kingsley sighed. "You can't keep giving me ultimatums, Draco."Draco gave him a look. "Yes, I can."“This is your request?” Kingsley asked him. “Nothing more?” Draco nodded, heard the Minister sigh. When he muttered a small “Fine”, Draco saw Hermione’s chest flutter. “But it must only be for these two muggles. No more. Understand?”She nodded, practically ran out of the room. Draco followed, found her standing at the end of the corridor, past the elevator. Staring out the window.“Granger, I-”"You're insane, you know that?" she said, eyes wide when she turned to him. "Clinically out of your mind.""Why?""Why? Malfoy, nobody breaks the Statute. Nobody.""Well, be the first, then.""You could have asked for anything. Anything at all, and you asked for this?""Don't you want to tell them?""Of course I do! I- I never would have asked for it myself.""Hence why I asked for you. Be happy, Granger. No more secrets."She looked at him then, really looked at him, for the first time since she had found out about his lies. Draco felt the usual effects of that earthly haze: the in teased heartbeat, the sweaty palms. He felt dizzy with the weight of it, the sudden idea that maybe he hadn't fully lost her.
"Thank you," she said, "I don't know...""You don't have to thank me. Nothing I've ever done for you has been for that.""I know."He watched her arms wrap around herself, wished he were doing it instead. Pushed his hands back into his pockets, restraining himself.
"This is so hard," she whispered, another CP session rolling out of her. He soaked it in.
"We'll fix the box, Granger, I know it.""Not that. I mean, yes, that, too, and Ron, but... I want to forgive you, completely. But when I look at you... It hurts, Draco.”I’m hurt. You’ve hurt me.“I don’t mean to hurt you,” he told her, “I don’t want to hurt you.”“Why did you do this? Why did you come find me if this is what you were going to do the whole time? Pansy told me you never planned for me to want you, so… But you made it so easy, and it's so right, but now..."He saw her, fracturing. Saw the fissure in her composure, in her reasoning. Knew this was his chance, maybe his only chance, to bring her back to him, finally. Draco took a step forward, lifted a hand to reach for her, restraint broken. But the elevator dinged it’s arrival and she pushed past him to step inside. Falling against the wall, he didn’t turn to watch her leave.Draco had always known that letting her go would hurt even worse after having her. He hadn’t planned to destroy her as he left, but he felt it, as he always did. Her pain, right beside his.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Draco had planned this day.
He had planned striding right up to the man, wiping that irritating sneer off of his face. He had planned how he would finish the job he had started, how he'd rid Oliver Drigster of his left and final hand. He had planned it, down to every detail, how he would make this particular wizard pay for what he had done to her, as Draco had lain awake in the aftermath of their duel. The shaking, the aches of his muscles, the dizziness. None of that mattered, compared to what he had seen - still saw - when he closed his eyes. What he had found as he had apparated into Granger's shop.
Unfortunately, none of Draco's plans were to be carried through. Kingsley's instructions had been clear: Draco was not to be alone with Oliver Drigster. Not that it really made a difference. If Draco was going to kill the man, it hardly mattered whether the Chosen One was there to watch.It didn't help, really, that Draco had spent the time since their latest duel recovering. Re-training his hands not to shake from the crucio Drigster's friend had thrown at his back, his mind throwing the pain at him every time he tried to sleep, the memories of all the times he’d been crucio-ed before standing in the shadows. He had never missed Granger more, not even when he’d been undercover. He was sure his healer would pitch a fit if he learned Draco had returned to work early; he knew for certain that his mother would.But none of that mattered. Granger was here, so he was here.She hadn’t mentioned coming with him to speak to Drigster, and he was glad for it. Just the thought was enough to have his blood boiling. Their tendency to fall into heated spats when they spent longer than ten minutes together was becoming frustrating: not least because Draco knew their words were just coded messages, hints at what they actually wanted to say. He couldn't give a number to how many steps back they had taken, but it felt as it had when he had first found her again. Every time he opened his mouth in front of her, something ridiculous came out.He had apologised, hadn’t he? Surely he had. Now he thought about it, he couldn’t remember actually saying the words. Maybe he shou-“Malfoy.” Potter’s voice broke through the charm of thinking of Granger, dragging him back to the present. Winning her back would have to wait; he hadn’t finished protecting her, yet.Potter entered the room first, holding the door open for him. Draco made sure to put on his best saunter, waltz straight over to the seat and fall into it with a sigh. Made sure to give Drigster only a cursory glance over, preferring to spend his time rifling through the file as if he didn’t already know everything about him.Oliver Drigster had been born in London. He had attended Hogwarts - a couple years older than them, had left school before it really kicked off. His time post-education was spent working his way up the Ministry, until he found himself in Muggle Liaison, just a few months before the Golden Girl herself. Kingsley had told Draco that Drigster was good, and he’d been right; Drigster was good. Smart, capable, cunning.
He was also a raging lunatic.His flat, once properly searched and torn apart, had yielded a worrying insight into Drigster’s mind. When Draco had performed legilimency on him, she had been the focus of his deep-dive. He hadn't seen everything else that Drigster had been doing. Granger had been an obsession of his for years; the stalking had started barely a year after she left the Ministry. He had been in York with her when her parents had died, had watched her move down here, seen her start her business. Granger had thought she had gotten away, but there had been a shadow behind her whole time.Whilst following her, he had been practising. Journal upon journals of charms and spells. Curses, hexes. He had figured out what had happened to Hermione’s parents, what had gone wrong with her attempt to fix their memories. But instead of trying to fix the obliviate charm, he was trying to better it. Make it easier. Draco didn’t want to think about why, didn't want to think about what he had seen when he had searched Drigster's mind. The life he had planned for her, down to every detail.Perhaps it was a good thing he didn't have permission to do it again.Instead, he would have to be satisfied with the pride he felt when he saw the wound he had left Drigster with. Had the man not been leaning over his witch at the time, Draco would have killed him. A strong slicing spell had done the job he couldn't, closed the distance he couldn't. Seeing his stare, Drigster pulled his arm, now missing a hand, off the table and into his lap. A smirk played with Draco's lips: he wasn't a sadist, of course. But he did enjoy revenge.“So,” Draco started, “tell us about the box.” When he got nothing in reply, he sighed. “Come on, do you think I’ve got all day?”Potter lowered himself slowly into the seat next to him, leaning his elbows on the table.“Oliver,” he started, “do you really want to go to Azkaban? You know you’re looking at a life sentence, just for what we found in your flat.”“Ah, yes.” Draco opened the file with a flick of his wand. “The illegal artefacts. The files, the top-secret information. They've had people looking for some of this stuff for years. What exactly did you need with all this?”All this, meaning a decades worth of classified information, some of it pertaining to Granger. All stolen from the Ministry. Kingsley had been the closest to a meltdown that Draco had ever seen him when he had perused the inventory from Drigster's flat. Draco hadn’t mentioned at the time that they could possibly find the rest of whatever was missing in his Manor.Drigster shuffled in his seat. "I want to see her."There was a pause. On the table, Draco saw the muscles in Potter's arms tighten, until the Saviour leaned back in his chair. The urge to leap across the table and strangle the man across from him intensified, until Draco knew his shakes weren't from the crucio, but from clutching onto the shreds of his restraint.
