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The crisp, cool air rushes past, whipping his platinum hair into wild strands. It fills his lungs with a bracing freshness that crackles around his magic.

He is soaring high above the clouds, his broom cutting through the evening air with practiced ease. The sun hung low on the horizon, its warm light splashing the English countryside below in hues of gold and orange. It's a painter’s sky, his mother called it, the kind that begs you to stop and stare, but Draco barely notices. He is too lost in the music humming in his ears from charmed Muggle headphones.
"Be whoever you have to be, I won't judge you..."The words echo in his mind, raw and haunting. It's from The Kooks. Her band. Their band.
He still remembers his first outing with Granger—a live performance in some dingy, overcrowded Muggle venue, the music thrumming through the floorboards and into his chest. He’d been skeptical at first, but by the end of the night, her excitement and the undeniable pull of the music had won him over—that and the wonderful discovery that Hermione Granger couldn't sing for shit. Not a single note, she couldn't carry it with transfigured handles. But no sounds brought more joy to him when he saw how happy singing made her. She jumped up and down on her toes, battling with her own hair, spitting out stray strands between verses, the beer in her hand occasionally spilling over. It had been one of the few times he’d let his guard down, standing next to her as they got lost in the moment, yelling the lyrics along with the electric roar of the crowd.
Now, as the lyrics drifted through him, they reopened wounds he thought he’d buried. He had wanted to be more but she started dating Krum and soon got married. But the title of last month's Prophet, "Golden Girl and Quidditch Star Call It Quits" threw his feelings in turmoil. He felt bad for her. Of course, he did. But there was also something else, something darker. He felt a flicker of relief and hope. And then guilt, sharp and biting, for feeling that way at all. He highly doubted she had felt the same when he and Astoria were publicly displayed as a pureblood marital failure last year.

He leaned forward on his broom, urging it higher, the wind whipping his robes as he broke through the last of the clouds. He’d fought his way into professional Quidditch as a beater for the Tutshill Tornados. They didn’t care about reputation—only results, no matter how dirty the play. But he was done bending the rules, done lurking in the shadows, tired of hearing 'Malfoy' spat like a curse on and off the pitch. When the Falmouth Falcons invited him to tryouts, he jumped at it, not caring if he looked overeager. This was his chance to prove he could play clean—that he was more than his past. A chance to step out of his family’s shadow and finally be recognized for his skill alone. Excitement curled in his chest, sharp and electric, edged with nerves he hadn’t felt since his first time on a broom.

"I need your soul, because you’re always soulful..."

The music brought her back to him again, her laugh, her fire, the way she’d always made him feel seen, even when he wasn’t sure he wanted to be.

As the last notes of the song faded, Draco let out a long breath, his chest tight with emotions he couldn’t quite name. Below, the patchwork fields of the countryside began to blur with the coming twilight. He paused, hovering in the stillness, and looked out to the horizon where the last of the sun dipped beneath the earth.

He dove, his broom slicing through the evening air, faster, steadier. The Falcons tryout was days away. For once, things were actually—
An ear-splitting screech sounded behind him. Before he could react, a shadow fell over him.

He whipped around, and his breath hitched. She was unlike anything he'd ever seen. Her enormous black wings, with arms seamlessly integrated as part of their structure, beat rhythmically, keeping her effortlessly aloft as she closed the distance. Her skin, midnight blue, shimmered faintly with an iridescence, catching the fading light like enchanted stardust. Her hair, ablaze with bright blue flames, danced around her face, casting eerie shadows across her features. But it was her eyes that froze him in place—piercing and intent, as if she were looking through him, into something deeper.
She wore a sleek black corset suit that hugged her form like a second skin, its design reminiscent of a daring one-piece bathing suit, emphasizing her powerful frame while allowing for effortless movement. A dramatic tailcoat flared behind her, whipping in the wind with every beat of her wings, adding an air of elegance to her striking appearance. Two gold cuffs encircled her legs, their gleam catching the light.
She looked almost human, save for the large razor-sharp claws on her hands and feet, which gleamed dangerously as she hovered before him. Her head tilted, nostrils flaring slightly as she took in his scent, her expression shifting from curiosity to something more primal.

Draco's heart raced as he tightened his grip on the broom handle. "What—who are you?" he managed, his voice steady despite the fear prickling at his spine.
The harpy didn’t answer. Instead, she extended a clawed hand, reaching out with a deliberate grace. Before he could react, she swiped at his arm—a movement so quick it felt like the brush of a breeze. He flinched as the sharp sting registered, glancing down to see a shallow scratch along his forearm. Blood welled up, bright and stark against his pale skin.
The harpy’s gaze lingered on the wound, her expression unreadable, though there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes. A low, melodic hum emanated from her, vibrating through the air like a siren’s call.
Panic surged in Draco. He didn’t know what she was, what she wanted, or why she was here, but he wasn’t about to wait to find out. Twisting his broom sharply, he angled himself downward, aiming to dive away, but the harpy matched his movements effortlessly, her wings cutting through the air with predatory precision.
His mind raced. Apparition mid-flight was risky, but staying here wasn’t an option. Muttering a quick spell under his breath, he focused on the nearest safe point he could think of: the front steps of Malfoy Manor. With a sharp crack, the sky disappeared, replaced by the dark stone facade of his ancestral home. He stumbled as his feet hit the ground, his broom clattering to the steps beside him. He took a step—or tried to. His knees gave out, and he collapsed onto the cold stone.

Somewhere in the depths of his subconscious, a woman was singing softly. His consciousness drifted aimlessly through an endless white void until the space revealed an open lounge.
He gently became aware that he was seated in the room, the space awash with sunlight, the walls blending into nothingness. Opposite him sat a woman on a plush cream couch, her posture relaxed yet intentional. She wore a white sundress with straight black hair that fell over her shoulder like a waterfall of liquid night.
She was bent over a glossy black acoustic guitar, her fingers strumming the strings with tender precision.
Her voice, rich and spellbinding, wove through the room:

"Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry,You don't know how lovely you are.I had to find you, tell you I need you,Tell you I set you apart."

Draco frowned, his gaze fixed on her. The melody tugged at him, familiar yet strangely piercing, as though it carried a weight he hadn’t noticed before. He recognized the song—it was one he’d listened to countless times—but her voice breathed new life into it, wrapping around him like a spell. Yet something about her voice unsettled him. Somewhere deep inside him, he knew her voice was all wrong.
The woman continued, her voice carrying a fragile kind of heartbreak:

"Nobody said it was easy,It's such a shame for us to part.Nobody said it was easy,No one ever said it would be this hard.Oh, take me back to the start."

The final chord hung in the air as she strummed the closing notes. Then, she looked up.
Her eyes.
They were an otherworldly hue, like bluebell flames flickering in a windless night. They seemed to burn with both warmth and sorrow, piercing through him with an intensity that left him breathless.
Draco stared, his frown deepening. There was something achingly familiar about her. Her face held a softness, a beauty he was certain he had seen before, yet the memory eluded him like sand slipping through his fingers.
But beyond that—beneath the ethereal glow that clung to her like a shroud—something about her felt wrong.
Deeply, viscerally wrong.
The realization sparked irritation.
She held his gaze, her eyes searching his as if seeking something she couldn’t quite name. Regret flickered across her face, softening her features, but beneath it was a trace of something deeper—unspoken conflict, perhaps even longing. It lingered there for a heartbeat, raw and unguarded, before she looked away. Then, silently, she stood and walked away, her figure dissolving into the emptiness until there was nothing left but the faint echo of her song lingering in the void.
Draco sat alone, feeling the stillness around him. Questions swirled in his mind—he couldn’t untangle the confusion or name the ache that settled in his chest, but in the emptiness, there was an unexpected sense of calm—like the final notes of her song had stitched together something frayed within him, if only for a moment.

As the waking world returned to focus, Draco felt a sharp flick against his arm, over and over, like the incessant pecking of an irritated bird. He groaned, his body sluggishly stretching against the sterile crispness of hospital sheets. Behind his eyelids, light pressed insistently.

"Draco Malfoy," came a dreamy, singsong voice just above him, "you can’t sleep forever, you know. You might turn into a swan~."
He cracked an eye open to find Luna Lovegood’s serene face inches from his own, her fingers poised mid-flick.
"Stop that, Lovegood," he grumbled, pulling his arm away from her and glancing blearily at his surroundings.
"Ah, he's awake." Blaise Zabini’s dry tone cut through as he appeared at the bedside, arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face.
"Lovely to see you too," Draco muttered, pushing himself up on the bed.

Blaise stepped forward and placed a firm hand on his chest, shoving him back down with minimal effort. "You’re in St. Mungo’s, Draco. You were found unconscious, remember?"
"I remember being attacked by some kind of harpy," Draco shot back, rubbing his temples. "What I don’t remember is why you seem to assume it was my fault."
"Because nine times out of ten, it is," Blaise replied smoothly, flicking his wand to bring up diagnostic spells. Glowing runes hovered above Draco, reporting his vitals and magical stability.
"Well, this was the ten percent," Draco retorted, glaring up at the ceiling.
"This is something to celebrate, Draco!" Blaise’s tone took on mock enthusiasm. "You officially have a history of being attacked by large homicidal birds. It’s practically a memoir in the making."
Luna perked up. "Velkrine aren’t exactly birds, or harpys. They’re more like cursed creatures. The wings are feathers, but their talons..." She trailed off, tapping her lips thoughtfully. "It’s fascinating, really. You should be grateful it only scratched you."
"Grateful?" Draco hissed. "It clawed me out of the bloody sky!"
"You must have looked quite tasty~."
Draco stared incredulously at the near laugh in her voice, shifting his arm to inspect the bandage wrapped tightly around it.
Blaise sighed and leaned against the wall. "Velkrine scratches are no joke. They form a mental tether with their victims—why they choose certain people is still up for debate. It’ll need monitoring, but your charms are holding. For now, you need to pick up the potion to neutralize any lingering effects from the wound."
Draco exhaled through his nose, already dreading the errand. Before he could respond, an owl swooped in through the open window, dropping a rolled parchment onto his lap.
"Right on time," Luna said brightly, plucking the note from his hands and unrolling it. "Your potion’s ready for collection in Diagon Alley. They’ve even labeled it ‘urgent.’ How exciting."
"Exciting," Draco echoed, sitting up fully and rubbing at his arm.
Blaise smirked, giving the owl a treat before it took off again. "Be careful at tryouts, Draco. With your luck, the Falcons’ mascot might decide to give you an autograph—right across your other bird scars."
Draco glared. "You two are absolutely insufferable."
Luna grinned, poking his cheek lightly. "And yet, here we are, always saving your tush."

His strides through Diagon Alley were measured but tight, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He hated walking these streets. The stares, as always, were palpable—sharp glares and subtle sneers that made him feel like a blemish in the bustling wizarding world. It wasn’t outright hostility, but the averted gazes and disapproving looks cut deeper than words. To them, he was still something to avoid, a relic of darker times that refused to stay buried.
Passing Brigg's Brooms, his steps slowed involuntarily as his eyes caught the glint of silver in the display window. The Wind Blade sat proudly on its stand, its sleek, goblin-silver-coated handle gleaming like molten steel, while the twigs shimmered faintly with enchantment. What truly set it apart was its core—custom-crafted from the rider’s wand wood, giving it explosive power—and the goblin silver, which didn’t just add to its beauty but amplified its responsiveness to an almost unnerving degree. The slightest shift of the rider’s hand could send the broom into a hair-trigger dive or an explosive burst of speed, making it as dangerous as it was powerful. He clenched his jaw, memories prickling at the edges of his mind. He would never admit to anyone that he owned one—or that the first time he’d flown it, it had nearly killed him. The speed had been more than even a seasoned Quidditch player like him could handle, and his grip had failed during a sharp dive, resulting in a fractured wrist, shattered collarbone, and an impacted tibial plateau fracture courtesy of the unyielding earth. He’d ended up in St. Mungo’s, where Luna Lovegood had been the healer on call. She had taken one look at him, sighed like a disappointed mother who had seen this coming, and said, "You do tend to go full throttle, even when gravity politely asks you to reconsider." Then, with the practiced ease of someone who had done this far too often, she grabbed her clipboard and made a quick note.
"I should really write a medical paper about you," she mused as she scribbled something extra. "‘The Effects of Chronic Recklessness on a Pureblood Spine.’"
Draco had groaned, muttering that he wasn’t reckless, but Luna merely hummed in response before turning the clipboard toward him. A column titled ‘Malfoy’s Greatest Hits’ was already half-full.
"Congratulations," she had said brightly. "This one ranks just below ‘accidental broom jousting’ and just above ‘mysterious dueling incident you refused to explain.’"
Draco had scowled. "That wasn’t jousting. Flint and I were just—"
"—Being absolute morons?" Luna had supplied helpfully, already adding another note.
He shook off the memory and continued, stopping briefly at Floo-Pow to replenish his supply of Floo Powder. As he left, his gaze wandered to Grandma Gramercy's Grandiloquent Gramophones, where he paused to peek inside. The shop was crammed with enchanted gramophones blaring anything from Celestina Warbeck to obscure goblin chants. Nothing new caught his eye, so he moved on to Kraken’s, where he purchased a replacement bottle of his favorite ink. The previous bottle had been sacrificed during his hasty reply to the Falcons’ tryout invitation, a moment of excitement that had left a shimmering black stain on his desk—and his pride.
At Praedico Predico, Draco hesitated. The shop’s windows displayed an assortment of lucky charms, amulets, and predictive trinkets. For a fleeting moment, he considered buying something to hedge his chances for the tryouts. He dismissed the thought with a scoff—he wasn’t desperate enough to trust his future to a gaudy bauble. Moving on, he ducked into Sugarplum's Sweets Shop, emerging moments later with a small bag of Jelly Slugs. He popped one into his mouth, letting the sugary treat soften the edges of his unease.
The comforting sweetness faltered as a new scent greeted his senses, a scent, subtle at first, teasing in the air like a whisper. It grew stronger with every breath, winding around him in an irresistible embrace. Crisp Granny Smith apples, warm leather, broom polish, and something else—a note so elusive it slipped through his grasp every time he tried to name it. The blend was rich and inebriating.

His steps slowed, then drifted, carried by the scent as though he were being led by invisible strings. It was familiar, maddeningly so, and yet so utterly tantalizing it made his pulse quicken. He hardly noticed where he was going until he found himself at the door of Mr. Mulpepper’s Apothecary, right next to Slug & Jiggers—the shop he’d intended to visit but had forgotten entirely in the haze of that divine, spellbinding trail.

As he pushed the door open, a sudden gust of wind seemed to nudge him inside, and the bell above the entrance jingled sharply. The scent, rapturous and intoxicating, wrapped around him like an
ethereal haze, pulling him deeper into the shop. His gaze was immediately drawn to the figure at the counter, her back turned to him. Wild brown curls cascaded over her shoulders, and as she took a deep inhale, he saw her posture shift—shoulders rising before stiffening, a tension stilling her frame as though his presence shocked her.

Without warning, her hand shot out, seizing a purple-frosted glass bottle from the counter with frantic urgency. In one swift motion, she uncorked it and drained its contents.
“Miss, you haven’t paid for that yet!” the shopkeeper spluttered, his voice sharp with surprise.
The scent slowly slipped away.
She let out a long, relieved exhale, then placed a few coins on the counter, almost absently. "Keep the change," she muttered, slipping several identical bottles into her bag with practiced ease.
As she moved toward the door, the scent had vanished entirely, and Draco felt an odd, disorienting emptiness where it had been. Then she turned slightly, and he caught sight of her profile.
Hermione Granger.
The realization struck like a Bludger to the chest. She was back in England.
For a moment, he hesitated, unsure if he should approach her. After a beat, his mouth moved before his brain could catch up. “Granger.”
She stopped, her hand on the door handle, and turned to face him with a raised brow. She didn't look too surprised to see him there. “Malfoy.”
He offered a friendly nod, the years lost between them somehow making this moment feel a little awkward. “It’s been a while.”

“It really has,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips, though there was still a trace of hesitation. She glanced toward the door, as if ready to catch up with him but unsure how to bridge the gap.
“Back for good?” he asked, genuinely curious, a slight hope in his voice.
“For now,” she replied, her tone warmer, more familiar than it had been moments before. “But I’m sure you’ve got places to be, too. Excuse me, I’ve got to go.”
Before he could say anything more, she slipped out of the shop.

Shaking off a slight daze, Draco made his way next door to Slug and Jiggers, finally collecting the potion he’d been sent to retrieve. The apothecary handed it over with a bemused expression, adjusting his spectacles as he did.
“You know,” the man remarked, peering over the lenses at him, “it’s been at least a century since someone’s needed this treatment.”
Draco glanced at the small vial in his hand, the blue contents shimmering faintly in the dim light. “Lucky me,” he muttered, the words falling flat.
He pocketed the potion, his thoughts straying to the brief, odd encounter with Granger, a small befuddled smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He peacefully found himself back in white nothingness. The couches there again, and the woman lounging on the cream couch with effortless grace, one leg crossed over the other. Looking like a beautiful riddle waiting to be solved. Her straight black hair falling slightly over the glossy black guitar rested against her lap, its polished surface catching soft light. Her fingers idly traced the strings, producing faint notes that seemed to echo the mystery in her eyes.
Draco considered her, but her face was turned away, lost in her own thoughts.
"You're the creature that attacked me, aren't you?"
She looked up slowly, her expression softening with a flicker of guilt.
Her voice was a melody, soft and lilting, each word tinged with an apology that felt almost hypnotic. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her gaze steady and unblinking, as though peering into his soul. "I didn't mean to. I had been flying when I caught your scent downwind..." She paused, her lips curving ever so slightly as if weighing her next words. "The rest was instinct."
"What is a Velkrine?" He leaned forward.
She sighed softly, her expression distant, as though a painful weight pressed on her, uncomfortable and heavy. "A person cursed by a Veela..."
Without a word, she stood and walked away into nothingness, her steps measured and slow, as if each one carried a quiet weight of resignation, hidden beneath a veil of grace.

"Mah-ster Drah-koff," a voice whispered.

"Mah-ster Drah-koff," the voice repeated a bit louder with excitement.
Draco rolled over to the other side with a groan. The weight of sleep pulled him back, his body feeling heavy, seeming to sink through the mattress. He relaxed, settling back into a welcomed peaceful abyss.
A gentle wind caressed his ear.
Draco bolted upright with a squeal, scrambling back until his head hit his solid ironwood headboard with a painfully hard whack!
Through dazed and spotted vision, he saw a small elf wearing a tiny chef's hat and a sailor suit—which had originally been intended as a Halloween costume for Muggle toddlers—leap onto the bed and lean over him, face an inch away.

Bulbous green eyes were sparkling with manic excitement.

"Stardenburdenhardenbart," Draco exhaled a shaky breath, leaning back to create distance.

The elf leaped away, hopping on the bed back and forth like a boxer ready to exchange blows, his tiny chef's close to falling.

"Today iz the day you vill show zhose smelly villies you are ze best beater zince, Gertrude Schulze!" He mimed swinging a bat over and over.
"Breakfast is ready?" Draco guessed, amused by the elf.

"Ya, now come, come!" He ordered, jumping off the bed and tugging on his arm. "Ze wurst und käse iz vaiting! "
Before he could blink the elf was already gone, darting out of the room and calling for him to follow. Draco sighed deeply, throwing off his covers and reluctantly getting out of bed. He padded after the excited little elf, the faint scent of sausage and cheese already filling the air.
As he entered the kitchen, the elf was dancing around a long table, humming something off-key and busying himself with a spread of food that could only be described as an absolute chaotic masterpiece. Plates piled high with sausages, slices of cheese, and some kind of pickled vegetables that Draco dared not ask about.

A soft, familiar mew came from the corner of the room. Draco’s lips twitched into a smile as he turned to see Wurstchen, Stardenburdenhardenbart's emotional support cat. The sandy-colored feline sat perched delicately on the edge of the table, her wide eyes shining with quiet wisdom, a tiny tongue poking from her toothless mouth.
Around her neck, she wore a small chef’s tie, perfectly coordinated to match the elf’s outfit.
The cat stretched languidly before gazing at Draco with an almost uncanny understanding, her expression tender and expectant—like she could sense his nerves.
Stardenburdenhardenbart was at her side in an instant, scooping her up with his usual theatrical flair. "Ah, Wurstchen," the elf cooed, cradling her like a precious treasure. "Ze calm before ze storm, no?"
Draco chuckled faintly, but his smile faltered as his thoughts veered back to the day's looming challenge. His eyes flicked to the letter sitting on the edge of the counter that he'd read several times over last night:

· · ─── ⚜ ❖ ⚜ ─── · ·

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

We are pleased to confirm your participation in the Falmouth Falcons tryouts for the upcoming season. Your expressed interest and record of exceptional skill have earned you this opportunity to join one of the most respected teams in professional Quidditch.

Please find the tryout schedule below:

08:00 AM: Keepers
10:00 AM: Chasers
12:00 PM: Beaters
02:00 PM: Seekers

We ask all participants to arrive at least 15 minutes prior to their designated time slot for registration and a brief warm-up session. The tryouts will take place at the Falcons’ practice grounds in Falmouth. Upon arrival, you will be directed to your group and provided additional instructions.

This is your opportunity to demonstrate not only your skills but also the qualities we value most—teamwork, strategy, and resilience. We are confident in your potential and look forward to seeing you in action.

If you have any questions or require further details, please feel free to reach out to our office at the provided contact information.

Best regards,

Angelica Cole

Manager, Falmouth Falcons Quidditch Team

· · ─── ⚜ ❖ ⚜ ─── · ·

He wanted this so desperately that the pressure threatened to crush him. A flicker of doubt gnawed at him, unbidden but relentless. What if I’m not good enough? What if I have to go back to the Tornados with my tail between my legs?
The question wormed its way into his mind, whispering louder than the confidence he’d built up over the years. He had always been the best at Quidditch, hadn’t he? But now, with everything on the line, he suddenly wasn’t so sure.
Staring down at the plate of food Stardenburdenhardenbart had eagerly set before him, Draco’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. The rich scents of sausages and cheese, normally mouthwatering, only seemed to make him feel more tense. He forced a smile, reaching for a piece of bread, but the thought of eating was too much. He set it down, a slight frown tugging at his lips. "I think I’ll pass on breakfast, Stardenburdenhardenbart."
The elf blinked in surprise, his tiny chef’s hat shifting slightly on his head. "But vhy? Zis food is perfect for a strong, healthy beater!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide with concern.
Stardenburdenhardenbart placed Wurstchen gently on the table, the cat settling into a loaf position with her tiny tongue still poking out, the chef’s tie around her neck giving her an air of professionalism. It was as if she, too, were part of the culinary team, silently reassuring Draco. The elf put his hands on his hips, his sailor uniform slightly askew, and fixed Draco with a stern but endearing look.
"Mah-ster Drah-koff," he began dramatically, pacing back and forth as though delivering a grand speech, "zis iz not ze time to let nerves turn you into a frail little flower. You are Drah-koff
Malfoy! You are ze fiercest beater in all of Britain! Today, ze Falcons vill see zat you are ze storm zey need!" He mimed swinging a bat again, his movements comically exaggerated.
Draco couldn’t help but chuckle despite himself, the elf’s antics breaking through his anxiety.
Wurstchen gave another soft mew, nudging her head against his hand. Draco scratched behind her ears, feeling the tension in his chest loosen just a fraction.
"Fine," Draco sighed, reaching for a slice of cheese and a small piece of bread. "But only a little. I don’t want to weigh myself down before the tryouts."
Stardenburdenhardenbart's face lit up with delight, his hands fitting up in victory. "Zat’s ze spirit! Eat, feel ze power of ze wurst und käse, and zhen you vill crush ze competition like ze mighty hippogriff you are!"
Draco raised an eyebrow, glancing at Stardenburdenhardenbart. "I’d rather be called a dragon."
The elf threw his head back with a laugh, his hands clapping together as if Draco had just told the greatest joke in the world.
Draco shook his head with a faint smile, taking a few small bites. The flavors were rich but comforting, the kind of hearty meal he’d grown used to over the years. Wurstchen purred contentedly, her warm presence grounding him in her special way.
As Stardenburdenhardenbart began a spirited monologue about the great Beater Gertrude Schulze and her legendary matches, Draco felt a flicker of reassurance. Perhaps, with a bit of food in his stomach, a cat at his side, and an overly enthusiastic, eccentric elf cheering him on, he might just be ready to face whatever the day had in store.

The roar of the wind greeted him as he stepped out of the Apparition zone and onto the grounds of the Falmouth Falcons' impressive practice stadium. The air smelled of damp grass and leather, mingled with the faint scent of salt from the nearby sea. His pale gray robes, tailored to perfection, billowed slightly as he made his way toward the check-in tent.
As he approached the registration table, a familiar voice cut through the din of players milling about.
"Malfoy! Glad to see you actually showed up."
Draco turned to see Marcus Flint grinning at him, still tall and broad-shouldered, with a rough edge to his features that age hadn’t smoothed out. Beside him stood Katie Bell, her windswept brown hair tied back in a ponytail. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, her Falcons-branded gear bearing faint grass stains. She leaned casually against Marcus, her hand resting on his arm.
"Flint," Draco greeted, his tone clipped. "Bell. Didn’t expect to see you here."
Katie smirked, clearly unfazed by his aloof demeanor. "Chaser tryouts just wrapped up. Marcus and I both kept our place, in case you’re curious."
"Not particularly," Draco replied, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Marcus wrapped an arm around Katie’s shoulders, his grin softening as he glanced at her. "Good day so far, thanks to Katie’s incredible catch in the last round. You should’ve seen it, Malfoy. Nearly took out the Keeper’s pride in the process."
Katie rolled her eyes with a smile. "Don’t exaggerate. That was because you were heckling him while cheering me on."
Draco raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. "So, what, are we calling this a team bonding moment or something more personal?"
Marcus laughed, unfazed. "Something personal," he said, pulling Katie closer. "She keeps me in line—on and off the pitch."
Katie shook her head with a laugh, glancing up at him. "You mean I stop you from losing your temper every time someone tackles you too hard."
"Exactly," Marcus replied, grinning down at her. "I’d be a disaster without her."
Draco raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with dry amusement. "Touching. Never thought I’d see the day Marcus Flint turned into a sentimental idiot."
"Watch it, Malfoy," Marcus shot back, though his grin didn’t falter. "I could still knock you flat on your arse if I wanted to. It's good to see you here though. And wearing something other than Tornados blue. That shade never suited you."
Draco rolled his eyes but couldn’t help a faint smirk. "I appreciate the invitation, Flint. Let’s hope it doesn’t turn out to be a waste of time."
"It won’t be," Marcus assured him, his expression turning serious. "I vouched for you because I know you’ve got the skill. Just don’t screw it up."
Katie gave Marcus a playful shove, though she was smiling. "Ignore him. You’ll do fine, Malfoy. Just try not to trip over your ego out there."
Draco rolled his eyes, though his smirk lingered. "Motivating as always," he drawled, before heading toward the field, the sound of their laughter trailing behind him

By noon, the Beaters' tryout was underway. The stadium's stands, though mostly empty, seemed to loom larger now. Five candidates stood ready: Draco, the Broadmoor twins—hulking, aggressive brutes who looked like they belonged in a wrestling ring were Falcons' beaters last season—Dawn Withey, a wiry woman with quick reflexes, and Indria Choudry, a poised and calculating player known for her precise hits.
The Falcons’ coaching staff lined the sidelines, clipboards in hand, their eyes sharp and critical. A series of enchanted Bludgers hovered ominously in the air, waiting for the whistle to blow.
Draco gripped his broom—a Firebolt Supreme—and steeled himself. Flint’s voice echoed in his mind. Don’t screw it up.
The coach, a blonde woman named Erika Rath, barked out instructions. "All right, this is a test of power and precision! We’ll start with target practice, then move to Bludger defense drills. After that, a simulated match. Give it your all, or you’re out!"
Draco mounted his broom and kicked off. The rush of air and the familiar weightlessness of flying centered him. As the first Bludger was released, the candidates took turns striking it toward enchanted rings at varying distances.
Draco watched as Karl Broadmoor sent the Bludger spiraling through a middle ring with a resounding crack. Kevin followed, barely grazing the edge of a closer target. Withey and Choudry both hit their marks, though not with the same force.
When it was Draco’s turn, he steadied his grip and focused. With a swift, calculated swing, he sent the Bludger soaring. It hit the smallest, farthest ring dead center with a satisfying clang.
A murmur of approval rippled through the observers.
The next round involved protecting a simulated Keeper from oncoming Bludgers while maintaining control of the pitch. Draco’s years of experience shone here; he intercepted each Bludger with precision, angling his strikes to neutralize threats while maintaining an air of effortless cool.
By the time the simulated match began, he felt more at ease. The Broadmoors were aggressive, but their brute force often lacked finesse. Withey’s speed made her a nuisance, and Choudry’s calculated moves kept Draco on edge. Still, he played strategically, letting his opponents’ mistakes work to his advantage.
After the final whistle, Draco landed, adrenaline still thrumming in his veins. Marcus was waiting for him near the benches.
"Not bad," Flint said, handing him a water flask. "Actually, pretty bloody good."
Draco took a long drink, letting the praise sink in. "Good enough to make the cut?"
Flint grinned. "Guess we’ll find out soon enough. But if I were you, I’d start thinking about what number you want on your Falcons jersey."
Erika Rath strode back out from the staff tent, clipboard in hand, and called the candidates—decisions made.

Her sharp eyes scanned them.
The tension was palpable as everyone waited for the announcement.
"All right," she barked sharply, her voice carrying across the pitch. "You lot gave it your all today, and that’s what we expect from potential Falcons. But we only have two spots, and not everyone can make the cut."
She paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"First slot goes to… Karl Broadmoor. Congratulations."
Karl let out a triumphant laugh, clapping his brother on the shoulder before stepping forward. Kevin nodded approvingly.
"And the second slot," Rath continued, her eyes locking on Draco, "goes to Draco Malfoy. Well done."
A surge of satisfaction coursed through Draco as he stepped forward, keeping his expression cool despite the thrill of the moment. He shook Rath’s hand firmly, meeting her gaze with quiet confidence.
"Welcome to the Falcons," Rath said, her tone sharp, but not unkind. "You earned it out there."
Draco nodded. "Thank you. I won’t disappoint."
As the group dispersed, Karl Broadmoor approached, a crooked grin on his face.
"Looks like we’ll be teammates," Karl said, offering a hand.
"Let’s hope you can keep up," Draco said with a faint smirk as he shook Karl's hand.
Karl chuckled, his grin widening. "Keep up? You’ll be eating my dust, Malfoy."
As Marcus Flint approached with a smirk and a bottle of celebratory Butterbeer, Draco allowed himself a small smile. For the first time in years, he felt like he was finally stepping into something of his own making.

Draco leaned against the sidelines with Marcus and Katie, a half-empty bottle of celebratory Butterbeer in hand. His smug satisfaction at making the team was evident in his relaxed posture, but his sharp gaze never missed a detail.
As the group for the Seeker tryouts began to assemble, Draco nearly choked on his drink.
Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Ginny Weasley stood among the other Seeker candidates. The sight of them was enough to make Draco’s smirk falter into an expression of mild disbelief.
Ginny caught his eye and grinned. "Relax, Malfoy. We’re not here to make trouble."
"You could’ve fooled me," he shot back, his tone laced with mock suspicion. Then his gaze shifted to Hermione, and his smirk softened. "Granger," he said, his voice a touch quieter. "Didn’t expect to see you here."
Hermione smiled politely but looked slightly wary. "Draco."
Before he could say anything more, his attention snapped back to Ginny. "Wait a minute—why are you here? Last I checked, you were with the Harpies, and chaser tryouts ended hours ago. Unless you’ve suddenly decided to switch positions?"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "I’m not trying out, Malfoy. I’m just here to support Hermione."
Draco blinked, stunned. For a moment, he thought she was joking. "Hermione? Hermione Granger? Trying out? For the Falcons? As a Seeker?"
Ginny nodded toward her friend, her smirk widening. "Yep."
Draco burst out laughing, a sharp bark of disbelief that echoed across the field. "Oh, this is brilliant," he said, clutching his side. "Absolutely brilliant. Tell me, Granger, do you even remember how to hold a broom properly? Or do I need to remind you about that time we were six feet off the ground and you screamed loud enough to rupture my eardrum?"
Hermione flushed a deep crimson, and Ginny shot Draco a warning glare. Ron and Harry, meanwhile, exchanged a look that was equal parts amusement and quiet understanding.
"Go ahead, laugh it up," Hermione said, folding her arms. "We’ll see who’s laughing after the tryouts."
Draco opened his mouth for another retort when his eyes caught a gleaming silver handle tucked under Hermione’s arm. His laughter died abruptly, replaced by something closer to shock.
It was a Wind Blade.
Draco’s jaw tightened as he processed what he was seeing. His mind flickered back to his own ill-fated experience with the broom, his body seeming to ache in remembrance. And now Hermione Granger, of all people, intended to fly it.
His voice dropped an octave, suddenly serious. "Granger," he said, stepping closer, "where did you get that?"
Hermione glanced at the broom, then back at him. "It was a gift."
"A gift?" Draco repeated, incredulous. "Do you have any idea what you’re holding? That’s not a broom—it’s a fucking death trap! You can’t seriously mean to fly that thing."
She raised an eyebrow. "Why not? I’ve been practicing."
"Practicing?" Draco said, his voice rising. "On that? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is? You think you can just—" He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Hermione, listen to me. That broom is insane. Even I had trouble handling it, and I’ve been playing Quidditch professionally for years."
Hermione looked unimpressed. "I appreciate your concern, Draco, but I know what I’m doing."
"No, you don’t," he snapped, panic creeping into his tone. "You don’t understand what it’s capable of. It’ll throw you off if you’re not ready, and I don’t want to watch you—" He stopped, realizing how frantic he sounded.
Ginny put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder, smirking at Draco. "Relax, Malfoy. She’s tougher than you think."
Draco glared at Ginny but didn’t snap back. Instead, he took a slow breath, forcing himself to steady his nerves. "This isn’t about toughness, Weasley," he said, his tone quieter now, though still laced with concern.
He turned back to Hermione, his gray eyes searching hers. "Look," he said, his voice gentler, "I know you’re capable. You’ve proven that more times than I can count. But this broom… it’s unpredictable. Even pros have trouble with it." He paused, searching for the right words. "Just… promise me you’ll respect what it can do. And be careful."
Hermione’s expression softened slightly, the tension between them ebbing. "I will, Draco," she said firmly. "But you’ll see—I can handle it."
Draco hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Alright," he said, drawing in a deep, shaky breath, his chest rising as though the air was heavier than it should be. "I’ll hold you to that."
He stepped back, watching as she joined the other candidates on the field. His stomach churned as the whistle blew, signaling the start of the Seeker tryouts. For the first time in years, he found himself silently rooting for someone else to succeed—just as long as she stayed safe.

Draco leaned against the railing with Ginny, Harry, and Ron, his arms crossed and his sharp eyes immediately picking out Galvin Gudgeon, Blythe Parkin, and Roderick Plumpton among the group—a mix of seasoned players and rising stars. But it was Hermione who drew his attention, and he found himself frowning in curiosity when a man from the Department of Magical Games and Sports approached her, holding out a frosted turquoise vial.
Hermione took it with a resigned expression, uncorked it, and downed the contents in one go, her face momentarily twisting in distaste.
Draco straightened. "What was that?" he asked, looking at the others.
Harry and Ron exchanged uneasy glances, while Ginny’s lips pressed into a thin line.
"It’s nothing," Harry said quickly, a little too quickly.
"Nothing?" Draco echoed, raising an eyebrow. "She just drank something handed to her by a Ministry official, and you’re calling it nothing? What aren’t you telling me?"
"Malfoy, let it go," Ron muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.
Draco frowned, but before he could push further, Erika Rath, the Falcons’ formidable coach, stepped forward. Her voice, sharp and commanding, echoed across the pitch as she explained the exercises.
The Seeker candidates would first demonstrate their reflexes, then their ability to maneuver through a series of aerial obstacles, and finally, their endurance. The ultimate test, of course, was to catch the Golden Snitch. Whoever did would be the Falcons’ new Seeker.

Draco’s eyes were locked on Hermione as she took to the air with an ease he’d never have associated with her. His jaw slackened slightly, and he blinked as though trying to convince himself he wasn’t hallucinating.

She moved through the air with the grace of a bird of prey, the Wind Blade cutting through the wind with the sharpness of a talon. She weaved through the obstacle course with ease, her turns sharp and precise, her speed reaching breakneck levels when needed. By the time the endurance test rolled around, she was still as composed as ever, while some of the other candidates were visibly tiring.

Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away.
“What... the... fuck...” he breathed, each word dragged out in disbelief. “She’s... actually good,” he muttered, half to himself, still unable to fully process what he’d just witnessed.
Ginny smirked. "Told you so."
When Rath released the Snitch for the final test, Hermione’s transformation was almost eerie. Her gaze locked onto the tiny golden ball like a predator spotting prey, her every movement calculated. She sliced through the air toward the Snitch, her movements sharp and fluid.
She wasn’t just flying—she was hunting.

The other candidates were good, but they couldn’t match her. Blythe Parkin made a desperate dive but miscalculated and had to pull up to avoid a crash. Roderick Plumpton tried to anticipate the Snitch’s movements but was outmaneuvered. Galvin Gudgeon was fast but lacked the precision Hermione displayed.

Her eyes were fixed on the Snitch, unwavering and intense. The wind whipped around her, tousling her hair, but she was unbothered, her entire being consumed by the chase. Her every movement, every twist and turn of the broom seemed to echo the rhythm of war drums—steady, powerful, relentless.

To watch her was to witness a force of nature at work—primal, untamed, and utterly in command. The air itself seemed to bend to her will.
Finally, in a breathtaking move, Hermione shot forward, her hand outstretched. She caught the Snitch with perfect timing, her thighs gripping the broom as she released her hands and stretched her arms wide, her fingers caressing the wind as it whispered her name, drawing the breath of the sky itself through her hands.