"Tell us about the box," he said, jaw so stiff he thought his teeth were going to crack.
"I want to see her." Drigster spoke to Potter, not to him."You know that's not going to happen," the Auror replied, voice calm but strained.
"You can't keep her from me. We're meant to-""Finish that sentence, and I'll ensure you leave this room without a tongue."Now, Drigster looked at him, sneering. It was a good impersonation of the expression Lucius used to give him; smug, superior, hateful. It made Draco want to kill him even more than he already did."You can't do anything to me," he hissed, "Not here. I'm the only one who can tell you how to fix the box.""Did you lose your memory when I sliced your hand off?" Draco asked. "I don't give a shit what information you've got. If you mention her one more time, I'll set your tongue on fire and shove the ashes down your throat. Am I clear?"A moment of hesitation, and Drigster relented. For all his stalking, all his obsessive need for Hermione Granger, Drigster's selfishness was far greater. That had been made clear when Draco had seen his plans for her, the way he would have hidden her from all she loved. Stolen her. Happiness was not what he wanted: he wanted to own her.“Personally, I don’t think Azkaban’s enough.” Draco looked at Potter. “Maybe he really just doesn’t remember. Should we show him the box?”He saw Drigster flinch. Potter raised an eyebrow, leaned back further into his chair.
“I mean,” Draco said slowly, “we wouldn’t even have to move the bastard thing. We could just take him downstairs, show him what we’ve been putting up with for the past six months.”“That would be against Ministry policy,” Potter said. "Bordering on torture."“It would.” Draco gave another sigh. “Good thing I don’t work for the Ministry.”

Hermione was sitting at her desk in her office when they returned from speaking to Oliver. She watched Malfoy storm into his office, the door slamming, before slowly stepping over to Harry’s door. The Auror ruffled his hair, shaking his head at her as they entered his office together.“I take it that went as expected.”Harry sighed, falling into his chair. “He won’t talk.”“I'm not surprised."“Malfoy did most of the questioning, although it didn’t end up being much questioning compared to yelling.” Harry shook his head. “I swear, his fuse just gets shorter and shorter.”Hermione bit her lip. It was true, and she had noticed it. In the days since her return to the Ministry, he had become less and less patient with those around him, excluding her. He was angry, short-tempered, almost like he had been when they had been children. A spark, threatening to set alight. His eyes, cold and blank, occlusion warping him into something more akin to what, she supposed, his father had wanted him to be. Aloof, separate. Closed.It had taken only a day for the paperwork to get to them: Harry and Malfoy's permission to go to Azkaban, and her to break the Statute. Kingsley's sloping signature, allowing her to finally be honest with her closest friends about who and what she truly was. Hermione hadn't fully believed it, had stared at the parchment for what had felt like hours, expecting it to shrivel into dust in her grip. It hadn't.And still, she remembered the way he had looked at her as he had asked for it. The sadness in his eyes when they had spoken afterwards. His obvious need to comfort her, so instinctual, and her desperate desire to let him. The words she had left on his voicemail, I want to fight for us, had drifted through her mind as she had fled. Fled, yet again.
"He's never going to speak to Malfoy," Harry said, "not after what happened."“Whilst you were gone," she finished, and he nodded. "I'd like to know."He leaned back in his chair, assessing her. “Maybe he should be the one to-”“He's not exactly in the space for talking,” she reminded him, "but it might give us some insight into how we can get Oliver to open up." After a moment, Harry gave a small shrug.“After Drigster drugged you, Kingsley gave the all-clear to track him down. Malfoy and Leon had already found his flat, obviously, so we knew he wouldn't be going back there. We tore the place apart. Malfoy recognised the symbol of a dark wizard club in Drigster’s flat. He’d been undercover there before for the Ministry-”“When?”He swallowed. “Malfoy should definitely be the one to tell you that story.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, it took him two weeks just to find the damn place, and then another week to get in. After that, it wasn’t too hard to spread rumours that he was looking for a curse-maker. A good one.“From Drigster's flat we knew what he specialised in; everyday objects, with dark intent. Once we found him, we knew we had to act fast. But we weren’t quick enough. He disapparated, and Malfoy went with him, grabbed him before we could lose him. Luckily Malfoy had agreed to a trace on his wand, so I managed to follow, but by the time I got there… Malfoy apparated into a trap. Whoever Drigster’s protecting is offering the same service back. They ambushed him.""Oliver knew Malfoy would follow him," Hermione said quietly, "He knew he'd never let him leave. Not without a fight."“They were crucio-ing him when I got there," Harry's word were tight, strained. She winced. "Whatever happened whilst I wasn't there, I can't say. He wasn't too big on the details afterwards, at least not with me. Either way, Drigster was gone, just the two Death Eaters. When I apparated in, they were distracted. He avada-ed them both, and disapparated."“To me,” she whispered.“You know the rest.”Hermione sat down in the free chair. More mysteries. There was that sense, again, that feeling like she knew Malfoy, whilst knowing nothing about him. It was similar to when she had found him at Malfoy Manor: she knew he was hurting, knew something terrible had happened to him, and yet it was blurry. Another thing he shoved behind his walls, knowing it would hurt her to know the truth.“Mione,” Potter said slowly, “you know, he’d probably tell you everything, right?”“I know, Harry. But I don't know if either of us is ready for that."“Not Malfoy. Although, that’s probably true. Oliver.”Hermione stilled, wringing her hands in her lap. She knew it, of course. She had tried not to think about it, though. Hermione didn’t want to face him, be near him. Just being in the same building as him was making her feel nauseous. This man, who had once been her friend and colleague, who had given her a charm to help fix her parents which had instead led to their deaths. Who had followed her across the country, for years, planned his life with her as if he had the right.
"I hate to ask," Harry said slowly."Then maybe you shouldn't."“We're getting nothing," he reminded her, "and that's not going to change. We need to help Ron. If you spoke to him-”The hex came from behind her, the bright red of a stinging hex. Harry swore, pushing up to a stand.“This better be a fucking joke."Malfoy’s voice broke through the eerie tension that had permeated their conversation, harsh and angry. Furious, in fact. Hermione didn't turn to face him, didn't need to, because his heavy steps brought him to her. He stood between her and Harry, as if a physical barrier between her body and his words. Protecting her, always. His wand was in hand, ready to be used again. Hermione pushed herself out of the chair.“Tell me I'm not hearing what I think I'm hearing.”“Malfoy, she might be the only one who can get anything from him."“Absolutely fucking not. She’s not going anywhere near that cunt.”“What if-”“No.”“She’ll be safe. We’ll both be there.”“No.”“But-”With another flick of his wand, Malfoy sent another jinx in Harry's direction.