Draco’s jaw dropped as he watched her, awe flooding through him. She was radiant—utterly in her element, one with the sky, a creature of the wind. He couldn’t help it. A grin spread across his face, and then a laugh bubbled up, surprising even himself.
"Unbelievable," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "She’s… she’s bloody brilliant."
Ginny grinned at his reaction, nudging him with her elbow. "Told you she knew what she was doing."
Draco couldn’t stop smiling as Hermione descended, the Snitch still clutched in her hand. Instead of landing immediately, she shifted her position on the broom, swinging one leg over so she was sitting sidesaddle, her posture relaxed and effortless. She hovered just above him, looking down with a wide, triumphant grin. Her tongue flicked under her canine, a gesture that practically screamed, Up your arse, Malfoy.

Draco let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. As she finally touched down, he clapped slowly, his grin widening. "Alright, Granger," he called out, voice bright with amusement. "You’ve officially left me speechless. And that’s no easy feat."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but the pleased smile she wore as she tucked the Snitch into her pocket was undeniable.

Meanwhile...

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

As the group of disappointed seekers dispersed, Draco lingered on the pitch. With a slight hesitation, he approached Hermione.
"Granger," he began, voice low and uncertain, "would you like to celebrate us joining the team? Maybe... at the Leaky?"
Hermione blinked, surprised by the offer. Then a warm smile spread across her face. "I’d love to. We were all planning to head there anyway. You’re welcome to join us."
Draco nodded with relief. As the others began to Disapparate, he paused, watching Hermione closely. She seemed to be waiting as well, standing still as the air cracked with each departure. She took out a purple-frosted bottle that Draco recognized from the apothecary he found her in. Curiosity tugged at him as she downed it, but he dared not ask about it right now.
"You’re not leaving?" Hermione asked suddenly, her voice cautious.
He hesitated. "I thought you’d go first."
Hermione’s expression faltered for a moment before she reluctantly admitted, "I don’t have my wand with me." Her tone was tight, a flicker of discomfort evident as she glanced away.
Draco raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Why not?"
Her glance back at him silently screamed, Don’t ask. He immediately dropped it and instead offered, "Side-along Apparition, then. If you’re alright with that."
Hermione gaze searched his face before she nodded. "Alright. Thank you, Draco."
He stepped closer, his arm brushing hers as they prepared to Apparate. With a sharp crack, the pair appeared outside the bustling Leaky Cauldron.
Inside, the warm, noisy atmosphere greeted them. Among the crowd, Theo, Blaise, and Luna were already seated. Luna waved enthusiastically, her dreamy smile brightening as she saw Draco.
"Draco!" she called, her tone lilting. "You finally decided to grace us with your presence. Did the Falcons’ pitch razzle-dazzle you into staying behind?"
"Always a delight, Lovegood," Draco replied, his voice dry but his lips twitching in fond amusement.
"Hi, Hermione!" Luna added, then turned her attention back to Blaise, who was leaning in slightly, clearly enjoying her company. Their playful banter and shared glances didn’t go unnoticed.
Theo clapped Draco on the shoulder, beaming. "I knew you’d do it, mate. Flint told me you Bloody brilliant out there."
Once everyone had drinks in hand, Draco turned to Hermione, curiosity evident. "Alright, Granger, how did you pull that off? One moment, you’re terrified of heights, and the next, you’re flying circles around professionals. What happened?"
Hermione seemed to consider her response carefully. Finally, she said, "Something happened that... took away my fear of heights. And I grew to love flying." She took a sip of her drink, then added, "Viktor taught me everything he knew."
Draco’s brows shot up. "Krum?" He sounded amazed, but a flicker of something else—disappointment—crossed his face.
Hermione seemed to sense the turn of his thoughts, her eyes softened, and she leaned slightly toward him. "Draco, it wasn’t that Viktor was a better teacher than you. Things just… turned out that way."
Before Draco could respond, Ginny, Harry, and Ron joined them. The conversation quickly turned lively, with Ginny joking, "We were floored the first time we saw Hermione flying. Visiting her and Viktor in Bulgaria was like stepping into a Quidditch fantasy."
Hermione blushed but smiled, her friends’ teasing putting her at ease.
As the evening wore on, each of them grew more animated. Theo went on to tell a story about some trouble that he and Pansy got into. They had taken polyjuice to slip into the VIP section of a Weird Sisters concert. "Draco smoothed it over, and just like that another fine vintage, 'Pansy and Theo, 2002,' was stored in his Favor Cellar."
"Favor Cellar?" Hemione lifted an eyebrow.
"He stores each favor owed to him until special occasions present themselves. It was well worth it though."
A laugh bubbled out Hermione, Luna, and Blaise chuckling too. "And have you opened that fine vintage?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Draco smirked, a hint of tongue sticking out.
Hermione playfully shoved him. "Prat."

They laughed, ordering another round of drinks. After the bartender had handed them out, he leaned forward with an extra drink and a bemused expression. "Someone bought a drink for the hot one."
Draco, Ginny, Theo, and Blaise spoke at the same time: "Thank you!"
They looked at each other, scandalized. The bartender blinked before clarifying, "No, I meant her." He nodded toward Hermione, who looked surprised but pleased.
Her smile faded, however, when she turned to see Cormac McLaggen smirking at her from across the room. He raised his glass in a sleazy toast before swaggering over.
"Granger," Cormac drawled, his tone dripping with unwelcome confidence, "you’ve always been stunning, but tonight you’re positively radiant."
Hermione stiffened, her expression darkening. "Not interested, McLaggen. Leave me alone."
Ignoring her, he leaned in closer, whispering something in her ear.
Draco watched with nausea and outrage.

Her face froze, shock morphing into barely contained fury. As Cormac smirked smugly and began to walk away, Draco rose, his expression thunderous—consequences be damned. Ginny’s voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the tension: "Harry."
Harry sighed but didn't look the least bit unwilling. He strode up to Cormac and without a word, punched him squarely in the nose. A loud crack echoed through the pub as McLaggen stumbled back, clutching his face. He slunk off to a dark corner table muttering something under his breath.

"Hero worship has its perks," Ginny quipped, smirking as Harry returned to their table looking satisfied. Ron looked both pleased and itching to give Cormac a matching broken jaw.
Draco could relate.
His
gaze shifted to Hermione, whose clenched fists and tense posture hadn’t eased. He stepped closer. "What did he say to you?"
"Nothing," Hermione snapped, her voice tight. "I just need some air."
Before anyone could stop her, she was out the door. Draco followed immediately, but by the time he stepped outside, she was gone.
He froze, scanning the empty street, his heart pounding. "How did she…" His voice trailed off as confusion and unease settled over him.
What was she hiding?

Draco soared through the evening sky, the cold wind slicing past him and carrying away the heavy clutter of his thoughts. The sky was a deepening canvas of violet and gold, but as usual, he didn't care about the view. He pushed his broom harder, seeking solace in the vast, empty expanse. For a moment, there was nothing but the rhythm of the wind and the steady thrum of magic beneath him.
Then, he felt it—a ripple in the air that sent shivers crawling down his spine. The Velkrine. Her presence was unmistakable, he felt it through the strange mental connection they seemed to have now, an oppressive wave of fury that surged toward him like a tempest. He gripped his broom tighter, his chest constricting with a sharp stab of fear.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment to wallow in his stupidity.

Fuck.
His heart pounded as he glanced over his shoulder, and there she was, a streak of shadow and fire barreling through the sky with terrifying speed. Her wings carved through the air like blades, each beat thunderous and precise. Draco braced himself, expecting the searing agony of her claws, but she veered past him in a blur of dark feathers and fury.
The force of her wake sent his broom rocking, and he struggled to steady it, his gaze locked on her retreating form. She flew with a grace that defied logic, faster than anything he'd ever seen. Her rage pulsed in the air, a raw, electric energy that crackled against his skin and seeped into his veins. He could feel her anguish, her wrath, as though it were his own, and he couldn't help but wonder—what had provoked such a storm within her?
Then, impossibly, her speed increased. Her silhouette blurred, her form becoming a streak of indigo against the darkening sky. A burst of light erupted from her, and she ignited—blue flames licking at her body, consuming her entirely. Draco watched, stunned, as she became a blazing comet, her fiery glow painting the heavens with an eerie brilliance.
She didn't stop. The flames roared brighter. And then, with a sharp crack like thunder, she was gone. A deafening shockwave rippled through the air, slamming into Draco with the force of a gale. His broom shuddered violently, nearly spinning out of control as he clung to it, his knuckles white and his teeth clenched.
When the turbulence subsided, he hovered in the stillness, his breath ragged and his heart hammering against his ribs. The sky was empty now, save for the faint trail of blue embers that slowly faded into the ether. Draco stared at the spot where she had disappeared, his mind a whirl of questions and unease.
Whatever it was that had driven her to this, he knew one thing for certain—he was caught in something far greater than himself.

When Draco drifted off to sleep that night, he found himself in a different, darker space. A veil of darkness hung over the white space, a wave of midnight blue light ripping above like an aurora borealis.

The soft, beautiful midnight melodies that usually greeted him were gone, replaced by the guttural roar of an electric guitar.
The air trembled with the raw aggression of the sound, each note sharp and unrelenting. He turned, his breath catching as he took in the figure before him.
She was there—the mysterious woman with straight black hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of pure darkness. The white glow from below illuminated her in an eerie, surreal way, casting elongated shadows that flickered and stretched like restless spirits. Tiny specs of light floated around them like stars caught in a slow, perpetual drift.
Her sundress was gone, replaced by a form-fitting black crop top that revealed firm abs and black leather pants that gleamed faintly in the dream’s surreal lighting. She stood in the center of it all, one foot on an amp, an electric black Fender hung low against her body, her fingers flying over the strings with feral precision.
But the sound wasn’t hers alone. The deep pulse of a bass rumbled through the void, and the pounding of drums echoed like distant thunder. Another voice—low and haunting—sang with her, a spectral harmony that twisted through the air like a whisper from the abyss.
Her head was tilted back, gaze locked onto the waves of light above, as though waiting for something—or someone—to answer her.

"With my perceptions in a mixDown twenty miles through the sticksTo the cloudy town of Hellview: Population 96"

The wave of midnight light pulsed in time with the music, shifting and twisting like a living thing. The space around them rippled, and suddenly, the ground beneath them wasn’t just empty whiteness—it flickered, briefly showing the outline of cracked pavement, the ghost of a desolate town forming and fading like a mirage.

"Excessive vacancy, well maybeIn the shadow of an eyeAll the strangers pass throughWhere the rules just don't apply"

The specs of light around them dimmed, darkening like burnt embers. The buildings in the mirage wavered, shifting into looming silhouettes with empty, watchful windows. A feeling of unease settled into the space, creeping up Draco’s spine like icy fingers.

"At the fork turn left a storeBut on the right stay free from sight'Cause 96 quite bitter beingsLike to stack the bodies high"

Her hands moved effortlessly over the guitar, each note striking like a warning. Shadows flared at the edges of the scene, twisting into faceless figures that flickered in and out of existence. Draco had the unsettling feeling that if he looked too long, they would look back.

"The only way to ever leave isOverflooded by the stormAnd entanglement in HellviewBrings you fear in fifty forms"

The pulse of the bass deepened, resonating in his chest. The aurora above convulsed as though the storm itself was forming within it. The ground trembled slightly beneath them, reacting to the power of the music.

"(They've deleted all the tourists)(At the bottom of the lake)And not one supports the causeTo leave the blood stay in the veins"

A sudden, sharp crack split the air, and the mirage sharpened for a fraction of a second. The lake—still and black as ink—flashed into existence for a breath before dissolving back into nothing. The reflection of the midnight waves above shimmered in its depths.

"Here, three miles back is where we areAll we ever wanted was an answerCivilized are close but way too farAll we ever wanted was an answer"

Her voice carried a raw, desperate edge now, the haunting harmony weaving through her words. Her grip on the guitar tightened, knuckles whitening.
The aurora above rippled violently, flashing brighter as if something beyond it was struggling to break through.

"Footprints giving clue to where we areAll we ever wanted was an answerCivilized are close but way too farAll we ever wanted (wanted, wanted, wanted)"

The final note stretched into silence. The mirage of the town flickered one last time, then vanished, leaving only the endless white space, the floating lights, and the lingering echo of her breath.
Slowly, she lowered her head, her glowing blue eyes locking onto Draco’s. The fire in them had dimmed slightly, but something dark and unreadable still lurked beneath the surface. Her fingers trembled slightly as they left the strings.

She let the guitar drop to the floor with a soft thud and sank back into the cream-colored couch as it began to materialize, her shoulders rising and falling heavily. Her hands went to her face, her fingers trembling as they dragged down her cheeks.
Draco hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. “That was… different,” he said, his voice low but edged with unease. He stopped a few feet from her, unsure of how close he could safely get.
Her hands lowered slowly. She looked at him with a mixture of frustration and something he couldn’t quite name.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said, her voice hoarse but still carrying that melodic lilt that unnerved him.

“You didn’t,” Draco lied quickly, his mind still reeling. “Just… caught me off guard.” He paused, studying her, the way her fingers gripped the edge of the couch like she was trying to ground herself.

“What do I even call you?” he asked, his voice softening. “You’ve never told me your name.”
For a moment, her gaze dropped to the floor, a shadow crossing her face. When she finally looked back up at him, there was a flicker of hesitation before she said, “Amaranth.”
Draco tilted his head. It was a beautiful name, but something about the way she said it felt hollow, as though it were a mask she was slipping on. “That’s not your real name, is it?” he asked quietly.
Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “No. But it’s the name you can use.”

“Amaranth, then,” he said, as if testing the name. “What... was that? You were like a different person.”
Her gaze flickered away, fingers curling tightly in her lap. “My curse amplifies my emotions… I can get carried away.”
“What upset you?”
She hesitated, her jaw tightening before she finally spoke. “I’m registered with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures—but someone else found out. About what I am. What I’ve become.” She exhaled sharply. “Someone who has no right to know. And they’re using it against me. Blackmailing me.”
Draco’s expression darkened. “Who?” he demanded. “What do they want?”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter who. If they expose the truth, I’ll lose everything. Velkrine... The public will never accept me. I’ll lose my work, my place in the wizarding world…” Her last words broke like a fragile whisper.
For a moment, Draco said nothing, letting the weight of her words hang between them. Then he leaned forward, his expression softening. “You’re not going to lose everything,” he said firmly. “You have me. I'm not going anywhere.” He didn't know why he said it, and he didn't understand it, but he knew deep inside himself that this woman meant a great deal to him. He smirked slightly, trying to inject some levity, “Besides, blackmail is such a cliché. Want me to blackmail them back? Or maybe set them on fire?”
Her head snapped toward him, her glowing eyes widening in surprise. “Set them on fire?”
He shrugged, his smirk widening. “I have a good friend who has specialized in it since the age of 11, I'm sure she'd help.”
A startled laugh escaped her, the sound raw but genuine. She shook her head, her dark hair falling around her face. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet, I’m making you laugh,” he pointed out, clearly pleased with himself.
“Barely.”
He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “Barely? That sounded like an almost chuckle. I’ll take it as a win.”
She smiled faintly, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Thank you,” she murmured after a moment.
“For the jokes?” he teased, his tone light.
“For being here,” she said, her voice quieter now.
Draco’s smirk faded, replaced by a softer expression. “There's something familiar about you, I would like to know what that is,” he said simply.
They sat in silence for a while, the charged energy of the space gradually giving way to a strange calm.
"Can you do me a favor though?" He asked casually.
Her lips tugged like she remembered an inside joke. "Anything."
"Please stop dive-bombing me when I’m flying. I nearly fell off my broom last time."
She gave him a guilty wince. "Yeah… sorry about that."

When the dream began to dissolve, the putrid stench of Surströmming that Stardenburdenhardenbart had shoved under his nose woke him with a strong retch.

Yet, he started the new day with a sense of clarity he hadn’t felt in days.

Draco stepped into the Falmouth Falcons' stadium, his sharp gaze sweeping over the pristine pitch. The early morning sunlight reflected off the dew-covered grass, and the faint sound of the sea carried in the breeze. The stadium felt vast and imposing, but Draco held his head high as he approached the team gathered near the coach.
Erika Rath, their formidable coach, stood at the center of the group, her piercing eyes scanning them all with the precision of a hawk. "Good morning, Falcons," she said, her voice brisk. "You won’t need your gear today. Follow me."
As the team fell in behind Rath, Draco caught sight of Hermione lingering at the edge of the group, adjusting her ponytail. Her brow was furrowed, her shoulders slightly tense as though she wasn’t entirely sure she belonged here.
Draco slowed his pace, falling in step beside her. "Granger," he greeted, his tone casual but tinged with curiosity.
Hermione glanced up, startled for a moment, before offering a small smile. "Malfoy," she replied.
"You look nervous," Draco noted, his smirk softening into something almost reassuring.
Hermione shot him a sidelong look. "I’m fine," she said evenly, though the tightness in her voice betrayed her.
"Right," Draco drawled, not entirely convinced. "You’ve only been amazing on the pitch so far, no reason to feel nervous now."
Hermione let out a small huff of laughter, her tension easing slightly. "I’m still getting used to all of this," she admitted quietly, gesturing vaguely toward the team ahead of them.
Draco gave her a faint, almost conspiratorial grin. "Stick with me, Granger. I’ll make sure you don’t embarrass yourself too badly."
Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the hint of amusement in her expression. "I think I can manage without your help, Malfoy."
"We’ll see," he said, the playful edge in his voice clear.
His curiosity piqued as they were led into the stadium's administrative wing. They entered a sleek office where stacks of parchment awaited.
"Before we go any further," Rath said, "you’ll sign these. Standard contracts, NDAs—agreeing not to share team strategies if you switch teams. The Falcons guard their secrets closely, and I won’t tolerate any breaches of trust."
Draco signed the parchment with an elegant flourish, noting the seriousness in Rath’s tone.
When everyone was finished, she looked them over, a faint smile curling at the edges of her lips. "Congratulations. You’re officially Falcons now. Welcome to the team."
A murmur of excitement rippled through the group.
"Now," Rath continued, her voice shifting to a sharp, commanding tone, "let’s talk about what it means to be a Falcon. This team isn’t just about individual skill. It’s about unity, trust, and synergy. To win, we must be able to anticipate each other’s moves—not just on the pitch, but off it as well."
Draco stood straighter, her words resonating with him.
"Today, we’ll start with something that might be new to some of you: Legilimency." Rath paused, scanning their reactions.
Draco stiffened slightly, his curiosity mixed with apprehension.
"Raise your hand if you can perform Legilimency."
Every hand but one shot up. Draco turned slightly to see who hadn’t raised theirs—it was Denison Frisby, the new keeper.
"Now," Rath continued, "keep your hand up if you can do it without a wand."
Two hands dropped.
"And finally," Rath said, her tone sharper, "keep your hand up if you can perform it wandless and without eye contact."
Only four hands remained: Marcus, Katie, Hermione, and Draco himself.
"Excellent," Rath said. "This week, we’ll be training you all to improve these skills. Some of you are advanced, while others need to learn the basics. Pair up. You’ll have thirty minutes each to practice until you swap partners for the next round. Those who can’t do it without eye contact will sit face-to-face. The rest of you—back-to-back."
Draco’s stomach twisted slightly when Rath called out his name alongside Hermione’s for the final round. As they settled on the grass, Hermione looked tense, her posture stiff and guarded.
"Relax, Granger," Draco said lightly, though her discomfort stung. "I’m not going to pry into your mind. This is practice, not an interrogation."
Hermione glanced over her shoulder, her gaze softening. "Right," she said with a faint smile.
They sat back-to-back, their shoulders brushing. For a moment, Draco focused on steadying his breathing, aligning his thoughts with hers. Then, like slipping into warm water, he felt their reaching minds touch. It was easy. Weirdly easy, if Draco was being honest with himself, instead he let it inflate his ego a bit.
Hermione’s mind was vibrant, a swirl of colors and emotions that mirrored her complexity. They began hesitantly, sharing light, surface thoughts, but soon the barriers fell away, and they were exchanging stories and banter as naturally as if they were speaking aloud.
Draco grinned as he recounted a recent event. 'You should’ve seen Stardenburdenhardenbart when I told him you're back and you made the team too. He was so happy he cried for two hours—sounded like an out-of-tune German accordion.'
Hermione laughed, the sound warming Draco’s chest.