"Draco!"“He’s been stalking her for years, Potter! Years. He drugged her. Do you want to know what he had planned? I do. I know exactly what he wanted.” Malfoy stopped, pressed the heel of his hand against his eye. “I saw it.”“Malfoy-”“Don’t you dare tell her to speak to him, knowing she'll say yes just because you asked. I told you I would burn this place to the ground and I will. Just try me."“Malf-”“Did you forget, Potter? Do you need reminding, again? Will you throw another sectumsempra at me for daring to put her first?”"It's not just about her," Harry told him. "This is bigger than-"Another flick, this time a nasty slicing hex."One day, I swear," Malfoy said slowly, "I'm going to kill you for all the times you've put her in danger."“Draco, stop."At her voice, he sighed, dropped his hand. When she rose, moving to his side, he wouldn't look at her. He was staring out the window, eyes narrowed.
“I’m standing right here,” she said, "and it’s not up to you.”“So what, Granger?” He spun to face her now, eyes blazing, finally. “You’re just going to walk in there and give him the attention he wants?”“If it gets us something we need, then yes.”“He tried to kill you!”“He wouldn’t have,” she said, sounding more sure than she felt. “I mean more to him than that.”Malfoy laughed once. “You walked away from this, all of it. Being used like this. And now you’re letting it happen again.”“I am not being used.”“Aren’t you? No other woman would stroll into the same room as her stalker and would-be murderer, sit across from him like old mates.”“I’ll do what I have to.”“But you don’t have to do this. You’re not.”“You can’t tell me what to do, Malfoy. We’re not together any more, remember?”He let out a small scoff, rubbed his forehead again. “Don’t fucking remind me.”"And even if we were, you don't get to make decisions for me. You've been doing it for too long. You have to give me the chance to defend myself before barging in and hexing anyone you think is trying to hurt me."There was a lull, and she watched him wince. Close his eyes, rubbing at his forehead. Let out a harsh sigh.
“Malfoy,” she said slowly, “what’s the matter?”“Nothing.”“Tell me.”“Just…” He stormed out of the office, and, after getting a shrug from Harry, Hermione followed Malfoy to his office. He waved a hand, and the door slammed shut behind her. She might have mentioned how much non-verbal magic she had seen him doing lately, if the time were right.“Malfoy, what's wrong?"“Don’t talk to him,” he said, tone desperate, “I can’t see that. He wants to hurt you, Hermione. He wants… Please don’t do that.”"I'll be safe, Draco," she told him. "Harry will be there, you.""You think I can stand there and watch you enter a room with him, after what he did to you? I can barely exist in the same space without killing him, let alone when you're there.""I don't want to do it," she said, "but if it gets what we need... I don't see how I can't."“I’ve done everything I can to protect you,” he reminded her, “everything. For years, it’s all I thought about.” He hesitated, tongue touching his bottom lip. “I’ve never needed you to like me, or-” Draco swallowed. “I just need you alive. I was taught to do whatever is necessary, and I have. And now, you’re just going to walk into a room with the man I’m trying to protect you from.”“I’ll be safe," she said again. Wondered how many times she would have to say it before it started to feel true again.“No, Hermione. We’ll find another way. Please.”When he groaned, pressed his hand to his head, she sighed. Took a step closer."Do you have a headache?”“A headache would be painful.” He winced. “This is excruciating.”“You’ve got a migraine. Did the healers give you anything after you left Mungo's?”"Some potions. They make me drowsy.""I'm assuming they ordered months of bed rest that you completely ignored."He had the strength to smirk lightly at her. "Bed rest is bumped down the list when I hear my witch is in danger."My witch. Those words from him, so familiar, so cutting. Hermione couldn't help but feel her heart sigh as it always did when he referred to her as his. She couldn't help but acknowledge the fact that, despite their break-up, it still felt true.True, even with the rift between them. The missing pieces and strange tension and leftover anger. Malfoy was trying everything he had to keep her safe, putting it well above his happiness and desire to have her, despite the barriers she had placed, despite the space she had kept. Putting her first, always. Even now.Hermione went over to her office, grabbed some painkillers from her bag. Returned to press them into his hand. “Take two,” she told him. “You should go home.”“I can’t, the box-”“I’m here now, Malfoy. I’ll deal with the box." She paused, swallowed. "I have to run downstairs, but afterwards. I'll chase those files."Glancing at her, he reached over his desk for a glass of water.
"Downstairs?"She nodded. "I uh... I've decided to see a mind-healer. There's a man downstairs who I think will work. I've got to go and fill out a questionnaire so I can get an appointment after we've fixed the box.""After we've fixed the box," he repeated, eyes on the floor. She wondered what the words meant to him, if they sounded as final to him as they did to her. If he was thinking about the plans they had made, the things they had talked about doing, just like she was.
"I need to check on Ron." When she spoke, her voice was quiet, almost tender. "The healers say he's stable, but I'd like to see for myself."He looked at her then, eyes blurry. After a moment, he nodded. She watched him move over to the elevator, throw a quick glance over his shoulder to look at her, before disappearing behind the doors.

She gave it two days. Two days for him to tell Malfoy and Harry what he really wanted to tell her. But the second time they came back from interrogation room, the second time Draco locked himself in his office, not even looking at her, face twisted in pain. He was supposed to be resting and instead, he was forcing himself into the same room as a man who had placed him under the cruciatus curse. For her.Hermione marched into Harry’s office, met his green stare.“Take me to him.”Oliver was suffering, she saw it instantly. He cradled his injured arm to his chest, staring at the wall across from him. Eyes shadowed by dark circles, skin pale and sickly, hair limp over his forehead. He had never been imposing, she knew, but now... After what he had done to her, she had thought she might be scared of him. Seeing him brought her only anger, flashes of his face inches from hers, the sharp spark of pain in her face."He's under a shit-ton of magic reduction charms," Harry told her, "and I'll be just through here.""I know.""If you really don't want to-""We need what he knows. And Kingsley's never going to let Malfoy use legilimency."Harry didn't reply, and she knew that he knew she was right. Inhaling deeply, she pushed through the door, strode straight into the room. Drigster had to double-take, before he rose from his chair. Hermione wondered what he saw on her face, tried to keep it natural. Raging at him wouldn’t get her the information she wanted. She need to play it how she did when he arrived at her store. Carefully, strategically. She had to make him think they were on the same page.“Hermione.” Her name was a gasp from his lips, and she suppressed a shiver.
“Oliver.” She hoped he didn’t hear how her voice shook on his name.“I didn’t think…” He swallowed. “I’m so sorry, Hermione. I never meant to hurt you, you must understand. I thought… I don’t know why I thought you would choose him over me.”“Right.”“Do you forgive me?”She swallowed heavily. "Sure, Oliver. I forgive you.”“Please, sit.” He sat back in his chair, and she followed after a moment. Her wand was in her hair, a protection spell on the tip of her tongue. She had been practicing with Pansy; she was ready to defend herself. Still, she felt on the edge of a cliff, one step from falling over. When she blinked, she saw it again; his face over hers.“How are you?” she asked him, and he let out a long breath.“I’ve been better,” he admitted. “How are you?”