'I’ve missed him. And Wurstchen too.'

Draco felt her smile through the connection. 'He’ll never forget the compassion you showed him,'
he said, his voice quieter.
Hermione’s thoughts flickered briefly to the past—to the day she’d gone to the shelter to find a companion for the distraught elf Draco had inherited from his mother. She didn’t speak, but the memory filled their connection with warmth and gratitude.
'How many favors do you have owed to you?' Hermione teased lightly. 'And which one are you saving for the most special occasion?'
Draco smirked, leaning back against her. 'Theo and Daphne, 1996.'
Hermione’s curiosity flared brightly in his mind. 'What happened?'
'I’m not telling,'
Draco said, his tone smug.
They fell into a comfortable rhythm, their shoulders pressing together as they exchanged playful jabs and laughter. At one point, Hermione lightly elbowed him, and Draco retaliated by nudging her back, the exchange devolving into blind, playful swats. Nearby they could hear giggles from Marcus and Katie.
By the time Rath called an end to the session, Draco turned to Hermione, his gaze softening as he met her honey-brown eyes. The tension that had hung between them for the past week—the hesitation, the unspoken words—dissolved, replaced by something warmer. Something familiar.
“Thank you,” she murmured after a moment.
“For what?”
“For everything.” Her voice was quiet, but there was weight behind it. He got the distinct feeling she wanted to say more.
'I missed you.'
Her voice echoed softly in his mind, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

'I missed you too.'

He reached for her without thinking, pulling her into a hug. She melted into him, clinging longer than he expected, as if neither of them wanted to let go. Eventually, they did—but only reluctantly.
Hermione looked up at him and smiled, and in her eyes, Draco saw it: relief, love, and unwavering trust. The same emotions swelled in his chest.
She was back. His best friend was back.
He swallowed hard, forcing back his own tears.
Rath’s sharp voice shattered the moment. “Impressive work, Malfoy, Granger. You’re leagues ahead of the others. Flint, Bell—whatever the flying falcon you two were doing, keep it out of my training sessions. The rest of you—more practice is needed.”
As the session wrapped up, Draco stole another glance at Hermione, his heart lighter than it had been in years.

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

Hermione drifted into sleep, her consciousness slipping into the familiar white space of their shared dreams. The endless expanse stretched around her—except this time, she wasn’t alone when she arrived.
Draco was already there, lounging casually across her cream-colored couch, a mahogany acoustic guitar resting on his torso. He strummed absentmindedly, the soft notes of Semi-Charmed Life from Third Eye Blind filling the space. Tiny glowing specks of colored light floated around him lazily like enchanted fireflies, drawn to the contentment that glowed from him.

He looked up at her, a smirk playing on his lips. “Amaranth,” he greeted, using the name she had almost forgotten was meant for her. "You didn’t think you were the only one who could play guitar, did you?”
Hermione blinked, surprised. Another cream couch appeared beneath her the moment she thought of sitting. When she first introduced him to Muggle music he’d mentioned wanting to learn, but she assumed that he'd been merely humoring her—she never expected him to actually learn.
“I did,” she admitted with a playful grin, a little embarrassed but not entirely apologetic.
Draco’s fingers danced across the strings effortlessly. “I took lessons a few years ago,” he said, his voice lighter than usual, as if the weight of his waking world had lifted. “But hearing you play... well, it inspired me to pick it back up again.”
Hermione smiled softly, watching him play. "You're happy," she said, the words slipping out without thinking. Seeing him in this state, truly happy, filled her with something she hadn’t realized she was missing. It softened the edges of her heart.
Draco’s smirk eased into something gentler as he looked up at her. His gaze was warmer now, though it still held that subtle mystery. His voice was warm, quiet, certain. “I am.”

A soft, thoughtful strum filled the space between them. He looked down at the guitar for a moment, then continued, his voice steady and sure. “A while ago my best friend left. We lost touch. But when she came back… things felt different. But now, everything's falling back into place. Having her back in my life—it’s everything.”
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. The love in his voice—so honest, so unguarded—wrapped around her. If her unnatural glamour weren’t concealing her true self, he would have seen the blush rising on her cheeks.

“I’m happy for you,” she said, her voice soft and sincere.
Draco met her eyes for a brief moment, his gaze lingering. There was something searching in the way he looked at her, like he knew she was holding something back. But instead of pushing her, he simply nodded and changed the subject, making their conversation feel effortless, warm.
As the minutes passed, Draco’s fingers slowed, and the music shifted into something more reflective. He hesitated before speaking again. “Are you feeling better?”
Hermione exhaled softly, finally letting some of the weight she’d been carrying slip away. “I think so,” she said. “I’m getting there.”
Draco studied her more intently this time, his sharp gaze softened by genuine concern. “And the blackmail?”
Her heart skipped. She hesitated only for a second, then answered honestly, though the truth was tangled. “I think I can handle it... somehow.”
Draco’s jaw tightened slightly, but his voice remained steady. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know.”
Her lips curved into a small smile. “I know. And I truly appreciate it.”
He didn’t seem fully convinced, but he nodded, accepting her answer without argument.
“I am feeling better,” Hermione added after a moment. “There’s someone special in my life who’s helped me feel better.”
Draco’s fingers strummed lightly, the tune shifting into something slower, gentler. “I’m glad,” he said softly, but there was a flicker in his expression—something unreadable.

She wanted to tell him that she was talking about him, that it was him who had made all the difference, but she kept it to herself.
As the dream began to fade, Hermione watched him turn his attention back to his guitar, humming lightly under his breath. The glowing specks of light slowly danced to his music.

Her last thought before waking was how much she wished she could hold him, to let him know just how much he meant to her.

When she stepped out of the shower, the bathroom mirror was fogged over. She wanted to leave it that way, but applying her glamor required sight, whether she liked it or not.
Resentment settled heavily in her chest before she begrudgingly wiped the mirror with a towel. Scowling, yet hypnotic, bluebell eyes stared back at her. She reached for her purple-frosted suppressant potion, and as it slid down her throat, the eerie glow in her gaze dimmed to something more natural.
With great care, she wandlessly glamored that abominable, hateful, straight black hair into the wild, untamable chocolate-brown curls that were rightfully hers. Her eyes followed, shifting into their familiar honey-brown warmth.
She couldn't help but stare at the illusion, bitter heartache twisting into desperate longing.
Hate for that decrepit, molting harpy of a hag who had cursed her flared up like a slow-burning fire in her chest. Every single day since, she had indulged in the most creative, tantalizing visions of revenge—each more tempting than the last. But at the end of the day… she just couldn’t do that to Viktor.

Once she was ready, she cast the Disillusionment Charm on herself, stepping into the fireproof space of her apartment's fireplace before Disapparating in an eruption of bluebell flames.
The moment her feet touched the pavement just outside the stadium, she sighed, lifting her Disillusionment as she strode forward, leaving faint scorch marks where she had arrived.

The Quidditch pitch buzzed with motion as the team wrapped up their final drills. The day's training had been grueling but exhilarating, starting with endurance laps that left their lungs burning, followed by high-speed Quaffle passes and Bludger dodging drills. Hermione, to her own surprise, had found a rhythm in the chaos, her reflexes sharpening with every round. She had also been practicing with the Snitch, honing her precision and speed, a challenge that kept her focused and determined.
By three in the afternoon, they shifted to Legilimency training, their minds sharpened by the physical drills. Hermione had found her practice sessions with Katie Bell and Marcus Flint to be unexpectedly fun. Katie had a wicked sense of humor, full of dry wit and unexpected quips, while Marcus, to Hermione’s surprise, shared a similar brand of mischief. Together, they were an absolute menace—constantly teasing each other, sneaking in flirtatious comments to each other between serious attempts at Legilimency. Their antics kept the mood light, but it was clear they had a history of driving the coach to exasperation. Their training was conducted facing away from one another and at a greater distance, adding an extra layer of difficulty that made their progress all the more impressive. Even as Hermione lost herself in the mental tug-of-war, she couldn’t ignore the weight of Katie’s knowing look that brushed against her thoughts mid-session.
'You doing alright, Granger?'
Katie’s voice echoed in Hermione’s mind, light and teasing but laced with curiosity.
Hermione blinked at the sudden intrusion but quickly steadied herself. 'Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?'
Across from her, Marcus exchanged a glance with Katie through their mental link, the unspoken understanding passing between them. 'No reason. Just checking in. You know, in case some... unpleasant reading material found its way to you this morning.'
Hermione’s stomach twisted.
So there was something in
the
Daily Prophet.
She fought to keep her mind steady, unwilling to let any cracks form in her composure. If Marcus and Katie were hesitant to bring it up directly, it had to be bad.
'I didn’t have time to check,' she admitted, keeping her tone even. 'Guess I’ll find out later.'
The unspoken weight of their shared thoughts lingered for a moment before Katie shifted the conversation back to their exercise. 'Alright, then. Let’s see if you can keep up this time, Granger.'
Despite the unease curling in her stomach, Hermione smirked. 'Oh, you’re on.'
Their mental exchange faded into the focused concentration of the drill, but Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever awaited her in the morning’s paper would not be easily ignored.
Still, as much as she enjoyed her sessions with them, she had been most looking forward to practicing with Draco.
Her excitement dampened when Rath called for them to work from an extended distance too, rather than up close. Hermione missed leaning against his warm back. There was something about feeling the firmness of his muscles move that made her heart race. But as they began, she noticed something else—Draco seemed restless. Jumpy.
'Alright, what’s wrong?' she asked through their mental link, her voice laced with concern.
Draco’s response was slow at first, but then she felt a reluctant sort of amusement seep into their connection.

'This morning, Stardenburdenhardenbart decided that the best way to wake me up for practice was to smear fish paste on my foot and let Wurstchen lick it off.'

Hermione’s mouth parted in horror before she let out an undignified cackle. It started as a sputter and quickly escalated into a full-bodied laugh.
She felt Draco scowl though it was softed by something fond. 'You’re heartless, Granger,' he moaned, feigning offense. 'How could you laugh at my trauma?'
Hermione forgot to use Legilimency as she squeaked out her words through her laughter. “I—I'm sure you gave it extra flavor!”
She felt him roll his eyes but relish the sound of her laughter, especially since it had been a while since he had seen her this at ease.
Their mental link remained active as they toyed with the grass, idly plucking at the blades. They laughed, their conversation flowing effortlessly, trading teasing remarks and inside jokes that had built over weeks of training. Draco made a particularly ridiculous observation about Marcus’s flying technique, sending Hermione into a fit of giggles, while she retaliated with a playful jab about his old Quidditch rivalries.
As the session wrapped up, Draco stretched lazily, throwing his arms back like he’d just conquered a small kingdom. “Come out with me!” His voice practically crackled with excitement. “We’ll grab some food—maybe even risk our sanity with one of those Muggle horror films you love. But listen, I am laying down a ground rule right now—you are holding the popcorn this time. Last time, it was like a bloody Weasley’s Wildfire Whiz-bang went off, and I spent the entire climax of the film apologizing to an elderly Muggle who thought he was being assassinated by snack food.”
Hermione’s heart clenched. She wanted to. She really did. But she had a meeting—an important one. And more than that, she needed Draco to know that she trusted him, even if she wasn’t ready to share everything just yet.
'I can't,' she admitted, her voice slipping back into his mind like a whisper, steady but firm. She forced herself to hold his gaze. 'I have to meet Blaise and Luna at a Muggle café. There's something we need to discuss.'
Draco’s grin faltered slightly, but he didn’t let disappointment settle in. “Alright, next time then,” he said easily, though curiosity flickered in his expression.
A pause stretched between them before his voice returned, quieter but not prying. 'This isn't just a friendly catch-up, is it?'
Hermione hesitated before nodding. 'I don’t want to discuss my medical condition at St. Mungos,' she admitted. 'There are people I don’t trust. It’s too easy to be overheard.'
Draco’s gaze sharpened. 'Does this have anything to do with the strange potions you’ve been taking?'
Hermione swallowed hard before nodding. “Yes.”
Draco’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t push. Instead, he pulled her into a tight hug, his arms enveloping her with warmth. “Be careful,” he murmured, his voice steady and comforting. In that moment, Hermione felt a quiet reassurance settle over her, the weight of her worries lightened just a little.

When Hermione arrived at the café, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and buttery pastries wrapped around her like a comforting embrace. The low hum of conversation blended with the soft clinking of ceramic cups, creating an atmosphere of warmth and familiarity—a brief respite from the weight pressing on her shoulders.
Blaise and Luna were already seated at a small round table by the window, two cups of coffee steaming between them. Blaise had chosen the café specifically for its pastries, and a plate of golden croissants sat untouched for now. As Hermione slid into her seat, Luna reached across the table, wrapping Hermione’s hands in her own, concern evident in her luminous eyes.
“Is it getting worse?” Luna asked gently.
Hermione exhaled, cradling her cappuccino, savoring the warmth against her palms. “It’s been manageable with the potions,” she admitted. “But…” She hesitated before forcing herself to continue. “I tethered to Draco.”
Neither Luna nor Blaise looked surprised.
“We know,” Blaise said simply. “We treated his Velkrine scratch.”
Hermione’s breath hitched. Of course. They had seen it firsthand.
Luna tilted her head. “Do you think he's compatible enough for a mate bond?”
Hermione looked down at her cappuccino, stirring the foam absently as quiet despair settled over her. “He smells like my Amortentia.”
Blaise hummed. “So he could be.”
“I’m not going to tell him,” Hermione said firmly. “I know him. Telling him is the same as deciding for him.” Her grip tightened around her cup. “And the consequences if it goes wrong... There’s almost no research on it. It’s too risky.”
Luna’s gaze was soft but serious. “You also want to be bonded to someone who loves you.” For just a moment, she glanced sideways at Blaise.
Hermione nodded. “I won’t let him do this out of pity.” The thought of it alone squeezed her heart as roughly as sandpaper. “This is for life.”
Being alone would be less lonely.
Before they could discuss further, a voice cut through the quiet space between them.
“So, you’re Miss Harpy.”
Hermione stiffened. Slowly, she turned to find Pansy Parkinson standing beside their table, holding a coffee.
Pansy smirked. “Relax. I know you’re not actually a threat to Draco.”
Hermione bristled. “Excuse me?”
Pansy waved a hand. “He doesn’t think you’re a threat, and he’s a good judge of character. That’s enough for me.”
Blaise sighed, rubbing his temples. "Sorry, Hermione. I forgot I recommended this place to Pansy once."
As Hermione processed that, Pansy slid into an empty seat, joining the conversation. Her smug smirk slowly softened, tempered by something unexpected—pity.
Hermione frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Pansy sighed, glancing around as if ensuring no one was listening. Then, discreetly, she pulled the morning’s Daily Prophet from her bag and slid it across the table toward Hermione.
The bold, glaring headline read: KRUM'S SECRET SNITCH.
Hermione’s pulse thundered as she scanned the article. It detailed how Viktor Krum had been spotted—and photographed—with a woman named Amaranth Tŭmnina, a confirmed Ex-Seeker for the Vratsa Vultures’ practice team in Bulgaria, months before his divorce from Hermione Granger. The accompanying photo showed Amaranth unmistakably kissing Viktor after a practice game.
Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, her lungs frozen in shock. Staring back at her was her waking nightmare—long, straight black hair, and unnaturally brilliant blue eyes.
Herself.
Her cursed self and her bloody alias.
She swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the edges of the newspaper. Everyone would think this was proof that Viktor had cheated on her, that their marriage had ended because of this.
A shiver crept up her spine, panic coiling in her gut. If anyone connected the dots—if Draco connected the dots—then the truth about her transformation could unravel.
Pansy sighed, her expression unreadable. “I figured you hadn’t seen it yet.”
Hermione forced herself to breathe, setting the paper down with deliberate care. “Thank you,” she murmured, voice tight. “For showing me.”
Pansy took a sip of her coffee. “Don’t mention it.”
As the oppressive weight of shock slowly lifted, Hermione managed an easier breath and finally voiced her true concern.
Looking sideways, she sighed. Pansy might as well know too.
“Cormac McLaggen knows what I am.” The words landed like lead between them. “And he’s blackmailing me.”
Blaise’s expression darkened. “What does he want?”
“I don’t know,” Hermione whispered. “And that’s what scares me.”

Sleep was a frightening prospect that night. Hermione dreaded it, her mind torturing her with the inevitable argument she was certain would come.
“I can’t believe you. You were cheating with my best friend’s ex-husband.”“It’s not what it looks like.”“I think it’s exactly what it looks like.”“Please let me explain.”“There’s nothing to explain. Just break this freaky connection. You disgust me, and I don’t want someone like you in my head.”
Or worse—
“Did you enjoy seeing me look like a fool?”“Of course not.”“I thought you trusted me.”“I do.”“Is this what you call trust?”

Sleep finally caught her like a bloodthirsty lion, preying on the weak and desperate baby deer she felt like.

Of course, he was there—standing in the center of nothing, giving her a hard look.
She took a shaky breath, bracing herself for the inevitable.
He strode up to her, and with a huff, pulled her into a crushing hug.
“You idiot.”

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

“You idiot.”Hermione barely had a second to register the words before Draco pulled her into a crushing hug.For a moment, all she could do was stand there, stunned. She had been bracing herself for something else—for cold anger, for sharp words demanding an explanation. Instead, he held her tight, like he had needed her to be here just as much as she needed him.Her breath caught in her throat.Then, without a word, he pulled her onto the couch with him.The cream-colored cushions dipped under their weight as he settled her against his side, arms still firm around her. He didn’t say anything—not yet. Just held her. And somehow, that was exactly what she needed.Her eyes stung, but she swallowed against the lump in her throat, letting her body relax against his. The silence stretched, comfortable and steady, grounding her in a way nothing else had all day.Then, softly, Draco started singing.Hermione exhaled a quiet laugh, closing her eyes as the familiar melodies of The Kooks filled the empty space.
She didn’t need to say anything.He knew.And maybe—maybe he wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, either.After a while, his voice trailed off, and he glanced around at the endless white void. “So, Hermione,” he mused. “What is this place, exactly?”Hermione hummed, opening her eyes. “It's a common room. In our minds.”Draco snorted. “Our common room is… a blank abyss?”She gave a small shrug.He huffed. “That’s pathetic. We should decorate.”Hermione smirked slightly. “Oh?”“Yeah. Red couch for you, green one for me.”She wrinkled her nose. “That would be hideous.”Draco gasped in mock offense. “You wound me.”“You did this to yourself.”He narrowed his eyes at her, then smirked. “Fine. One couch. Half red, half green.”She stared at him, horrified. “Draco—”He laughed, full and warm, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. No tacky house-color furniture. But we do need something.”Hermione hesitated, then admitted, “I chose the cream couch because I wanted to keep the space neutral. Something warm. Earthy.”Draco raised a brow. “Earthy?”“Yeah.” She glanced around, thoughtful. “I had been thinking about adding plants. A wooden coffee table. Bookshelves. Something to make it cozy.”Draco blinked. Then, slowly, his lips curled into an incredulous smile. “Have you been planning the interior decor of our shared subconscious this whole time?”Hermione frowned, then after a beat she realized. “...Yes.”Draco let out a delighted laugh, pulling her even closer. “Unbelievable.”She buried her face in his shoulder, smiling despite herself.They stayed like that for a while, talking, teasing, just existing together. But beneath it all, there was something unspoken. A shared understanding.They would need to talk about her secret. Later.Eventually, Hermione sighed. “Hey, can you bring me some Pepper-Up Potion for practice?”Draco arched a brow. “Didn’t sleep well?”She shot him a dry look.His smirk softened. “Yeah, I’ll bring you some.” Then, gentler, “Go easy on yourself today, alright?”Hermione nodded, letting her eyes drift closed as she leaned into him just a little more.And then, the dream faded.

Before Hermione left her flat for Quidditch practice, she noticed a letter that an owl must have dropped through her open window. The red, elaborate seal was all she needed to see. She didn’t have to open it to know what it said, but she took it with her anyway.The sky stretched vast and blue above the Falcons' training pitch, streaked with only the occasional wisp of cloud. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and damp grass, and the sun shone warmly against her skin. It was a perfect day for practice.She pushed herself through drills, dodging, weaving, accelerating in sudden bursts. The rhythm of the Bludgers was second nature by now. By the time they moved on to Legilimency exercises, she was breathing steadily, her mind focused. But there was something about today’s session that made her uneasy.Every time she connected with her teammates, she sensed it—that quiet, restrained pity. It was tucked away in the corners of their minds, a gentle, unspoken sympathy that made her chest tighten. Even Erika Rath, usually brisk and unsentimental, was making a point to praise her. And then there was Draco. He wasn’t saying anything, but his glances were reassuring, steady. It was his way of letting her know he was there.He was the last person she trained with. When their exercise ended, he leaned in slightly and said, "Let’s take a walk to the harbor after this."She nodded. She had expected this.

After practice, they changed into Muggle clothes. Hermione pulled on a warm jumper and a red trench coat, while Draco opted for a well-tailored black wool overcoat. As they walked, the wind picked up the closer they got to the harbor, carrying the crisp scent of saltwater. Tall trees lined the path, dappling their way with flickering sunlight, their shadows shifting as the breeze stirred the branches.They spoke lightly at first—safe topics, comfortable banter—but Hermione felt the weight of the letter in her pocket. The closer they got to the docks, the more her chest tightened. She knew she’d have to explain soon.When they finally reached the boardwalk, she stopped, staring at the boats bobbing gently in the water. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the letter from her pocket, staring at the wax seal for a moment before speaking."Something happened to me," she started, her voice quieter than usual. "I… changed. And it wasn’t just physical. It altered the way I felt, the way I thought." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "It was like something else took root inside me, filling every crack, every shadow I didn’t even realize was there. My emotions became sharper, harder to control."She glanced at him, her expression uncertain. "My hair turned black. My eyes… they glowed blue. But the strangest part was my urge to fly. How natural it felt to fly. My fear of heights was completely gone, and instead, I craved it. Viktor taught me how to fly a broom, and I picked it up faster than I ever thought possible. I was… good at it. I joined his team’s practice squad under a false name. I never played public games, so no one knew who I was. We thought we were careful. We thought no one would find out."She exhaled sharply. "But we were wrong."Draco stayed silent, his face unreadable.Hermione turned back to the water. "Things didn’t work out between Viktor and me. We divorced." She didn’t explain why. She wasn’t ready to share that part yet. "When I returned to England I registered myself as a Velkrine at the Ministry. They took my wand."At that, Draco’s expression darkened. "They what?""They took it," she repeated flatly. "Said it was a security precaution. My curse improved my wandless magic, but it’s not the same." She exhaled, frustration flashing in her eyes. "They let me play professional Quidditch, but I have to take a potion before every match to make sure I don’t have an unnatural advantage."She reached into her coat pocket, pulling out the letter again. "Viktor wrote to me this morning. He’s going to embrace the rumor that he cheated on me—to protect my secret."Draco’s gaze sharpened. "He’s doing that for you?"Hermione nodded but didn’t elaborate. She didn’t tell him that Viktor felt guilty.She turned her attention back to the harbor, watching the boats shift with the tide. Her fingers traced the railing, and she gestured toward the water. "You see those boats? They’re tied down, anchored to keep them from drifting too far. That’s what a Velkrine needs—someone to tether them, someone who can keep them from losing themselves."She turned to face him fully. "I smelled my Amortentia on you," she admitted. "That day in the apothecary. My potion had worn off a bit. I’m guessing you smelled the same from me."Draco studied her for a long moment. Then he nodded. "I did."Something in his gaze softened, as though puzzle pieces were finally clicking into place.Hermione hesitated before continuing, "I think… I could smell it because you were compatible. As someone I could tether to. That’s why I was drawn to you in the sky that night. The potion was fading, and my instincts… they led me to you."Draco’s expression shifted, as if he were processing the weight of that revelation.She hesitated. "I’m sorry for scratching you that first night. And… for pulling you into all of this."Draco exhaled slowly, then shook his head. "I’m glad it was me. If anyone had to be caught up in this, I’d rather it be me." His voice was quiet but firm. "I want to help you, Hermione. As much as I possibly can."Her throat tightened. For a moment, she couldn’t find words. Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. He tensed slightly in surprise before he returned the embrace, steady and sure.When she finally pulled away, he smirked. "Come on," he said. "Let’s get some fish and chips. Watch the sunset."She let out a breath, nodding. "Yeah. That sounds nice."And for the first time in a long time, it did.

The salty air carried the distant crash of waves as Draco and Hermione sat on the cool grass near the harbor. The scent of fried food still lingered between them, but their meal was long gone, the last remnants—crumbs and a few stray chips—left behind in the crumpled paper wrappings beside them.A full moon hung over the water, casting silver ripples across the dark expanse of the sea. The stars above flickered like distant echoes of magic. It was quiet here—just the two of them and the rhythm of the tide.

Draco stretched out, bracing himself on his elbows, his gaze drifting toward the sky. "You always did like looking at the stars, didn’t you?"
Hermione, lying flat on her back with her arms crossed over her stomach, let out a soft hum. "I did. Still do." Her voice was quiet, almost reflective. "It makes everything feel small. Like all the noise, all the expectations... none of it really matters in the grand scheme of things."
Draco glanced at her. "Sounds like you’re carrying a lot of expectations."
Hermione didn’t answer right away. She took a slow breath, her fingers brushing the fabric of her jumper. "You ever feel like… you’re not really yourself anymore?"
Draco frowned. "What do you mean?"
She swallowed, eyes still fixed on the sky. "Like… someone took something from you. Something you spent years learning to love. And now, no matter how much time passes, you can’t get it back."
Draco sat up slightly, shifting closer to her. "Hermione…" His voice was softer now, careful. "Is this about Krum?"
Hermione let out a breath of laughter, but there was no humor in it. "Not him. Not really." She turned her head, meeting Draco’s eyes in the dim moonlight. "It was his grandmother."
Draco's brows furrowed. He didn’t press her, but she could see the question on his face.
She exhaled slowly. "She was the one who cursed me."
Draco went very still.
"Her wedding gift," she continued, her voice quieter now, the words difficult to say. "It was a comb. Transfigured from her Veela mother's bone. She told me my hair was beautiful, but she secretly hated it. She hated me. She knew that it would... She knew exactly what it would do to me when she gave it to me."
Draco’s jaw clenched. "That bitter, ancient—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
She looked away, her gaze drifting back to the sky. "I almost hate to admit it, but… I do think my cursed hair and eyes are beautiful. But it’s not me." She swallowed, her voice quieter now. "The hardest part is that I had finally started to love the parts of myself that no one else seemed to like. From pre-primary, I was bullied by kids who thought I was ugly. I gave in when I shrunk my teeth, and then again when I used Sleekeazy for the Yule Ball—just for once, just to finally hear that I was beautiful." Her breath hitched. "I fought all my life to love myself as I was. And just when I did…" Her fingers curled into the fabric of her jumper. "She took it from me."
Hermione waited for Draco to say something, but when the silence stretched on too long, she turned her head slightly, catching his expression in the moonlight. He looked… sick. Not just troubled, but like something inside him had turned rotten and was sitting heavy in his stomach. His jaw was tight, his fingers curled into the grass like he needed to hold onto something solid.
"I was awful to you," he said suddenly, his voice rough, like the words hurt to get out. "I know I apologized for being an utter arse years ago, and I meant every word of it, but that... I don’t think I ever really—really let myself sit with that part of it before."
Hermione blinked at him, surprised by the abrupt confession. She said nothing, watching him, giving him space to continue.
Draco let out a slow, sharp breath, shaking his head. "I didn’t actually think you were ugly, you know." His laugh was short, humorless. "If anything, it pissed me off that I noticed you at all."
Hermione frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
Draco hesitated, dragging a hand through his hair. "I was a prideful, insufferable little git," he muttered. "Too arrogant to admit that I… I liked the way your hair curled around your face, the way it caught the light like it had a life of its own." His throat worked around the next words, quieter now. "But I was too much of a coward to let myself feel that. So I made fun of it instead."
Hermione’s breath hitched slightly. But she realized, as the words settled between them, that she wasn’t really shocked. Because she’d figured it out long before this moment.
A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "I actually did learn that later," she admitted.
Draco's eyes flicked to her, wary. "What do you mean?"
Hermione let out a quiet laugh. "When we became friends, you were always playing with my hair."
Draco's brow furrowed. "I was not."
"You were," she said, amusement lightening her voice. "Tugging on it absentmindedly when we talked, twisting a curl around your finger when you thought I wasn’t paying attention."
Draco opened his mouth, then clamped it shut, glancing down at his own hand resting too close to her shoulder. His fingers flexed slightly, like he'd just realized what they were doing.
Hermione smiled, rolling onto her back again and staring at the sky. "You still do, you know."
Draco let out a long-suffering sigh and flopped onto his back beside her, their shoulders nearly touching.
"Bloody hell," he muttered.
Hermione bit back a laugh and kept her eyes on the stars.
Draco didn’t speak right away. He looked at her for a long moment, then lay back on the grass beside her. Their shoulders almost touched.
"You know," he said, voice lower now, "I get it. Not in the same way, but… I get it."
Hermione turned her head toward him. "Do you?"
Draco stared up at the sky, exhaling through his nose. "When my father died in Azkaban, I didn’t feel how I thought I should. I didn’t feel relieved, or free, or… anything I was supposed to. I just felt like—" He gestured vaguely at the stars. "Like part of me was gone. Not because I loved him, but because he built so much of who I was, and when he died, it felt like everything I thought I knew about myself collapsed with him."
Hermione was quiet, listening.
"And then my mother," Draco continued, his voice tightening, "she just… wasted away after that. She stopped fighting. Stopped caring. And when she died, I knew exactly what had killed her. Grief. A broken heart. And for the first time, I couldn’t do anything to fix it."
Hermione’s chest ached at the raw honesty in his voice. "Draco…"
He let out a breath, closing his eyes briefly. "It wasn’t until Stardenburdenhardenbart came along that I stopped feeling like I was—" He hesitated, searching for the words. "Like I was just floating through life, waiting for it to mean something again."
Hermione reached over, her fingers brushing lightly over his hand. "I’m glad he found you."
Draco looked at her then, something unreadable in his expression. "Me too." His gaze searched hers. "And I’m glad we found our way back to each other too."
Hermione exhaled softly, her fingers curling against the fabric of her jumper. "Draco, there’s something else…" Her voice wavered, barely above a whisper.
Draco turned his head, watching her carefully. "Go on."
She took a slow breath, her gaze fixed on the stars. "I found my parents."
Draco’s brows lifted slightly, but he said nothing. He simply waited.
"I gave them their memories back," she continued, her voice thick with something unspoken. "And they… they were afraid of me. Not in a way they could explain, but I could see it in their eyes. I had done something unnatural to them, taken something from them, even if I meant well. And it left a scar." She swallowed hard. "So I took it back. Erased myself again. Let them live in peace."
Draco’s brows knit together, his jaw tightening, but he still said nothing.
"I asked a healer in Australia to check in on them," Hermione went on, voice quieter now, almost as if she were confessing a sin. "To let me know how they were doing. And for a while, they were happy. They had a quiet life. But then… dementia came for them both."
Draco closed his eyes briefly, his lips pressing into a thin line.
"When I was in Bulgaria, I got an owl," Hermione continued, her breath hitching slightly. "First, my father passed in his sleep. And then—" She hesitated, her hands clenching into fists. "My mother… she was left alone on the balcony of her nursing home, eating a banana, and she choked to death." Hermione let out a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. "No one was there to help her."
The moment the words left her lips, a sharp, broken sob tore from her throat. She sucked in a ragged breath, but it did nothing to steady her. Her shoulders hunched as the weight of it all crashed over her, and before she could stop herself, she buried her face in her hands, her body trembling with the force of her grief.
Draco moved instantly. He reached for her, pulling her into his arms without hesitation. "Hermione," he murmured, his voice low and steady. One hand cradled the back of her head, the other wrapped tightly around her, holding her together as she broke apart.
She clutched at his shirt, fingers twisting into the fabric like she was afraid to let go. "I— I wasn’t there," she gasped between sobs. "I left them, and now—now they’re gone."
Draco tightened his hold, pressing his cheek against her hair. "You didn’t know," he said, his voice thick with something raw and unguarded. "You couldn’t have known."
But Hermione just shook her head, her body wracked with fresh sobs. Draco stayed with her through every tremor, every gasping breath, holding her like he could shield her from the pain—even if just for a moment
Minutes passed before she finally swallowed hard and spoke again, her voice hoarse. "And the worst part?" She hesitated, her fingers still curled into his shirt. "A small, ugly part of me feels like I deserved what happened to me. Like the curse was just… the universe making things right."
Draco stiffened, his hold on her tightening briefly before he pulled back just enough to look at her properly. "Hermione, no." His voice was firm, but there was an edge of desperation beneath it.
She didn’t move. Didn’t look at him.
"You didn’t deserve that," he said, leaning closer, his eyes searching hers. "None of it. You did what you thought was best. You loved them enough to let them go, even when it broke you. That’s not weakness. That’s not something to be punished for."
Hermione blinked up at the sky, her vision still blurred with unshed tears. "Then why does it feel like it is?"
Draco exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Because grief twists things. It makes you believe you had more control than you ever did. It makes you think that if you had just done one thing differently, everything would be okay. But life isn’t that simple, Hermione."
She let out a shaky breath, finally turning her head to meet his gaze. "And what if I never stop feeling like this?"
Draco’s expression softened. He hesitated, then reached out, his fingers grazing her wrist before sliding down to take her hand.
"Then I’ll remind you," he said, his voice quiet but certain. "Every damn day, if I have to."
Hermione stared at him for a long moment, her throat tightening. His hand was warm around hers, steady in a way that made something deep inside her ache.
She swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Draco… Can I come home with you tonight?"
Draco’s fingers tightened slightly around hers, his expression unreadable for a beat. And then, without hesitation, he nodded.
"Yeah," he murmured. "Of course you can."
Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Draco shifted closer, his free hand brushing against her arm in a silent reassurance. "I'm not going to let you feel alone again." Then, after a brief pause, he added with a smirk, "Although, fair warning—Stardenburdenhardenbart will greet you, his dearest long-lost friend, in the most unhinged but adoring way imaginable.
Hermione let out a breathy laugh, a weight easing off her heart. "I think I can handle that."
Draco stood and held out his hand. "Come on, then. Let’s go home."

The moment Hermione and Draco stepped through the door, the house was eerily silent. Hermione barely had time to exchange a glance with Draco before—

BOOM.

Something launched itself from the shadows like a cannonball. A high-pitched wail, somewhere between an operatic howl and a particularly distressed bagpipe, rang through the air.

"FRAULEIN HERRMIONEEEEEE!"

Stardenburdenhardenbart collided with her legs, gripping her knees like his very existence depended on it. He was shaking, his little sailor suit slightly askew, his chef’s hat hanging by a thread.
"It iz real! It iz not a dream! It iz not a trick of the cruel, cruel universe! Mein Lieblingshexe is home!" he sobbed, burying his face into her trenchcoat. "Oh, woe! Oh, joy! Oh, ZE EMOTIONS!"
Before Hermione could react, a sandy blur streaked across the floor, scrambling up her coat with an ungainly flail of paws and a soft plop against her chest. Wurstchen, her dear toothless cat, clung to her like a koala, her tiny pink tongue sticking out as if in sheer disbelief.
“Oh—Wurstchen—Stardenburdenhardenbart—!” Hermione gasped, bending down to scoop them both into her arms.
The elf’s grip only tightened as he continued to wail, his body vibrating with the sheer force of his emotions. "Years, jahre, without my Fräulein! It vas a desolate time! A sorrowful time! I made pancakes but zey tasted of mein grief!"
Wurstchen let out a gurgling mrrp and headbutted Hermione’s chin, then promptly began kneading at her collarbone with sharp, determined little paws.
Hermione laughed, warmth blooming in her chest. “I missed you too,” she whispered, cradling them both tightly. “More than you know.”
Draco leaned against the doorframe, watching the scene unfold with an amused expression. "You have no idea what you've done," he drawled. "The house has been in mourning since I told him you were back. He would shuffle around in his little bathrobe, sighing deeply, muttering about 'ze lost golden years.' I caught him staring dramatically out the window twice."
"Zree times!" Stardenburdenhardenbart corrected, his voice muffled against Hermione’s jumper. "Und vonce in ze oven door! I vas baking mein pain!"
Hermione let out a startled laugh, squeezing them both tighter. “Oh, Stardenburdenhardenbart,” she sighed fondly. “I missed you so much.”
"Und I missed you, mein Fräulein!" The elf sniffled loudly. "Zese arms? Zey shall never let go! Never again! You vill have to carry me forever!"
Wurstchen let out a wheezy, toothless mrrp of agreement, kneading Hermione’s shoulder with tiny, insistent paws.
Draco snorted. "Well, that's it then. Guess you live here now."