“I’m fine.”“Better now that Death Eater isn’t hanging all over you, I imagine.” His face twisted into a sneer.“I don’t want to talk about Malfoy.” Her voice was quiet. She placed her palms on the table, cold metal seeping into her skin. “I’m... worried about you, Oliver. They want to send you to Azkaban.”“I don't think I’ll get there. He’ll get me out.”“Who?”“The one I work for.”“Who is that?”
He gave her a concerned look. “It doesn’t matter, Hermione. When he frees me, I'll come back to you, and we'll do everything we planned."“But if you tell them who it is, maybe they’ll let you go, and we can…” she swallowed, “leave this place. Together. Sooner."His eyes brightened. “I knew you wanted me, too. I thought you were just trying to make me jealous, with the Death Eater. I don’t mind. But I want to be with you now.”“I know, Oliver. I’m sorry it’s taken so long. But I can’t be with you if you’re in Azkaban.”“I…” he licked his lips, “I can’t tell them. He’ll kill me.”“But we’ll run,” she told him. “He won’t get to us. We can be together and go somewhere safe."Oliver watched her for a few breaths. “Well… I don’t know his name. But he pays me to help me with the curses.”“What curses?’“The box, and the urn.” He shifted in his seat. “It worked perfectly. The Death Eater took me down there and showed me.”“How did you do it?’“It took years to perfect.”“Is the imperio curse part of it?”He smiled. “Yes! You’re so brilliant. I needed to make sure people would touch the box. The urn was a bit different. Containing the Dementor's kiss…” He shook his head. “It wasn’t easy. But I did it, for you.”“Can you… explain that to me. More.”“He told me that if I did what he needed, we could be together. That nobody would ever get in our way again.”“Right. Oliver, the curse, I’m so impressed. Could you tell me how you did it?’“The Dementors fought, it wasn’t easy. Had to track them down, as well. The Death Eaters - I remember their masks. I hated that they were there but it was necessary. They’re the only ones strong enough in dark magic to hold the Dementors.”“How did you get the kiss in the box?”“I found it in Secrets of the Darkest Arts. Don't you remember? It’s part of the-“Oliver, those spells aren’t meant to be used," she told him. "They're just ideas. They're not written for real practice."“I know, but I had to do something. They said once I cursed the box, and then the urn, they would pay me enough to set us up for years! That’s the only reason I did it.”“The box is making people kill muggle-borns, Oliver.”He paused. Shook his head slowly. "No, no. I would never do that. I know you wouldn't like it.""I'm not lying to you. What else did you put in the box? The imperio curse requires intent, doesn't it?""The urn is just supposed to make people relive their worst nightmares," he muttered. "That's why we needed the Kiss.""How did you get the Kiss into the urn, though?"He blinked at her. "A rune.""The urn has a rune, too?""Both of them have runes. One for imperio and one for the Kiss.""That's..." insane, "incredible, Oliver."He grinned. "I got the inspiration from you. We talked about it, years ago. Do you remember?""Yes, of course I do." She swallowed. "Why did they want you to do this?""The urn was payback, he said," Oliver told her,
"But the box... They wanted to use it... Not for that. Never for that.""What did they want to use it for?""They didn't tell me. But I made sure it wasn't anything you wouldn't like.""What else did you put in the box, Oliver?""I knew I had to keep you safe. I had some hair from your brush so-"She inhaled sharply. "My brush?""In your flat. I just needed a few strands, in case of a problem. When I cursed the box, I wanted to be sure that it wouldn't ever harm you, so I placed some of your hair in the box.""Is that why I can't hear the voice?" she asked. He nodded. "And why it's forcing people to target Muggle-borns."He cringed. “I never meant for that to happen. Perhaps it was the spell... It took intent from the Death Eaters instead of me. The leader… I didn't know that's what they wanted."“But who is he?”“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” He licked his lips again, pushed up from his seat. “We can be together now. I’ve told you everything. I won't need to curse anymore objects for him. He has what he wants.”“What does he want?”“I…” he frowned, shook his head. “I can’t remember.”“You can’t remember?”“I think… after we met, there would be gaps. He must have been obliviating me.” He shook his head again. “It doesn’t matter, Hermione. Let’s leave this place.”Suddenly he had risen, moved around the table, was wrapping his hand around her upper arm, pulling her up to meet him. She tried not to cringe, but his breath was in her face, his hands were on her, again. They were back in her bookshop, his spit hitting her cheek as he came closer. She reached up for her wand-"Oliver, let go.""We can get out," he hissed, seeming panicked, "We can run. Toge-""You're hurting me."Just as her hand wrapped around the handle of her wand, he was being ripped off of her, slammed into the table, a hand around his throat. Malfoy’s long fingers pressed bruises into Oliver's neck. Hermione held her arm to her chest, took a few steps back.“Don’t fucking touch her,” Malfoy hissed. “I told you what would happen if you touched her again, didn’t I?”“She doesn’t want you,” he hissed, spitting in Malfoy’s face.“No?”“Never. She can’t even stand the sight of you, look at he. Hermi-”Draco’s hands tightened around Oliver’s throat, so that Oliver started to claw at the arm holding him down. Hermione saw Malfoy's nails digging into the skin, legs flailing over the edge of the table.
“Draco, stop it.”“You don’t get to say her name. You don’t get to look at her, or think of her.""Draco, we need him.""She’s mine, do you hear that? She belongs with me. You’re never going to come near her again.”“Draco, let him go!”Malfoy threw Oliver to the floor, quickly moving over to usher Hermione out of the room. He slammed the door on Drigster's screaming, her name echoing, making her wince. Hermione glanced around the viewing room, saw Harry holding a hand to his nose, his head tipped back. She gasped.“You hit him?” She spun round to face Malfoy, pointing at Harry.“He got in the way.”“What is wrong with you, Malfoy?” Waving her wand, she muttered a quick episkey, ignoring Harry's shocked noise as his nose snapped back into place.“What’s wrong with me? Are you taking the absolute piss?”
Harry sighed heavily. "Malf-”“Get the fuck out, Potter, before I break another bone in your useless body.”“You can’t talk to people like that," Hermione said, hearing the door close after Harry's retreat. "You can't go around punching Aurors."“He put you in danger, again. I should kill him for bringing you down here. I swore I would."“If he hadn’t brought me I would have come alone.”He laughed once. “And you ask what’s wrong with me. Did you listen to anything I told you? Any part of what I did for you?”“That’s ir-”“I can’t believe you,” he said. “Do I have to get on my knees and beg, Hermione? Who do I need to pray to, shall I shove my memories in a Pensieve so you can watch the misery that were my last three years at school? What do I have to do to get you to take care of yourself?”“I just-”“I know, alright. I know you want to help, I know I asked for your help, but this?” His face was desperate, eyes open. “I can’t… I can’t watch you do this. Not again. It’s like Hogwarts all over again. Do you know what it was like? Watching you constantly be pushed into danger, be sacrificed, watch you never put yourself first. The nights I would lie awake, knowing you were throwing yourself into the forbidden forest, or sneaking into the Ministry. It’s hell, Hermione.”“You wanted me here!” she reminded him. “Or did you forget? This is what you wanted!”“This is not what I wanted!”“Then what, Malfoy? What did you want, when you barged back into my life? When you dragged me into this when I had made my decision.”"I wanted to know you!" He was shouting now, and Hermione was glad for the muffliato charms on the walls, because she was sure the entire Ministry would hear them. "I wanted to know that you were safe, I wanted a chance. I wanted to make you happy.""I was happy!"“You weren’t, Hermione! You can say you were, but you weren’t. I saw it. And you weren’t safe.”“And I’m safe now?”“Safer than you were.”“Okay,” she let out a small laugh. “So you saved me. If you’d have told me that I’d have to feel this way, looking at you, to be safe…” she shook her head, “I’d have told you not to bother.”He faltered, swallowed. “I know. You’ve hated me before, for years. I can take it.” He glanced at the door to Drigster’s room.She wondered what he would do if she denied hating him. If she told him she had left him a voicemail, practically begging him to come back to her. A voicemail he had either ignored or never listened to. Hermione thought about saying it again, I want to fight for us, wondered if that's what this was. The two of them, fighting to try to get the other to understand."I need to fix Ron," she said, instead of what she actually wanted to tell him, "I have to fix this.""I understand.
But please don’t make me watch you put yourself in harm’s way. Not again. It kills me, Hermione. You know that, surely?"Ceding to him, she nodded. Hugged her arms around her body.
"I do know," she said. "I won't have to see him again, anyway, and neither will you.""He told you about the curse." When she nodded, he sighed heavily. Pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Sometimes I wonder if you have any semblance of how important you are. Any self preservation, at all.""I got us what we needed," she told him, "Do you have a copy of Secrets of the Darkest Arts?""At the Manor.""We need it."He nodded, just once. Looked like he was going to say something else, but simply sighed. Took one long glance at her.Walked away.
I want to fight for us.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

He was being stared at.
First, there was Lopsy. Her big, dark eyes were centered on his face, waiting on his order. She had been stood there for twenty minutes now, despite his insistence that no he wouldn't be staying and no, not even for a pastry.Then, Theo. His so-called brother had swanned into Malfoy Manor not five minutes after Draco himself had arrived. Without even waiting for permission, he had summoned Lopsy, requested a full breakfast, and, in a way Draco had yet to figure out, informed yet another person of Draco’s whereabouts.And so came about, the third.
Narcissa’s eyes had barely left Draco since she had arrived. All his attempts to deflect her ire onto Theo had failed, with her barely glancing at her adopted son for more than five seconds. She had fussed over Draco the way a mother did, backing off only when he agreed to stay for one - one - drink.Sighing, Draco lifted his third cup of coffee to his mouth. He had placed to be, a woman to be with. Yesterday had been a shit show of brand new proportions: assaulting Potter had hardly been part of the plan to woo Granger back into his arms. And yet, he had been unable to stop himself. Had barged into the interrogation room, saw red when his gaze had landed on Drigster's fingers around her arm, hard enough to bruise.
No, he hadn't just seen red. He had felt red. Had felt fury like he had never known it. And then, after he had left her, only shame. That she had seen him that way, out of control. He needed to make it up to her, had to show that he still had some semblance of sanity left. And so before going to the Ministry this morning, he had come to the Manor, to pick up the book she had mentioned.But within minutes of his first step into this dusty, disgusting dive, his plan to step in, grab the book, and run, was ruined.Thanks to Theo.“I distinctly remember our Healer telling you to rest,” Narcissa said, stirring a cube of sugar into her tea, “and yet. Here you are. Not resting.”“I have to work, mother.”“Do you?” She glanced around the dining room pointedly. “What for, exactly?”“For a witch,” Theo supplied. Draco cut him a harsh glare.“Stay out of this.”“Oh, the witch. The witch without a name or face or presence in my life.” Narcissa sighed. “Oh, to have a son that cared about his mother.”Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. Honestly, how did everyone expect him to act, when this was what he had grown up with? Neither of his parents had ever done anything the way a normal parent would, even in their darkest days.
“I sent for the rings, you know.”Now, he did roll his eyes.
“Mother, I told you not to.”“Yes, I heard. I decided to do it anyway.”“I’m not going to be proposing to anybody any time soon.”“Well, that won’t do,” he watched her place her cup on the saucer, “You’re almost thirty.”“I’m not even twenty-nine yet.”“You cannot be single after thirty. It’s practically a death sentence,” Theo said, flashing him a cunning smile. Draco wished he had sat closer, wished he was in kicking distance. His hand reached into his blazer pocket.
“You’re one to talk," he said. "Your birthday is before mine.”“But I’m not the Malfoy heir, am I? Nothing hangs on the importance of my nuptials.”“There all be nothing hanging from you at all, if you don’t shut it,” Draco said. He heard his mother make a small noise of complaint.
“Draco,” she chided, “it is far too early for such language.”“Apologies, mother. I find my temper shorter than usual, of late.”Narcissa tutted. “That comes with being single for thirty years.”Inhaling deeply, Draco pulled every ounce of occlumency skill he had, forced his walls to stay standing. He supposed he had walked right into that one.
“How is the reunion with your witch going?”
It’s not. “Fine.”“Your fine, or my fine.”“It’s fine, mother.”She sighed heavily. “You never were good at apologising. Just like your father.”Draco said nothing, raising his cup to his mouth as a reason to keep silent. Gods, was there any other sentence that might push him off the edge better than that? Just like your father. Sometimes he wondered if she remembered all that had happened after the war, if what she had watched him do, just doors away from where they sat now, had forced her memory to block out exactly how much Draco's relationship with his father had broken down. How much his father had hated him, in the seconds before he had died.
He wondered, sometimes, if Narcissa had decided to forget, that she had watched her son kill her husband.What made it worse, of course, was that she was right: he didn’t know how to apologise. Didn’t know how to fix this. His relationship with Granger, the box, the Malfoy reputation. His fucking temper. Each day, he looped further down the spiral, until his temples were burning and his vision was blurry, and he couldn't even see her golden light.“Perhaps an ultimatum will do the trick.”He cut a side-long glance at Narcissa. “I’m not giving her an ultimatum, mother.”“Not for her. For you.”Now he looked at her, muscles frozen in tension.