Draco’s bedroom was dimly lit by the soft glow of the enchanted clock on his nightstand, casting a faint, rhythmic shimmer across the walls—each glimmer forming shifting constellations that mirrored the real night sky. The house was still, wrapped in comfortable silence now that Stardenburdenhardenbart and Wurstchen had finally settled for the night.
Hermione, however, wasn’t ready to sleep alone.
She stood awkwardly in the doorway, shifting on her feet as Draco climbed into bed, rolling onto his side with a tired sigh. He hadn’t even questioned when she followed him up the stairs—hadn’t said a word when she lingered as he changed into a sleep shirt and crawled beneath the covers.
But now, as she hesitated just inside the room, heat prickled at her cheeks. “Um,” she started, then cleared her throat. “Would it be… really weird if I—” She exhaled sharply. “Can I just—Can I sleep here? With you?”
Draco turned his head slightly, blinking at her in the dim light. “Hermione—”
“Platonically!” she added quickly, her voice jumping an octave. “I just—tonight’s been a lot, and I just—I don’t know if I can sleep unless I’m…” She swallowed. “Holding you.”
Draco blinked again.
Then, to her immense relief, he didn’t scoff or smirk or make some teasing remark. He simply lifted the blanket in silent invitation.
She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and hurried forward, climbing in behind him. The warmth of the bed seeped into her instantly, and she exhaled as she draped an arm over his waist, curling close, pressing her forehead lightly against his shoulder blades.
Draco settled with another quiet sigh, his breathing slow and steady. The warmth of him was grounding, and already, she could feel the lingering tension from the day melting away.
But sleep still wouldn’t come.
Her mind buzzed—not with worry this time, but with something lighter, something absurd.
Slowly, she took a deep breath.
And then, softly—

“Whooooosh.”

Draco tensed slightly. “What… was that?”
She grinned against his back. “I’m a jetpack.”
A pause. “…You’re a what?”
“A jetpack.” She squeezed him a little tighter for emphasis. “I’m attached to you. We’re flying. Whooooosh.”
Draco let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Granger, what in Merlin’s name is a jetpack?”
Her grin widened. “It’s a Muggle invention. You strap it to your back, and it shoots out fire and makes you fly.”
Draco lifted his head slightly, blinking into the darkness. “That sounds wildly unsafe.”
“It is!” she said brightly. “But that’s not the point. The point is—I’m your emotional support jetpack. I’m here to keep you steady in the air.”
Draco made a strangled noise—half a groan, half a laugh. “Sweet Salazar, you’ve lost it.”
She nuzzled into his back. “You can’t take me off either. I’m magically bonded to you. Like a cursed object.”
Draco huffed, shaking his head against the pillow. “So, let me get this straight. You insist on sleeping in my bed, you wrap yourself around me, and then you pretend to be some kind of flaming Muggle contraption?”
“Yes.” She grinned. “And you’re stuck with me. Foreverrrrr.”
Draco let out a long-suffering sigh. “You are the worst jetpack I have ever had.”
“You’ve never had a jetpack before.”
“Exactly.”
She giggled, and before she knew it, Draco was chuckling too, his whole body shaking slightly beneath her arm. The weight of the evening, the emotions, the exhaustion—it all felt a little easier now, a little lighter.
Draco relaxed fully against the mattress, his breathing deep and steady once more. Hermione followed soon after, eyes drifting shut, her grip around him still firm.
And as they both drifted off, held close in the quiet warmth of the night, she thought that—just maybe—she really was keeping them steady.

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

The sun hung low over the Falmouth Falcons’ pitch, casting long golden streaks across the sky. The team’s practice match was in full swing, a flurry of motion, speed, and raw power. Draco gripped his bat tightly, his mind razor-focused as he rocketed through the air, scanning the chaos below. The Legilimency training was finally showing results.Draco, Hermione, Katie, Marcus, Karl, Avery, and Denison—the Falcons' main team—were finally beginning to function as a seamless unit. The practice squad, a mix of younger players and reserve members, had been brought in to push them, but the advantage of their mental training was undeniable. Without needing to speak, they communicated through sharp, quick thoughts, each one guiding the others instinctively.Marcus, always a force to be reckoned with as a Chaser, played aggressively, his large frame bulldozing through the opposition. Despite his brutish reputation, he had an incredible sense of strategy, shifting effortlessly between offense and defense. Katie, quick and precise, complemented his style perfectly. While Marcus powered through, Katie outmaneuvered the practice squad’s defense with elegant spins and feints, her timing impeccable. Her passes to Avery Hawksworth, the third Chaser, were delivered with a precision that only came from years of experience.Avery, though less experienced than Katie and Marcus, was an exceptional flyer. He had an uncanny ability to predict movements, slipping through defenders before they even realized what was happening. His lean, wiry build allowed him to make tight turns that left the opposition scrambling.Draco, as Beater, had his hands full. The practice team had a few solid hitters—most notably Daron Sloane, a stocky, scrappy player with a wild swing, and Bardan Merrick, who had the strength of a troll but more finesse. Karl Broadmoor, Draco’s fellow Beater, was an absolute powerhouse. Massive and nearly indestructible, he wielded his bat with terrifying force, knocking Bludgers so hard they whistled through the air like cannon fire. He grinned through the whole match, laughing as he deflected a particularly nasty Bludger aimed at Hermione. “They’ve got some fight in them today!” he called, his voice full of amusement.Draco rolled his eyes but couldn’t deny that Karl’s brute strength was an asset. It allowed Draco to play more tactically, using his precise strikes to control the field rather than just overpowering opponents. He sent a Bludger directly at Madine Everley, forcing the Chaser to drop the Quaffle just before Marcus swooped in to snatch it.Hermione, high above them all, was locked in an intense aerial battle with the practice team’s Seeker, a wiry young player named Azzia Holloway. Hermione had an unmatched instinct for the Snitch, but Azzia was giving her a challenge, using erratic movements to keep her guessing. Hermione, however, had an edge—her legilimency training allowed her to anticipate movements in ways the other Seeker couldn’t. A flicker of a thought from Draco below—your left, now—had Hermione shifting just in time to avoid a fake-out dive Azzia had attempted.Denison Frisby, the Falcons' Keeper, was proving himself as an immovable wall. The practice team’s Chasers—Thorin Vance, Madine Everley, and Tasha Yates—were fast and aggressive, but Denison was a master of positioning. He blocked shot after shot, reading their attacks like an open book. At one point, Tasha attempted a particularly clever feint, but Denison barely moved, catching the Quaffle with ease. “Nice try,” he called, smirking as he sent it soaring back to Marcus.The pace of the match picked up, the practice squad growing more desperate to break the Falcons’ momentum. Hermione suddenly dove, her sharp movement drawing every eye on the field. The Snitch had appeared near the goalposts. Azzia was half a second behind her, but Hermione was faster.Draco felt a surge of energy—Cut her off, Broadmoor! The thought barely had time to form before Karl swung his bat, sending a Bludger hurtling across Azzia’s path. She veered sharply, giving Hermione just enough of an edge to reach forward and snatch the Snitch out of the air. The whistle blew.“Falcons win,” Rath’s voice rang out over the pitch.The team cheered, swooping in toward Hermione as she raised the Snitch triumphantly. Draco slowed his broom, catching his breath as Karl clapped him on the back hard enough to nearly send him flying.“Hell of a match,” Marcus said, grinning at the rest of them. “We’re getting sharper.”“Still some kinks to work out,” Rath said as she landed, but her expression held approval. “But this is the best teamwork I’ve seen from you all.”Draco had barely touched down when he noticed movement from the edge of the field. A small, elderly woman was making her way toward them, her silver hair tucked into a neat bun, her sharp eyes alight with amusement.“Nana Trudy!” Katie called, beaming as she sprinted toward the old woman.Marcus wasn’t far behind. He reached her first, scooping her up into a playful spin before setting her down gently.“Careful now, you’ll break me,” Nana Trudy scolded with a chuckle, swatting at his arm.Draco arched a brow. It wasn’t often that he saw Marcus Flint—brutish, ruthless on the pitch—being scolded like a schoolboy.Even Erika Rath, their formidable coach, had softened at the sight of the woman. The edges of her sharp posture eased, her usual steel replaced by something warmer. “Nan, what are you doing here?” she asked, her voice lacking its usual bite.“Oh, just checking in on my favorite hooligans,” Nana Trudy said, her smile teasing. “And making sure you’re all staying out of trouble.”Karl leaned over to Draco and Hermione. “Nana Trudy is Rath’s grandmother. She’s on the board of directors but basically the team’s grandmother too. She’s been around forever—practically raised half the players who’ve been on this team.”“And kept them in line,” Nana Trudy added, shaking her head. “Though some were more difficult than others.” She shot Marcus a pointed look.“I have no idea what you mean,” Marcus said innocently.Katie scoffed, rolling her eyes.Nana Trudy snorted. “Oh, don’t you start. I still remember the time you tried to talk your way out of extra laps by telling me I had ‘the grace of a Veela and the wisdom of Merlin.’”Marcus grinned shamelessly. “Did it work?”“No.” Nana Trudy smirked. “I made you run double.”Katie snickered, and Nana Trudy turned to her with an approving nod.“You, on the other hand, were a sight to behold today,” she said. “That last feint? Beautiful. Had them chasing shadows.”Katie beamed. “You really think so?”“Would I lie to you, dear?” Nana Trudy patted her cheek. “Keep flying like that, and I’ll start telling people I trained you myself.”She shifted her gaze to Karl, eyeing him up and down before sighing dramatically. “And here he is—the human Bludger himself.”Karl grinned. “Miss me, Nan?”“Miss you?” Nana Trudy huffed. “I check the Prophet every morning expecting to see your name under ‘Mysterious Broom Chase Through Knockturn Alley.’”Karl pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “That was one time.”She gave him a knowing look.“…Okay, twice.”“Mhmm,” Nana Trudy muttered before crossing her arms. “Now, dear boy, are you still eating properly?”Karl smirked. “Yes, ma’am. And still searching for a man who can cook better than me.”Nana Trudy chuckled. “A tall order, but I believe in you.”Draco hadn’t thought much of the woman at first—another sentimental type, clearly—but when she turned her gaze on him and Hermione, her sharp eyes assessed them with unnerving precision.Then, after a brief pause, she gave an approving nod. “Now, that was a joy to watch! You two move like you’ve been flying together for years.”Draco’s shoulders instinctively straightened at the praise, though he kept his expression neutral. Compliments were nothing new, but this one carried weight. He inclined his head. “Thank you.”Nana Trudy’s eyes flickered with amusement. “Smooth as hell on that broom, aren’t you?”Draco smirked. “It’s been said.”She chuckled. “Cocky one, aren’t you? Good. Just don’t let it turn into arrogance. You’ve got talent, lad, but trust will take you further than skill ever will.”Draco’s smirk wavered slightly, something about the way she said it hitting deeper than expected. He gave her a small nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”“See that you do.”Then she turned to Hermione, her expression shifting into something thoughtful. “And you, dear… you fly smart.”Hermione blinked. “I—what?”“Smart,” Nana Trudy repeated. “Quick thinking, good instincts—don’t let anyone tell you different.”Hermione’s lips parted slightly in surprise before she smiled, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. “That’s… really kind of you to say.”“I don’t bother with kindness,” Nana Trudy replied with a knowing smirk. “Just honesty.”Draco cast a sideways glance at Hermione. Her fingers brushed absently over the handle of her broom, and he recognized the look in her eyes—the quiet satisfaction of being seen, of being recognized for more than just effort.Nana Trudy didn’t linger. She turned to Avery and Dension next, her sharp gaze softening just a touch.“You must be the other fresh blood,” she said, her voice warm but firm. “Avery Hawksworth and Dension Frisby, yeah?”Avery, ever polite, extended a hand. “That’s us. Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”Nana Trudy snorted, shaking his hand with a surprisingly strong grip. “Oh, he’s got manners. We’ll see if they hold up after a few months with this lot.”Then her gaze flickered with approval. “You’ve got a wicked shot, son. I saw that last goal—smooth and controlled. Keep that up, and you’ll be a nightmare for any Keeper.”Avery grinned. “That’s the plan.”Nana Trudy turned to Dension, giving him an appraising look. “And you, big guy? Falcons treating you well?”Dension, who was usually quiet, gave a small grin. “No complaints so far.”“Good,” Nana Trudy said, patting his arm. “You’ve got the reflexes, but you trust your team. That’s rare in a Keeper. Don’t lose it.”Dension nodded, looking both pleased and determined.Satisfied, Nana Trudy stepped back. “Alright, enough standing around.”The team lingered a little longer, exchanging easy banter until Rath—still standing with arms crossed—tilted her head toward the locker rooms. “Alright, enough loitering. Hit the showers, or you’ll stink up the pub.”Laughter rippled through the group as they gradually dispersed, gathering their gear and heading off the field. Nana Trudy gave Rath’s arm a light pat before taking her leave, calling out, “Be good, Erika. Or at least be better at hiding it.”Rath shook her head fondly as the old woman strolled away.Draco exhaled, rolling his shoulders before catching Hermione’s eye. She was still smiling slightly, her grip relaxed on her broom.“Didn’t expect that, did you?” he mused.Hermione glanced at him, then back toward Nana Trudy’s retreating form.“No,” she admitted, voice light. “But I think I like her.”Draco smirked. “Yeah… me too.”As most of the team wandered off, Katie shot a grin at Marcus before turning to Hermione and Draco. “Right! Since we survived today’s practice, we’re celebrating. There’s a Muggle bar here in Cornwall where one of my favorite up-and-coming bands is playing. You two in?”Hermione exchanged a glance with Draco. “You listen to Muggle music?” she asked, eyebrows lifting in surprise.Katie’s grin widened. “My dad’s a Muggle. I grew up on this stuff.”Draco smirked. “Depends on the band, but yeah, we’re in.”Hermione nodded, her expression brightening. “I love Muggle music.”Katie looked pleased as she started toward the locker rooms, tossing a look over her shoulder at Marcus.Marcus sighed, shaking his head as if put upon. “The things I do for this woman.”Katie rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away.Hermione exchanged an amused glance with Draco as the four of them fell in step together, heading toward the showers, the exhaustion of practice giving way to the promise of a good night ahead.

Later that evening, they stepped into The Cornish Bank, a cozy venue brimming with warmth and character. The wooden beams overhead gave the space a rustic charm, while dim, golden lights bathed the room in a soft glow. The hum of conversation blended with the low strum of a guitar from the stage, and the scent of hearty food filled the air. The acoustics were incredible—every note rang clear without being overwhelming.Katie, Marcus, Hermione, and Draco settled around a sturdy wooden table near the stage, drawn in by the lively yet intimate atmosphere. Their steaming plates of traditional Cornish beef roast arrived, rich with roasted vegetables and thick gravy. As they dug in, Katie sighed happily. “This is exactly what I needed.”Marcus clinked his pint against Draco’s. “Good food, good music, and good company. Can’t ask for more.”Draco smiled, letting the warmth of the place settle over him. As they ate, the anticipation for the band’s performance built, their laughter and easy conversation blending seamlessly into the vibrant energy of the night.By the time their plates were empty and the last drops of their drinks were gone, the venue had grown even livelier. More people had crowded in, drawn by the promise of the night’s main act, and the hum of conversation had risen to an eager buzz.Draco leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out as he set his pint down with a quiet clink. The warmth of the meal settled pleasantly in his stomach, the rich flavors still lingering on his tongue. Across from him, Katie pushed her plate aside and patted her stomach.“Well, that hit the spot,” she said, glancing around the table. “Everyone full?”Marcus let out a satisfied grunt, finishing the last of his drink. “Stuffed. Perfect pre-gig fuel.”Draco smirked, wiping his hand on a napkin before standing. “Good. Because if we sit here much longer, we’ll end up stuck behind the lot that just walked in.” He nodded toward the growing crowd near the stage.With that, they weaved through the shifting mass of people, making their way closer to the front. The warm glow of the pendant lights overhead dimmed, the shift in atmosphere palpable. The anticipation buzzed through the air, crackling like static before a storm.Then the first chords rang out, and the venue erupted in cheers. The red theater drapes rippled behind the band as the stage lights flared red and orange, painting the space in a flickering glow. The pulse of the bass thrummed through Draco’s chest, the familiar thrill of live music sinking into his bones.Katie and Marcus were quick to get into the rhythm of things. With a teasing grin, Marcus bent and effortlessly hoisted Katie onto his shoulders. She let out a delighted laugh, her fists pumping in time with the beat.Draco chuckled at their antics, but his amusement faded when he caught sight of Hermione shifting restlessly beside him. She was standing on her toes, craning her neck, trying—and failing—to see over the tall bloke in front of her.She moved left, then right, but every time she thought she’d found a clear line of sight, the man swayed or stepped into her space again. She let out a quiet, frustrated huff, her arms folding tightly over her chest as she rocked back onto her heels in defeat.Draco, who had been watching her struggle with no small amount of amusement, leaned in. “Want a boost?”Hermione hesitated, glancing up at him, her eyes flickering with consideration before she finally nodded. “Yeah.”Draco crouched slightly, and Hermione climbed onto his shoulders, her hands gripping his for balance. The moment she settled, he felt a buzz—not from the music, but from the warmth of her resting on him, the weight of her trust. It was distracting, but he fought to focus on the performance.The Kaiser Chiefs launched into their set, and the crowd roared as the frontman’s Yorkshire-accented voice filled the space:
“What did you learn today? (I learned nothing)What did you do today (I did nothing)"
Marcus and Katie were completely absorbed, singing along at the top of their lungs. Hermione, still perched on Draco’s shoulders, joined in, her voice clear and unrestrained. Draco, caught up in the infectious energy, found himself yelling along, the beat thrumming through him.As the chorus kicked in, the crowd bounced in unison:
"Take a look, take a lookTake a look at the kids on the streetNo, they never miss a beatNo, they never miss a beat, never miss a beat"
Draco knew then—this was going to be another one of his favorite Muggle bands. The raw, reckless energy, the sheer joy radiating from the stage—it was exhilarating. He stole a glance at Marcus, who, despite his earlier claims of only being here for Katie, was just as caught up in the moment, his voice hoarse from singing.Hermione was beaming, her excitement infectious. The lights flashed red and gold over her as she threw her hands up, cheering along with the rest of the crowd. Draco felt something tighten in his chest, something warm and unfamiliar. Just friends, he reminded himself. Just best friends caught up in the music, in the moment.And yet, he knew this night—this song—would stick with him for a long, long time.

The lights danced as the final song reached its crescendo. The entire room pulsed with energy, the crowd moving as one, arms raised, voices lifted in chorus. The red and orange lights flashed over the stage, casting an almost fiery glow over the band as they powered through the last crashing notes.Katie, still perched on Marcus’s shoulders, threw her arms up, laughing as the song ended in a final, resounding chord. Hermione, balanced on Draco’s, grinned down at him, breathless from singing along. Draco had barely heard the last few minutes of the set, too aware of the warmth of her legs resting on his shoulders, the way she’d instinctively gripped his hands when the crowd surged.As the band waved their thanks and the stage lights dimmed, Marcus bent slightly, helping Katie slide down to the ground. Draco followed suit, gripping Hermione’s thighs to steady her as he crouched just enough for her to dismount. As she slid forward, her hands found his shoulders for balance, but instead of immediately letting go, she reached up and gave his pointy nose a playful squeeze.Draco let out an indignant squawk, eyes widening, before a chuckle escaped him. Hermione laughed too, her fingers briefly lingering before she released him, landing lightly on her feet. He shook his head, smirking. "Unbelievable, Granger.""Irresistible, Malfoy," she quipped back, flashing him a cheeky grin.

Marcus turned to Katie and Hermione, a smirk tugging at his lips."Why don’t you two head to the bar and grab another round? Draco and I will meet you there in a minute."Katie raised an eyebrow. "What are you two up to?""Nothing dodgy," Marcus said with a smirk. "Just need a quick word."Hermione gave Draco a curious look, but he just shrugged. With a nod, Katie took Hermione’s arm, and the two disappeared into the crowd, making their way toward the bar. Once they were out of sight, Marcus turned to Draco and gestured toward the exit."Come on," he muttered, leading Draco toward the quieter back of the venue.Draco frowned. "Where are we going?"Marcus exhaled. "Look, I need to get something off my chest, and I’d rather do it before I drink anymore." He hesitated, then said, "I think I’m going to propose to Katie."Draco blinked. Of all the things he expected Marcus to say, that wasn’t one of them. "And you’re telling me because…?""Because you see things that other people don’t," Marcus admitted. "You pay attention. You’re good at reading people. And I just—I don’t know. I want to make sure I’m not screwing this up."Draco scoffed. "You think I’m the best person to ask about relationships?"Marcus let out a dry chuckle. "You’re a mess, but you’re not blind."Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he crossed his arms. "Katie loves you. That’s obvious. But if you’re asking me whether you should do it—only you can answer that."Marcus nodded, taking that in. After a beat, he clapped Draco on the shoulder. "Appreciate it, mate."Draco smirked. “Can we go back inside before they assume we’ve gotten lost trying to read a Muggle map?”Marcus snorted. “Please, like we couldn't Apparate back? But you're right—let’s go before Katie starts drafting a rescue mission."As they made their way back inside the bar, the raucous hum of voices and music filled the air, but Draco’s attention snapped to the bar where Hermione and Katie stood, their body language stiff, uncomfortable. A group of drunk men had cornered them, leaning in too close, laughing too loudly.Marcus didn't hesitate. He was at Katie’s side in an instant, stepping between her and the largest of the men. “Back the fuck off,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. His entire frame radiated aggression, shoulders squared, jaw tight.Draco was already moving before he had a chance to think. His pulse pounded in his ears as he stepped between Hermione and the man leering at her, his presence cutting like a blade. His hand found her waist, not just steadying her but staking a claim.“There you are, love,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with an unmistakable edge. “Thought for a moment you’d been kidnapped by someone with a death wish.”The drunk man blinked, his unfocused eyes narrowing. “Didn’t say she had a boyfriend.”Draco’s grip firmed. “She doesn’t have to.” His voice dropped into something quieter, sharper. “But since you seem slow on the uptake—let me make something clear. You’re lucky I got here before she reacted.”Marcus let out a dark chuckle beside him. “Yeah, mate. If you’d actually tried something, our girls would’ve put you through the fucking wall before I had the pleasure.” His lips curled into something almost pitying. “Honestly, I’d pay to watch.”Draco smirked, feeling Hermione tense beside him—not in fear, but in the barely restrained anger that could set a room on fire if she let it. “You lot should walk away before you embarrass yourselves.” He leaned in slightly, dropping his voice to something silkier, more menacing. “Because if you push your luck? I won’t have to lift a finger to stop them.”The men hesitated, glancing between them, eyes flickering to the women—Hermione’s glare like a drawn wand, Katie’s stance ready, unafraid. Realization dawned, sluggish and unwelcome, before they finally muttered amongst themselves and slunk away, casting irritated glances over their shoulders.Hermione exhaled sharply as soon as they were gone, pulling away from Draco’s grip, though her fingers lingered briefly against his wrist. “Thank you,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes.Draco didn’t respond immediately. Something had clicked in his mind, a thread weaving together. The way Hermione had tensed, the way she reacted to being cornered—it pulled at a memory.Cormac. At the Leaky Cauldron.That fucking wanker...He leaned in slightly and spoke to her mentally. 'McLaggen's the one blackmailing you, isn’t he?'Hermione stiffened, her entire frame going rigid. She didn’t answer at first, but the silence spoke louder than words.Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You should have told me.”“I don’t want to talk about it here,” she said quickly, shaking her head.Draco studied her for a long moment, noting the way her fingers curled slightly at her sides, as if preparing for a fight she had no intention of letting him into. But this wasn’t something she should be dealing with alone. He exhaled through his nose, relenting for now.“Fine,” he said, his voice even. “But we are talking about this.”Hermione swallowed hard and nodded, turning toward Katie, who was still close to Marcus, murmuring quietly to him. Whatever had just happened between them was pushed aside, but Draco knew—this wasn’t over.And McLaggen?He was going to make sure he regretted every decision that had led him to this moment.Draco turned back and watched as the last of the drunk men disappeared into the crowd, his muscles still coiled with the urge to do more—say more. But Hermione’s breath was steadying beside him, and Katie, still close to Marcus, let out a shaky laugh as if trying to shake off the lingering discomfort.“Well,” Katie finally said, brushing a stray curl behind her ear, “that was a bit of excitement I could’ve done without.”Marcus huffed, still eyeing the direction the men had gone. “Yeah, well, if they had any more excitement, they’d have left in pieces.”Hermione exhaled, tension easing from her shoulders. “They’re gone now,” she murmured.“Damn right, they are.” Katie crossed her arms, then sighed, rolling her head back as if physically shaking off the moment. A slow grin tugged at her lips. “You know what? I refuse to let that ruin my night.” She straightened, her energy shifting, brighter. “That was incredible.” She swayed slightly, as if the music still thrummed through her veins. “I swear, the energy in the crowd was unreal.”“Yeah, Muggle concerts are... loud,” Marcus said, rubbing his ear with a wry smile. “But, you know, not bad.”Katie rolled her eyes, nudging him playfully. “Admit it, you liked it.”Marcus hesitated, then grinned. “I liked how much you liked it.”Katie beamed, leaning against him. “See, that’s why you’re my favorite.”Draco smirked. “Shocking, really. I was convinced it was me.”“You’re a close second, Malfoy,” Katie teased. “But you’re already converted. Marcus is still in training.”Draco snorted, tilting his beer bottle toward Hermione. “Yeah, well, my brilliant, relentless best friend here got me into Muggle music years ago. And now look at me—singing along like some commoner.”Hermione grinned, nudging his knee under the table. “You love it. Don’t even pretend.”He huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Alright, maybe a little.” He took a sip of his drink before adding, “But let’s be clear—The Kooks are still superior to the Kaiser Chiefs.”“Finally, some taste,” Hermione said, clinking her glass against his.Katie laughed, swirling her drink. “Muggle music’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. My dad was obsessed—always playing records, making me guess which song would come next. We spent hours debating the best bands of all time.”Hermione’s expression softened. “Same with my dad. He taught me to play guitar when I was little. We used to sit for hours, playing Beatles songs or trying to nail Clapton riffs.” She smiled at the memory. “Mum, on the other hand, insisted I learn piano and violin too. Something about well-rounded skills.”Katie whistled. “Damn. Multi-talented, Granger.”Draco leaned back, an easy smirk on his lips. “I always suspected she was showing off.”Hermione shot him a look. “I don’t show off. I simply possess an array of skills.”“Uh-huh,” Draco murmured, eyes dancing with amusement as he took another sip of his drink.Katie turned to Marcus. “What about you? Any musical bonding with your dad?”Marcus hesitated, then shrugged. “More Quidditch talk than music. But... if it helps me win your father over, I’m willing to learn.”Katie’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to do that.”He smiled. “I want to.”Hermione exchanged a glance with Draco, and for a split second, the rest of the bar faded away.It wasn’t just a look—it was a quiet, fleeting moment of something neither of them dared acknowledge. Her eyes held warmth, curiosity, something that made his chest tighten in a way he refused to name. And for the briefest second, he thought—no, hoped—he saw it reflected back at him.But then, just as quickly, she looked away, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, her expression smoothing into something unreadable. Draco barely stopped himself from doing the same, forcing his fingers to remain still instead of running through his hair like they ached to.He pushed the feeling down and buried it where it belonged.Tapping his fingers idly against the table, he forced a smirk back onto his face. “For the record, I still say The Clash outrank all of them.”“Oh, please,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “You can’t compare The Clash to Led Zeppelin.”Draco grinned, leaning in slightly. “You’re just mad because I have superior taste.”“Superior ego, maybe,” she shot back, but there was warmth in her voice.Katie and Marcus watched the exchange, smirking behind their drinks.“Oh, just kiss already,” Katie teased.Hermione and Draco both turned to glare at her, simultaneously snapping, “Shut up.”Katie and Marcus burst into laughter, and the conversation shifted, but Draco caught Hermione’s gaze once more. She was smiling, shaking her head, but there was something in her eyes—something that made his heart beat just a little faster.Yeah. Muggle music wasn’t the only thing she’d made him love.And he was fairly certain she had no idea.

The conversation had wandered through Quidditch, the absurdity of Muggle reality shows, and whether or not Summoning Charms for the remote counted as magical laziness. But when Katie suddenly gasped outside the pub, her voice full of breathless excitement, it snapped them all back to the moment.Draco tensed instinctively, ready for a crisis—until he saw where she was pointing.A weathered wooden noticeboard stood just outside the entrance, its surface cluttered with overlapping flyers, event posters, and handwritten ads. Some were peeling at the edges from the salty Cornwall air, while others seemed to resist the elements, their ink crisp and clear. And right in the center, newly pinned and gleaming under the pub’s outdoor lanterns, was a bold concert announcement.“No way!” Hermione exclaimed, darting forward to get a closer look.Katie was practically vibrating with excitement. “Look at this line-up. Finsbury Park, London: The Streets, The Clash, The Verve, The Darkness, Def Leppard—this is legendary.”Draco didn’t even try to play it cool. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, eyes flying over the band names. “This is unreal. The Verve and The Darkness? Do you know how long I’ve wanted to see them live?”Hermione turned to him, grinning. “I do, actually.”Draco ran a hand through his hair, looking absolutely giddy. “No, but—Hermione—Def Leppard. Are you hearing this?”“I am,” she laughed, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “I never thought I’d see the day you lost your composure over a Muggle band.”“Oh, shut up,” he said, but he was still grinning. “We’re getting tickets the second they go on sale.”Katie nodded fiercely. “Obviously. And look—Bonfire Night! Talk about the perfect atmosphere.”Marcus frowned. “What’s Bonfire Night?”Draco’s brows knitted together. “Yeah, never heard of it.”Hermione and Katie both turned to them, equal parts amused and horrified.“Oh, you poor, sheltered wizards,” Katie said, shaking her head. “Bonfire Night—November 5th—is when Muggles celebrate the failed attempt to blow up Parliament centuries ago. Big bonfires, fireworks, everyone drinking and celebrating treason—good times.”Hermione huffed a laugh. “It’s meant to commemorate the capture of Guy Fawkes, but most people don’t care about the history. It’s just an excuse for fireworks and setting things on fire.”Marcus smirked. “Alright, I’ll admit—that actually sounds fun.”“Yeah, yeah, cultural enlightenment aside,” Draco said, waving a hand, “this concert is happening. Non-negotiable.”But just as he was about to step back, another flyer pinned just below the concert poster caught his eye.A real estate advert.
Dreaming of Cornwall?
It wasn’t flashy, just a neatly printed flyer showcasing a selection of homes along the coastline—whitewashed cottages with climbing ivy, sleek modern houses with sprawling ocean views, and charming stone cottages nestled among rolling green fields. Beneath the images, elegant script advertised coastal retreats, perfect for those seeking a fresh start.Draco’s gaze lingered on it longer than he meant to.He hadn’t seriously considered moving, but the idea had been lurking in the back of his mind. The Falmouth Falcons’ stadium wasn’t far from the coast—it would make sense to be closer. Less travel. More focus.And maybe…His eyes flicked to Hermione for just a second. She was still talking animatedly with Katie about the setlist, her face lit up with joy, completely unaware of the way she could shift something in his chest without even trying.Exhaling sharply, he pulled his wand from his coat pocket and flicked it subtly at the bottom of the flyer, copying the contact details of the realtor onto a scrap of parchment. He tucked it into his pocket before anyone could notice.No point in entertaining thoughts he couldn’t afford to have.Instead, he smirked and tapped the concert poster again. “We're going to be there no matter what.”

“Absolutely,” Hermione agreed. “This is going to be our best concert yet.”
Draco hummed in agreement. “And we’ve been to a lot of good concerts.”
They said their goodbyes to Katie and Marcus at the Apparition point—a quiet, dimly lit stretch of cobbled street just off the main road. The glow of old-fashioned street lamps cast long shadows over the worn brick walls of nearby buildings, and the distant sound of laughter and music from the pub still lingered in the crisp night air. A few shops lined the street, their windows dark except for a bakery at the corner, where the faint scent of warm bread drifted through the chill.
With a final wave, Katie and Marcus Disapparated with a sharp crack, leaving Draco and Hermione standing alone beneath the flickering streetlight.
Draco turned to her. “You coming back to mine for a bit?”
She smiled. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
Without another word, she reached for his arm. The cobbled street, the distant hum of nightlife, and the warm scent of baking bread vanished in an instant with the familiar tug at his navel

They landed on the front lawn of Draco’s home in Brighton—an expansive, sleek luxury townhouse in an exclusive wizarding neighborhood. Its dark stone facade gleamed under the street lamps, and tall enchanted windows flickered with warm golden light. A wrought-iron gate led to a neatly kept front garden, where lavender and rosemary lined a winding stone path up to the grand oak door, its carved runes pulsing faintly with protective magic.
A black wrought-iron railing bordered the small front terrace, overlooking the garden. Fairy lights hovered among the branches of well-manicured trees, casting a soft glow over the space. The sharp, modern lines of the townhouse contrasted with the garden’s quiet charm, an effortless blend of elegance and comfort.
The moment they appeared, something inside the house crashed.
Then the sound of tiny feet sprinting at an alarming speed.
The front door slammed open.

“FRAULEIN HERRMIONEEEEEE!”

Stardenburdenhardenbart stood in the doorway, hand over his heart like he had just seen the love of his life return from war. His little sailor suit was pristine, but his chef’s hat had somehow flopped sideways in the chaos.
Behind him, Wurstchen trotted forward with the slow, deliberate confidence of a queen returning to her domain.
"Vot iz ze meaning of zis?" Stardenburdenhardenbart demanded, squinting up at Hermione. "Two whole days?! You leave us for two whole days? I vas on ze brink of madness!"
Draco snorted. "You were making soufflés."
"EXACTLY. Ze most tragic of all baked goods! So delicate! So vulnerable to collapse—like mein heart!"
Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, though her lips twitched. "Hello, Stardenburdenhardenbart. Hello, Wurstchen."
Wurstchen let out a raspy, mrrp, hopped up onto the railing, and promptly fell off the side.
There was a long silence.
Then a muffled mrrruup.
Draco choked on a laugh, while Stardenburdenhardenbart simply nodded solemnly. "Ja, she meant to do zat."
Wurstchen reappeared a moment later, shaking herself off with zero shame. She then trotted straight up to Hermione, gave her an unimpressed look, and casually started climbing her coat like a mountaineer scaling Everest.
"They’ve actually improved quite a bit since those first few times you came back," Draco drawled, smirking as he leaned lazily against the doorframe.
Stardenburdenhardenbart turned his head sharply. “I vill have you know, Mah-ster Drah-koff, zat I haff restrained meinself from ze dramatic monologues of sorrow.”
Hermione ran a hand over Wurstchen’s head, scratching gently. “That is an improvement.”
The elf’s lip wobbled, but he nodded proudly.
She sighed, holding Wurstchen for a moment before gently disentangling herself and setting her back on the ground. “I actually can’t stay long,” she admitted, brushing a curl behind her ear.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Why? It’s not that late.”
“I… actually feel like flying home.”
Draco’s expression changed.
Not confusion. Not skepticism.
Something sharper.
Apprehension.
His grey eyes searched her face as if confirming what he thought she meant. Because even though she had a broom—
She meant something else entirely.
Hermione met his gaze, something unreadable in her expression.
A slow realization settled in Draco’s chest, but he didn’t voice it. Instead, he simply turned, flicked his wrist, and summoned his broom from the stand inside.
Hermione’s brows lifted slightly in surprise.
But then, just for a second, her lips curled. Pleased.
Without another word, a ripple of unnatural blue flames erupted from her skin.
Draco watched as the fire consumed her, shifting into something else—midnight blue skin, enormous black wings, a sleek, powerful form wrapped in something elegant yet inhuman. Her fiery hair whipped around her face, her golden cuffs catching the faint moonlight.
She was terrifying.
She was breathtaking.
For a second, Draco just looked.
Then, with a single, earth-shaking beat of her wings, she shot into the sky, a dark blur against the night.
Draco inhaled sharply.
And then, gripping his broom tightly, he kicked off and tore after her
Draco urged his broom forward, tilting into the wind, but she was already a distant shadow against the sky. Merlin, she’s fast. The last time he’d seen this form, she had been a streak of darkness, a flash of claws—something feral, untouchable. Now, she was still untouchable, but for an entirely different reason.
It took time to catch up.
His broom was one of the best on the market, finely tuned for speed and maneuverability, but compared to her—compared to the way she cut through the air, the way her wings carried her effortlessly through the night—he may as well have been chasing a shooting star.
Then, just as he thought he was gaining on her, she vanished.
Draco slowed, scanning the sky. Nothing. Where—
A rush of wind behind him.
A piercing, unnatural cry.
His entire body seized. Every hair on his arms stood on end. He jerked so violently that his broom nearly pitched him off, wobbling dangerously beneath him. A sharp breath tore from his throat as he twisted around, heart hammering—
And there she was. Too close. Too silent.
Her inhuman face was contorted into something that was—Merlin help him—clearly amusement.
His ego took a hit, and his dignity wasn’t far behind. But—
Draco rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply, but a laugh still escaped him. He hadn't meant to. He really hadn't. But bloody hell, she’d got him. And she knew it.
And, despite himself, he found he didn’t mind. Seeing her like this—thriving, reveling, utterly in her element—was strangely satisfying. Even if it had been at his expense.
She flicked her wings once and took off again, but this time, she wasn’t leaving him behind. She flew slower, leading him forward at a speed he could match. Draco followed her direction, weaving through the open sky. It took a few minutes for the tension in his shoulders to unwind, for his instincts to accept that this was Hermione—not a dangerous creature, not a threat. Just her.
She seemed to sense it.
Her face softened—not entirely human, but something warm flickered in her expression, something close to a smile. Then, without warning, she twisted in the air, circling him in a slow, playful spiral.
Draco smirked. Oh, you want to play?
He darted forward, attempting to cut her off, but she dodged effortlessly, dipping beneath him before rising again in a graceful arc. It became a game—speeding up, slowing down, weaving in and out of each other in the open air. Draco’s heart pounded, but not from fear this time. It was… exhilarating. The wind in his hair, the rush of movement, the way she moved so freely through the sky.
It wasn’t until much later, when the city lights glittered below them, that they both knew it was about time to stop.
She slowed, hovering in front of him. The blue flames of her hair flickered in the wind, her midnight skin glinting under the stars.
Then, to his surprise, she smiled.
A real, actual smile.
Draco blinked.
Something warm curled in his chest.
He opened his mouth to say something—he wasn’t even sure what—but before he could, she folded her wings in and dove.
Draco swore, kicking off after her, already grinning.