“I’m bored of France,” she announced, “it’s far too isolated in the village, and the coffee tastes wrong.” Shrugged lightly, she dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “Alongside that, is the fact that my son seems determined to get himself imprisoned.""I am not determined.""I'’ll finish the summer and then come home.”“Home,” Draco repeated. “To the Manor?”“Well," she glanced around with a small frown, “that would require some thought. It’s fallen into some disrepair in it’s abandonment. It will need much work to get it ready.”“Ready for you?” Theo said, meeting Draco’s quick stare.“And whoever follows me.”“Meaning what, mother?” Draco said.“If you can’t apologise to your witch then we will have to find alternatives.”“No.”“Be reasonable, Draco. The Malfoy line needs an heir. And if you refuse to choose a suitable partner, then I-”“I have a suitable partner,” he told her.“Well,” Theo said, scrunching his nose. “you don’t really have her, right now.”Draco’s hand found his wand, whipping it out. The stinging hex hit Theo squarely in the chest, so much force behind it that he fell backwards on his chair. Draco watched Theo clutch at the table to stay upright, hissing as the hex spread across his chest.“Draco!”“Alright,” Theo said, rubbing at his shirt, “I deserved that. I am right, though.”“You do not throw curses across the breakfast table!” Narcissa scolded. Draco leaned back in his chair. “Apologise.”“No.”He heard her inhale sharply, glanced across to see her straightening. He readied himself for the usual scolding, felt suddenly childish.
“If you don’t have a witch by the end of the year, I will be introducing you to some eligible daughters.”“I won’t be paraded around like some pathetic bachelor, not when I have a witch.”“Then you need to get your witch back.”“I’m trying!”“Are you?”“Yes!”“What have you tried?”“I- stole her furniture,” he said weakly.Narcissa’s stare was icy. “Stole her furniture.”“Threatened and assaulted her best friend, repeatedly. Irritated her to the point of public screaming matches, and got her embroiled in a Ministry job she didn't even want.” Theo added, his wand pointed at his chest, the soft light of a counter-curse. He threw a quick smirk in Draco’s direction. “And that’s just what he’s told us.”“I got her permission to break the Statute,” Draco added. “And I protected her. Repeatedly.”“Well that’s all lovely, Draco,” Narcissa said. “But witches don’t always want protection. They certainly don’t want screaming matches and stolen belongings.”“Fine, mother. What do you suggest?”"Flowers might help," Theo cut in.“I suggest the one thing you probably haven’t tried yet,” Narcissa said, folding up her napkin. “Honesty.”

“If we break the curse, I think Ron’s dark mark will be removed,” Hermione said. Harry had dropped the papers on the Death Eaters on her desk, given her an update on Ron that she didn't need.She had gone to see him yesterday. Saw how pale he was, how he flinched at the lightest touch. Hermione had silenced him to look at his mark, wincing at the shriek that came from him when she lifted his arm. The healers had been making hourly notes, but he seemed to have reached a sort of stasis. The curse was moving through Ron’s body, through his blood, inky lines of bla-Malfoy entered her office in a blur, the door swinging open. Harry went to speak, frowning up at the blonde wizard, who barely spared him a glance.“Don’t start with me today, Potter. Get out.”“You can’t just barge in here, Malfoy. You broke my nose yesterday.""Clearly I should have done worse. Get. Out."”But-" Harry stilled when Malfoy turned to glare at him. Hermione didn't see the exact expression, but she could imagine it: the cold, harsh gaze; the cutting sense of impending doom; the clear threat of a curse coming in your direction. Harry had always been brave, always toed that line of recklessness. But he had never been truly stupid.
So, he gave Hermione an apologetic look, fled her office. As Mafloy watched him go, Hermione took a moment to assess him. He didn’t look worse, she supposed. But he didn’t look better. He clearly wasn’t sleeping, and she didn’t think she had seen him eat, either. His temper had always been short, but recently...“What do you want?” she asked him.“I want you in our office.”Our office. She had gotten to the Ministry first this morning, and so he hadn't had a chance to steal her furniture. His continued determined to keep her close might have been endearing - was endearing, in an irritating and hard-to-admit way. So hard to admit, actually, that Hermione had been very determined not to think too closely about the reasons why her desk kept going missing and appearing opposite his own.Sighing, Hermione leaned back against her desk, noticed how tense he was. Straight back, mouth set, hands shoved into the pockets of his suit trousers. The dark grey of his eyes, the shimmer of his magic in the air.“If you want a room mate, Malfoy, I’m sure there are plenty of others out there who can help you. Emily reminds me very closely of a younger you.”“I don’t want Emily. I want you.”“Why me?”He looked at her incredulously. “Why you?” He laughed, a short, snarky bark. “All the things we've done together, the things I’ve shown you. Told you. And now you’re asking me why you?”“It doesn't have to be me, Malfoy. It could have been Emily. Harry told me she was offered as Apprentice. She’s just as intelligent, just as good."“For Merlin’s sake, Granger, do you really think I give a shit about Emily?”“Of course not.” She swallowed. “But it didn’t have to me.”“It did. It had to - it has to be you. It is you. Always you.” He groaned, pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Granger, move yourself back to our office, or I will move you myself.”She glared at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”He lifted his head, raised an eyebrow. Sighed. Threw his hands in the air.Stalking over to her, he swatted her hand away when she put it out to stop him. Bending, Malfoy leaned into her stomach, lifting her over his shoulder. Hermione shrieked, her hands landing on his arse from the momentum. She quickly corrected them, moving them up to his lower back. Felt the heat of his skin through his blazer and shirt, a flash of memory-“Malfoy! Put me down!”He stormed across the hall, into their office, kicking the door shut and murmuring a locking charm.
“If this is what it takes, I’ll damn well do it.” He dropped her on her feet in the middle of the room.At first, she thought it might have been her fury alone heating the air between them. But then she felt it, that crackle, like the spark of a candle. Like how it was across the counter of her bookshop, when they had been keeping themselves from each other. Intensified, through small touches, through glances, the uncertain desire.
She knew her hair was curling, coils tightening. She knew that her cheeks would be flushed, her hands fisted. But she couldn't feel it, so hyper-focused on him. He was breathing hard, and she knew it wasn’t from lifting her. He loved to rile her up, loved to see her irritated and ready to slap him, if she wanted.
“You are infuriating!”
“I seem to remember you liking that about me, Granger.”“Enough of this, Malfoy."“No, enough of this. I'm sick of you shutting me out for no reason.""No reason?""You're being stubborn.""I seem to remember you liking that about me, Malfoy.""I do," he admitted, without hesitation, "but not when it keeps me from having you. Not when I'm you're forcing yourself to pretend that you've forgotten what we built?”“What we built was based on a lie!”"One lie!" he said, almost shouting. Yet another screaming match at work. "One, Granger. And who cares if I lied, it brought me to you, didn't it? It gave us a chance.""And then you carried on lying," she reminded him. "It might have been one thing if you had told me, a few weeks after you found me. But months, Malfoy. Months.""I know. I know what I did. I know you're angry, and betrayed, and hurt. I’ll spend my entire life redeeming myself if that’s what you want, but please, Granger. I’m tired of this. You barely look at me, let alone talk to me. Tell me you hate me, that we’re finished, that I fucked up. Anything. Just please talk to me, about something other than that bloody box. Even when you hated me, when I first found you, you talked to me.”“But I can’t trust you now!” It felt like the collapse of something as she realised it, the sudden admission of what was wrong between them. Malfoy winced. “You swore my secret was safe with you! You promised. But it never was, was it?”“It was, Hermione, it-”“And you swore that you were mine, that you wouldn’t do anything that risked losing me. But I don’t really know anything about you, do I? I don’t know about what happened to make you using the killing curse in November, I don’t know what happened with your father, I don’t know what happened over the past two months-”“Granger-”“No!” She paused, took a step back. “I gave you everything, Malfoy. I told you everything. But you were so convinced that you didn’t deserve me that you never told me why.”He was staring at her, a slight frown on his face. Opened his mouth to speak, and she saw him reaching for her. Until he stopped, dropped his hands to his sides.There was a bang on the door, loud and rushed. Harry’s voice came through the wood.“Malfoy, come on. Time to search minds.”“In a minute,” he muttered, waving a hand as if Harry could see him.For a second, they only stood. Eventually, he broke her gaze, bowing his head, a hand rising once more to push through his hair. Hermione’s fingers twitched, remembering all the times she did that for him.“Honesty,” he said, so quietly she thought she had missed it. “Not my greatest talent.”“That’s not true,” she replied. Swallowed. “You’re honest about everything else. About me, about what you feel. With me, anyway. I know it’s hard for you but our relationship is- was…” she didn’t miss how he winced, or how she felt her heart shatter at that second word, “never going to work if you can't be honest about everything.”“Everything,” he found her gaze again. “Hermione, I-”Another bang on the door, louder this time.“Malfoy, we’ve got to go!”“Gods, one day I’ll kill that man,” he swore, spun on his heel. Hermione watched him storm out of the office, heard a short sound of exclamation. She sighed, and followed.

“So, there’s been two tips?”Draco watched Granger as she watched Potter ruffle papers on his desk, trying to organise. He didn’t know how Potter got anything done in this bloody place. Stalking over, he found the right form and dragged it out from the pile, handing it over to The Boy Who Couldn't Use A Filing Cabinet.“Two,” he told Granger, not looking at her. He watched Potter sign the forms quickly. “The first brought us the box, and the first Death Eater. The second brought us the urn.”“And another Death Eater.”Draco hummed, taking the form from Potter. Stepping outside the office, he handed it to Emily, who headed straight to the elevator to take it to Kingsley. Bloody paperwork. Granger was right though: Emily was good.“I’m coming, too.”"No, you’re not.”

Draco didn’t look at her as he shrugged off his blazer, hanging it on the back of Potter’s office door.
“But-”“You’ve barely had your wand back for two months, Granger.”
“So?”“So, how are you going to protect yourself if something happens? Or, more importantly, how am I supposed to feel confident in your ability to protect yourself if something happens? Especially since you get so angry when I do it for you."Her gaze narrowed. "Their magic is suppressed, Draco.”“So?”“I have a N.E.W.T. in duelling.”“And?”“I fought in a war.”“And?”
He looked at her then, felt he had to. Since she had reminded him of the fact that he had told her everything except what actually mattered, he had a sinking feeling in his stomach. A feeling like he had lost her. Without even meaning to. A feeling like perhaps his mother was right, and that all his work in getting her back had been for nought. That he had been avoiding what she really needed.Honesty."Granger," he said, softer, "I can't focus on what I need to do if I'm worried about your safety. You know you take up all the air for me. If I'm going to Azakaban, I'm going to have to be able to breathe."She hadn't been expecting it. It wasn't direct honesty, not like his mother probably meant, but it was something. Something intimate and real, something that hadn't been shouted or pulled out in a moment of frustration or honest. This confession felt more akin to the ones he had made when they had been together, and the moments before. More like what they truly were, instead of the rut they currently found themselves in.
Realising that she was staring at him, she cleared her throat. Straightened her shoulders. Draco's lips twitched as he pulled on a robe. He always loved watching her after he had surprised her, loved to see her mind working as she processed what he had said or done.
“It’s not actually up to you, though, is it?” She turned to Potter. “Harry-”“Actually, I agree with Malfoy," Potter said, carefully. For a brief moment, Draco felt slightly sorry for the man, caught between two of the most stubborn people on the planet. One of whom kept physically assaulting him."But-"“Mione, if something goes wrong, we need someone at the Ministry to take over for us. You’re best qualified to help Ron, so I want you safe. Also, you haven’t been doing magic in seven years. Not that I don’t think your capable,” he added in a rush.“You can read the reports from the tips,” Draco suggested to her. “We haven't been able to look at them yet. And I brought the Secrets of the Darkest Arts from the Manor. It might be useful.”She shuffled on her feet, lowered her gaze. “I suppose it will be quiet, without you around to piss me off.”
It took barely five minutes for the team - small, this time, thank Merlin - to meet in front of the elevator. Draco watched from the door of his office. As he was closing the door, he spied Granger, waiting in the doorway of her own room. He took a moment to look at her.
It had been like this at school, and when he had first found her. Chances, stolen. To see, to hear. To have a part of her, even unknowingly given. Perhaps he should have felt that he had gotten all of her he deserved: perhaps he should have been content with what he had had.
But Draco Malfoy had always been greedy always selfish. And he was never going to be finished with her, not until she told him, without any hesitation or doubt, that she wanted him to be. And she couldn't make that decision, without the truth. Without his honesty.
He had stepped over to her unconsciously, his body pulled towards her. Always in her orbit, always a planet to her sun. Always hers.“Hermione,” he said suddenly, “I’ll tell you everything.”She blinked, glanced at him, and he pushed back the urge to occlude. Vowed never to do so in front of her, alone, ever again.“I’ll tell you everything,” he said again. “From November, from the past two months. I’ll tell you about school and the war and what I did afterwards. I’m not proud of some of it, and I’m… nervous, about how you’ll look at me after. But I’ll tell you. I swear it."He wanted to be closer to her, so she could see the truth in his eyes. See how he meant it.“I want to fight for us,” he said, almost a whisper, and her eyes found his, “I’m trying to fight for us. But if there’s no way you’ll ever forgive me… I’ll leave you alone. I'll stop taking your furniture, I'll leave the Ministry to you. I’ll leave the country, if I have to. I’ll give you whatever you want.”As he said the words, Draco could feel the horror settling into him. The idea of knowing her, having her, and losing her. Suddenly he understood Theo better than he ever had.
“Just please tell me, when you know,” he said. “If there’s a chance, I want to know. If not-”“Malfoy, come on!” Potter's voice echoed across from the elevator. Granger blinked, went to say something. Hesitated.“Make sure you come back,” she said finally. He searched her face. “Intact.”He nodded, once. Joined Potter in the elevator.Thought that, maybe, he hadn't quite lost. Not just yet.
Despite his recent actions, Draco would have been more than glad to have never returned to Azkaban. The Ministry-approved Portkey landed them straight in the waiting room, where he had once waited to be coded into the prison. Shoving his walls up, he pulled out his wand in preparation.Shivering when he handed his wand in, shivering when they stepped through the door, out of the waiting room. His time here had been spent doing just that: shivering. Shaking. Forcing himself to relive his darkest moments, reminding himself what he had done. The wards wouldn’t suppress their magic as much as they would if they had been prisoners, but Draco could still feel it weighing down on him.The year he’d spent in Azkaban had felt like ten. He’d spent it trying to train himself to stop that shaking, imagining futures he would never have, writing letters he would never sent. Draco hadn’t believed he would ever get out of Azkaban, sure that his trial would end badly for him.
Then she had shown up at his trial, golden and bright, and he had suddenly known that he had to do whatever it took to get out. Not to be with her - that had never been a reality that he imagined experiencibg. But to avenge her, punish the people who had taken her childhood from her, her glow. She had shown up at his trial looking grey, wan, despite the shimmering aura he always saw floating around her.So, the moment Kingsley had read out his pardon, Draco had made a vow. He wouldn’t rest until she was avenged. If that meant tracking down all the Death Eaters he could, he would do it.
In the end, he had stopped at two. A promise to his mother, to make sure he never caused her another moment of stress. To make sure she never ended up back at Mungo’s. He had almost landed himself right back where he started.Now, though, he walked through the doors under the Ministry’s approval, with the Saviour at his side. If only his father could see him now.“They were sent here without trial, then?” Draco asked as they waited. "The Death Eaters, I mean."“They confessed.”“What?”“As soon as we started interrogating them, they confessed. It was like talking to someone on veritaserum or something.”Draco hummed. That was strange. He had met a few Elders during the time Voldemort had lived at Malfoy Manor. Staunch believers in the cause, each one had held a high position, whether in the Ministry or some other organisation. Extremely useful, and revered as such. But when he had truly needed them, they had disappeared. Every single one. As if planned, as if prepared. As if they had never once thought Voldemort would actually win.
"After Voldemort died, all the Elders went into hiding," Draco murmured. "Scratch that. Before he died. They never even showed to the last few meetings. He went to Hogwarts knowing that they wouldn't come.""We never found any, when you were at the Club. So they must have gone deep.""They have all the connections to.""So why just confess, then?"Draco shrugged, unsure. If there was anything he was certain of, he knew for a fact a true Elder would never have confessed. They certainly wouldn't have let themselves be carted off to Azkaban, let alone left behind. Another effect of the imperio rune, perhaps? He made a mental note to mention it to Granger.Make sure you come back. Intact.He wasn’t sure if that meant he still had a chance, or not. But he would be getting back to his witch, as soon as possible.
So, when they were still waiting over an hour later, he groaned.“Can’t you use your Chosen One powers to hurry this up?”
“What’s the rush?”“Other than your best friend being in the hospital?” Draco rolled his eyes. “I’ve got a witch to win back, you know.”Potter made a small sound. “She’s not an easy witch to win over.”“I did it once. I reckon I can do it again.” Draco glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "I should probably apologise. For hitting you."There was a moment of silence."Is that how a Malfoy says sorry?"
"I suppose so.""Well," Potter sighed, "I'll mark the date."The Death Eaters were placed in separate rooms, as per Azkaban rules. They went to the first, a grey-haired man with a small frown. As if he wasn't entirely sure where or who or what he was. He sat hunched in the chair, barely registering their presence.

“This one came with us willingly,” Potter murmured to Draco before they entered. “Practically held out his hands for the cuffs. Confessed to being a death eater, to following Voldemort, to being in hiding for ten years.”
“The box?”“Claimed to know nothing of it.”“And you took his word?”“Had to. He refused legilimency and veritaserum. Without any evidence-”“Aside from his being with the box when you found the thing?”“It’s not that easy, Malfoy, and you know it.”He did know it. He didn’t like it, though.“So, how does this work?” Potter asked. Draco was watching the prisoner through the glass window."Just sit tight, Potter."Draco let himself be led into the room, watched the vague response of the Death Eater as they entered. The papers were dropped in front of him, and his eyes followed them, seconds late to every movement. As if he were drugged, or in some sort of reality where time was slower.
"The Minister has given permission for legilimency to be placed upon you," Potter said.That got a reaction. Only a slight one. The flash of a gaze, landing on Draco.
"The box you were found with. This is your last chance to answer our questions."Draco held the man's gaze, knew immediately that they would be getting no answers. Not verbally, anyway.
All the Death Eaters high in Voldemort's ranks had learned some sort of occlusion. It had been a must, in case of capture. None, of course had rivalled Snape's abilities, but all had had some sort of ability. This one was no exception.Without waiting any longer, Draco rounded the table. Settled in front of the Death Eater. Still, that lack of response. Where once he refused this, he gave no fight.
Nothing, not even when Draco dived into the man’s mind. Despite the layers of occlumency, walls that must have once stood strong, Draco practically stepped through them. Either he hadn't been practising, or he had forgotten his skills. Draco rifled through his memories, searching for anything. He saw his father’s face, Voldemort’s, Dolohov’s. Bella’s. His mother’s. Emotionally reeled when he saw a shadow of his own face, sharp and childlike.He skipped past the war, saw the man jumping between safe houses. Then, there were gaps. Only across the last few years, bigger and closer together as he got nearer to the present. Then he saw Potter and Kingsley leaning over him, heard the confessions coming out of his mind, felt the man's inability to stop it.Draco pulled back, shaking his head at Potter.Nothing.
They moved to the next one and Draco didn’t hesitate. He entered his mind easily again, the man open and willing. Saw more memories of the Manor, more images of his parents. More of him, trailing after his father, wan and lifeless.Again, there were gaps, as if the Death Eater had been asleep for days at a time. Longer and longer sessions, as they got closer to the day he had been arrested. Draco pulled out, letting the Death Eater fall back in his chair.“Anything?”“No. No Drigster, no box. Nothing. They’ve been obliviated. There are gaps, weeks missing.”“I’m assuming it’s any time with the curse-maker, then.”“Most likely.”“So, they really can give us nothing?”“No,” Draco said, “they have to give us something. Why would they be left with the objects? They can’t be pointless, surely?”“Maybe they are. Maybe it’s a just a distraction.”Draco went to shake his head, then paused. Looked at his companion for a moment.“Say that again.”“What?”“What you just said, say it again.”“Maybe it’s just a-”“A distraction.”Draco rushed back to the waiting room, shuffled on his feet as he waited for his wand. Potter watched him strangely.
“Are you going to-”“I have to speak to Granger. Get me back to the Ministry.”Potter led him quickly to the portkey, set to his touch. Landed them back in the Ministry. Draco brought out his phone immediately, walking away even as his name was called out. There wasn't much signal here, the magic messing with the Muggle technology, but if he could just-“Malfoy?”“Granger, listen. The whole thing is a-”“Draco.” Her voice made him pause. “You need to get my apartment.”“What? Has something-”“Pansy’s here."“Pansy?”“She won’t tell us what’s wrong, she just- It’s Draco," she cut off, talking to somebody he couldn't see. There was a pause, and Draco started walking to the doors of the Ministry. “She says… that Milly left. Milly left Pansy.”There wasn’t time for Draco to piss about with doors and walking. Everything in this building took too long. He apparated out of the Ministry, setting off every alarm they had.