She was fast. Too fast. A black and blue blur cutting through the night like a blade. He chased her instinctively, pushing his broom to its limits, but the gap between them didn’t close.
Then, just as he was about to give up and call her a cheating harpy, she suddenly pulled up, twisting into a loop before leveling out in a slow glide.
Draco caught up, panting slightly. “Was that supposed to be impressive?” he drawled, knowing full well it was.
She let out a sound—something between a snort and a low clicking noise—before flicking her wingtip just enough to knock him slightly off balance.
“Oh, rude,” Draco huffed, steadying himself. “You’re full of bad habits in this form, you know that?”
She didn’t answer, but the way her eyes gleamed—bright, knowing, almost smug—was answer enough.
Then, just to spite him, she shot forward again.
Draco growled under his breath and gave chase, matching her movements more easily now. The tension that had once coiled in his chest—the fear that some untamed, dangerous thing lurked beneath her—had melted away. This was Hermione. His Hermione.
They wove through the open sky, twisting and turning in playful near-misses. She would dart ahead and let him think he was catching up before rolling effortlessly over him, forcing Draco to swerve to avoid colliding. He retaliated by feinting to one side and looping around her, causing her to snap her head toward him in mock surprise.
Somewhere between the teasing dives and close calls, he caught the unmistakable sound of her laughter—strange and melodic in this form, but laughter nonetheless.
She was having fun.
And so was he.
Finally, after another exhilarating burst of speed, she slowed, hovering just in front of him. He matched her pace, both of them lingering in the quiet stretch of sky, the chase winding to its inevitable end.
Their breaths evened out, the rush of movement fading into stillness. Neither spoke, but the moment hung between them—a silent understanding that this was where they parted.
Draco watched her, his smirk softening just slightly. Then, in a tone that was both casual and laced with something warmer, he said, “Sweet dreams, feathers. Try not to set anything on fire.”

Her glowing eyes narrowed, but there was no real irritation behind it. If anything, she looked… amused. Maybe even pleased.
Then she dipped her head in a silent farewell and angled herself toward the horizon.
Draco turned his broom, preparing to head back, but something made him glance over his shoulder one last time.
And there she was.
She had turned too.
For a second, they just… looked at each other.
It was brief. A heartbeat, maybe two. But in the faint shimmer of her midnight skin, in the flicker of blue flames licking at the wind, he saw something almost hesitant in her expression. Almost embarrassed to be caught looking back.
Then, as if realizing it herself, she swiftly turned away and shot forward.
Draco exhaled, shaking his head with a smirk.
But before he could even register the moment as truly over—
She burst.
A supernatural explosion of bluebell fire ignited in the sky, swallowing her form as she streaked forward like a comet, tearing through the night, faster than anything Draco had ever seen.
He barely had time to blink before she was gone.
Draco hovered there for a moment longer, watching the last embers of her departure flicker out against the horizon. The night was silent now, save for the wind rushing past his ears, the absence of her presence leaving behind an odd sort of weight in his chest.
He exhaled, raking a hand through his hair.
“Bloody menace,” he muttered, though his lips quirked up at the edges.
With one last glance toward the distant sky where she had disappeared, he turned his broom and headed home.
The night stretched endlessly before him, but something about it felt different. Lighter. Warmer.
Draco found himself looking forward to tomorrow.

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

The soft hum of chatter and the rich scent of roasted coffee beans filled the air of the small Muggle café. Sunlight streamed through the large front window, illuminating the cozy interior and casting golden streaks over the polished wooden tables. The place was lively but not overwhelming, with baristas moving deftly behind the counter and the occasional clatter of cups punctuating the space.Hermione sat tucked away at a corner table, her posture relaxed but her mind anything but. She idly stirred the foam of her cappuccino, watching as it swirled into delicate patterns before settling. A variety of sweet treats sat on the plate in front of her—macarons, a delicate chocolate éclair, and a plump blueberry muffin. She hadn’t even taken a bite yet.She was dressed in a soft, flowing dress, the fabric lightweight and comfortable. Its pale yellow hue complemented her complexion, and embroidered along the hem and bodice were delicate white daisies, adding an almost ethereal touch. She’d paired it with a cropped cardigan, its pearl buttons catching the light, and simple sandals that wrapped around her ankles. It was the kind of outfit that made her feel light, almost carefree—though at the moment, the tight knot in her stomach betrayed any illusion of that.A crisp copy of The Daily Mail sat upright on her table, obscuring what she was truly reading—the Daily Prophet tucked within its folds. An old trick she had perfected over the years, useful whenever she wanted to stay informed without drawing the wrong kind of attention. Her eyes flicked across the pages, revisiting the match she and the Falcons had listened to on the wizarding wireless just the night before. APPLEBY ARROWS STUMBLE IN ROUND ONE KNOCKOUT —BALLYCASTLE BATS CLAIM VICTORY. She frowned, sipping her cappuccino as she skimmed through the match details, searching for anything she might have missed. The Bats had played aggressively, capitalizing on the Arrows’ weak defense. Their Seeker, Darragh Doherty, had outmaneuvered his opponent in a breathtaking aerial display, snatching the Snitch just minutes before the Arrows’ Chasers could close the scoring gap. The wireless had painted an exciting picture, but the Prophet gave her more—the specific breakdown of fouls, the subtle shifts in defensive strategies. She mentally filed away observations, already considering what this meant for the Falcons. They’d be facing the Bats eventually, and if last night’s performance was any indication, they’d be ruthless.Turning the page, she wished she hadn’t. Her stomach clenched as she took in the bold headline: INSIDE SOURCE CONFIRMS VIKTOR KRUM'S INFIDELITY—QUIDDITCH STAR ADMITS TO CHEATING BEFORE DIVORCE. Her grip on the paper tightened. The article spun the story with practiced ease, painting her as the betrayed wife, the heartbroken victim. Some anonymous source had claimed that Viktor himself had admitted to the affair, confirming what had long been rumored. Sympathy for Hermione dripped from every paragraph, while Viktor was cast as a remorseful but unfaithful husband.She exhaled slowly, setting the paper down. It was a lie but she wasn’t going to correct them. Viktor wanted to do this. Maybe, in some way, he needed to. If this gave him a way to ease his guilt, who was she to take that from him?The door chimed, drawing Hermione’s attention just as two familiar figures stepped inside. Blaise Zabini and Luna Lovegood moved through the café with a presence that turned heads, though for entirely different reasons.Luna entered first, looking distracted as she glanced toward the window. Her gaze followed something outside, her expression one of mild curiosity. Blaise followed right behind her, effortlessly drawing attention. Two women at a nearby table practically melted into their seats, eyes locked on Blaise with undisguised admiration. One whispered something to the other, giggling behind her hand. Blaise, however, was oblivious. His gaze was soft, but it wasn’t directed at them—it was on Luna. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched her.Luna suddenly turned, her eyes landing on Hermione. Her face brightened. “Hermione!” she greeted, her voice light with genuine delight.Hermione smiled back, but before she could say anything, Luna’s gaze drifted over Hermione’s outfit, her expression softening. “I love your dress,” she said, reaching out to lightly touch the embroidered daisies. “Daisies are friendly flowers, you know.”Something in Hermione’s heart clenched at those words. Friendly flowers. Her father used to say that. The memory threatened to surface, but she shoved it back, pressing a small smile onto her lips. “Thank you, Luna.”Luna then added, “There’s a rather disgruntled Kneazle outside. He seems to think this café belongs to him.”Blaise huffed a small laugh before sliding into the seat beside her. “Territorial little things.”Luna took the seat across from Hermione, still beaming.Meanwhile, Blaise had zeroed in on the plate of pastries in front of her. More specifically, the untouched blueberry muffin. His expression shifted instantly, and he sat up straighter, his full attention now locked onto the baked good as if it were a rare and precious artifact.Hermione caught the intensity of his stare and bit back a laugh. “Go on, help yourself.”Blaise didn’t need to be told twice. He plucked the muffin from the plate with the satisfaction of a man who had just won a hard-fought battle. “These always run out first,” he murmured reverently, peeling back the wrapper.Luna rested her chin on her hand, watching him with amusement. “You know, Hermione, he loves blueberry muffins so much that I once had to treat someone he punched in a fight over one.”Hermione blinked. “Wait. What?”Blaise, completely unbothered, took a bite of his muffin and gave a lazy shrug. “He tried to take the last one.”Luna sighed dreamily. “It was quite the scuffle. I had to heal a rather nasty bruise on Blaise afterward too. He was very sorry.”“Mostly,” Blaise said around another bite, sounding perfectly content.Hermione shook her head with a slight chuckle, but the warmth of the moment faded when Blaise wiped his fingers and subtly cast a Notice-Me-Not charm around their table. Luna followed with a discreet Muffliato, sealing their conversation away from any curious ears.Blaise leaned forward, his voice low. “You were right to have these meetings away from St. Mungo’s.”The shift in tone was immediate, the weight of his words pressing down on the table like a storm cloud. Hermione’s stomach tightened. “Why?”Luna lowered her voice. “We’ve found signs that someone is tampering with patient files.”A cold knot formed in Hermione’s chest. “Mine?”Blaise gave a single, sharp nod. “Yes.”Hermione inhaled slowly, setting her cup down with deliberate care. “Do you know who?”“We don’t,” Luna admitted. “Not yet. But we’re looking into it.”Hermione’s mind immediately jumped to the most obvious suspect. “Cormac?”Blaise exchanged a glance with Luna before shaking his head. “Maybe. But we can’t confirm anything yet.”Luna tilted her head. “Have you found out anything more about his blackmail? Has he made his demands?”Hermione sighed. “No, not yet. But I'm sure I know why he’s doing this.”Blaise arched a brow. “Go on.”She pursed her lips. “When I worked at the Ministry a few years ago, I got him fired. He was corrupt—he abused his position, took bribes, manipulated records. I exposed him, and he lost everything. If he’s behind this, it’s pure revenge. And if he’s tampering with files, it means he still has some shady connections.”Blaise’s jaw tightened. “That would explain a lot.”“How bad is it?” she asked, keeping her voice steady.Blaise hesitated. “We’re not sure yet. But bad enough that we need to be careful.”Luna reached across the table, her hands warm over Hermione’s. “We’ll figure it out. You’re not alone in this.”Hermione nodded, exhaling slowly. “I know.”Blaise leaned forward again, his composure shifting from cautious to utterly serious. “That’s not the only thing we need to talk about. We have the results from your last blood test.”Hermione’s stomach dropped for the second time in as many minutes. Her grip on her cup tightened, but she kept her face unreadable. “And?”Blaise exchanged another look with Luna before continuing. “You’ve formed a strong tether to Draco. That’s good. But at the rate your curse is progressing, you need to start making arrangements to form a mate bond with him.” His voice was measured, careful, but the weight of his words was undeniable. “You have less than three months before you lose control.”Hermione’s breath hitched. Her grip on her cup tightened even more. “What? That soon? I haven’t even noticed any signs of it accelerating.”Luna turned to Blaise and gave him a quiet look. He sighed, then stood. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”Once he was gone Luna studied her with knowing eyes. “You love Draco.”Hermione blinked, caught off guard. “What? Why are you bringing that up?”Luna tilted her head, considering. “You liked him before Viktor, didn’t you?”Hermione stiffened. “How did you know?”Luna smiled, serene as ever. “It was obvious when you and Draco became close friends. You watched him like he was something rare and beautiful—like a book you were afraid to touch because it was too precious.”Hermione swallowed hard. “I didn’t think anyone noticed. He was set on his engagement to Astoria. It felt pointless and I tried to hide it.”Luna’s gaze softened. “People don’t usually notice what they’re not looking for. But I’ve always seen you, Hermione.” She set her cup down, folding her hands together. “And that’s the reason I know why your curse is progressing faster than it should.”Hermione’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”“A Velkrine mate bond isn’t just about survival—it’s about balance,” Luna explained. “Tethering was only the first step. Right now, you’re holding onto a rope—it keeps you from drifting too far, but it isn’t strong enough to withstand the pull of dark magic forever. The bond isn’t complete, and your magic knows it.“As you fight to remain yourself, you need a mate for balance. Your magic will always reach for that person. It chose Draco, Hermione. And now, your love for him is making it reach harder—but without the bond, it can’t hold on the way it needs to. That strain is wearing you down, slowly lowering your defenses against the curse.“The tether is still helping. Without it, the curse would be advancing unchecked. But right now, it’s slowing less than it should. A completed mate bond isn’t just a rope—it’s a chain and anchor, something unshakable that can hold through any storm. And that’s what your magic is desperate for. It would steady you, quiet the pull, and finally let your magic do what it’s meant to do: protect you.”Luna’s voice was calm, but her expression was troubled. “You need to form the mate bond with him, Hermione. The sooner, the better.”Hermione exhaled, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. If I force the bond, it could seriously hurt Draco.” Her voice wavered before strengthening. “Everything changed when we got married—both of us. And when I came back, things were... awkward. Having him back in my life after everything that happened means everything to me, I won’t ruin it. I know he loves me enough to do this for me, but he doesn’t love me the way the bond needs him to. If my magic is getting darker, more unstable... If I force this, it could break him. I could hurt him mentally, wreck his magic, and cause him unbearable pain. I have to find another solution.”Luna was quiet for a moment before reaching out to squeeze Hermione’s hand. “Then we’ll look for another way,” she said gently. “I’ll help you research.”Hermione let out a breath of relief, but before she could speak, Luna continued, her voice softer but certain. “But you should still talk to Draco.”Hermione hesitated. She didn’t agree. Not really. But she simply took a sip of her drink and hoped Luna hadn’t noticed.

A couple of nights after their night out at the Cornish Bank, Hermione had told Draco everything about Cormac McLaggen.Seated across from him in their shared mental sanctuary, an endless space that had slowly evolved under their influence into a warm French country-style lounge, she confessed the truth about McLaggen. The dream-space was awash in muted sunlight filtering through tall windows, the cream-colored armchairs arranged in cozy conversation clusters, and soft throw blankets draped over a rustic wooden bench by the hearth. The familiarity of the setting soothed the rawness of her words.Draco had listened in tense silence, his grey eyes dark with restrained anger. When she finished, he leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “So he’s doing this out of spite,” he mused, voice edged with barely-contained fury. “Just to see you squirm.”“Yes,” Hermione admitted, her fingers twisting in her lap. “I don’t know what his endgame is, but he wants me under his thumb.”Draco had exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “We’re not letting that happen.”She had smiled at his certainty. “We?”His lips curled into a smirk. “Of course. You don’t think I’m going to sit back and watch, do you? I have standards, Hermione. And I’m particularly fond of revenge.”The warmth of their conversation had lingered, easing the heavy knots of anxiety in her chest. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Draco had changed the subject. “By the way, I’m house hunting now.”Hermione had blinked. “What?”He had chuckled, stretching out on the plush sofa. “I’ve decided it’s time to move house. And I want you to come looking with me.”She had stared at him in confusion, tilting her head. “Why?”Draco had shrugged, but there was a rare vulnerability in his voice when he spoke. “Because I know you have good taste in interior decor, and I want you to like my home.” He met her gaze, holding it with a quiet sincerity. “Because I want you there as much as possible.”Hermione’s stomach had fluttered at the admission, but she rolled her eyes, keeping her tone light. “As long as it's not a mansion, Draco.”“I know,” he had said with a mock sigh. “But we’re going to view a few first anyway. Just to scratch them off the list.”She had laughed at that, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”“And yet, you keep showing up,” he had teased, his smirk widening.The dream had faded soon after, but the conversation lingered in Hermione’s mind long after she woke. A month ago, they had discovered something new: their mental common room only existed when they were apart. The first night they had fallen asleep together since Hermione had been cursed—when exhaustion and necessity had drawn them to hold onto each other—they hadn’t dreamed at all. Whatever magic tethered their minds only pulled tight when they were separated.And somehow, that fact comforted her. It meant that what bound them wasn’t just the curse—it was something more, something that let them rest in each other’s presence, unburdened and whole.

The grand estate sprawled before them, a sprawling marvel of polished stone and arched windows that gleamed in the afternoon sun. The manor was positioned atop a rolling green hill, its manicured gardens spilling down toward the Cornish coast. A wide, circular driveway led to an entrance framed by towering white columns, the double doors a dark, rich mahogany that exuded old-money grandeur.The realtor—a sharp-featured man in a neatly pressed suit—stepped aside with a professional smile, gesturing for them to enter. “Shall we begin the tour?”Hermione glanced at Draco, who acknowledged the man with a nod. She knew he had gotten the idea to move when he found a real estate advertisement two weeks ago, pinned to a notice board outside the Cornish bank, and had contacted the realtor on a whim. A Muggle house was an unusual choice for him, but she suspected he was intrigued by the anonymity it offered, the separation from his past.
Stepping inside, Hermione took in the sheer grandeur of the place. The marble floors gleamed under a dazzling chandelier, its cascading crystal formations refracting the golden light spilling through floor-to-ceiling windows. The entire space was infused with the scent of polished wood and the distant, salty tang of the sea.Draco strolled forward, hands in his pockets, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “Not bad.”Hermione rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t deny that the house was breathtaking. “Understatement of the century,” she murmured.Draco glanced at her. “Alright, Hermione, let’s hear it. What do you think of the place?”Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You actually want my opinion?”“Yes, obviously.” He gestured around. “I did say I wanted you to visit often, didn’t I?”She studied him for a moment before turning her attention back to their surroundings. “It’s stunning, but it feels… grand for the sake of being grand. The kind of place that wants to impress people rather than feel like a home.”Draco hummed thoughtfully. “Noted.”The realtor launched into a well-rehearsed speech about the history of the estate, the restoration efforts, and the high-end security features. But Hermione and Draco had already begun to wander on their own, leaving him to hurriedly catch up as they meandered through the vast rooms.It was in one of the sitting rooms that Draco came to an abrupt halt. Hermione followed his gaze to an ornate, gilded birdcage perched on an ebony pedestal near the window. The intricate gold bars curved elegantly, forming an opulent dome, while inside, a velvet-lined perch remained suspiciously empty. The door of the cage was wide open.Draco tilted his head. “Why is that birdcage open?” He glanced around as though expecting an answer. “Where did the bird go? Is the bird okay?” He turned toward her, feigning seriousness. “Do I get a little discount because the bird is missing?”Hermione pressed her fingers to her lips to suppress a laugh. “I’m sure the bird is fine, Draco.”His eyes narrowed. “It better be.”As they moved deeper into the manor, Hermione began to notice a pattern. A painting of a regal phoenix adorned one wall, its crimson and gold feathers practically shimmering. A bronze statuette of an owl was perched atop a reading desk. There was even a tapestry depicting ravens in flight. Everywhere she looked—birds.Draco slowed beside her, his gaze flicking from a carved falcon atop the fireplace mantel to an embroidered cushion featuring tiny wrens. “There sure are a lot of birds around here…” He turned to her, brows raised in amusement.At the same moment, she remarked, “The owner—”“—is a cat,” Draco finished smugly.Hermione scoffed. “Loves birds,” she corrected, shaking her head at him.Draco smirked, leaning against the doorway. “A cat can’t own a house, Hermione.”“That’s not what I—” She sighed, exasperated. “That’s ridiculous.”He merely shrugged, grinning. “That’s why it’s selling it.”Hermione rolled her eyes and continued forward.They found themselves in what had to be the most extravagant home theater Hermione had ever seen. The walls were lined with plush, dark velvet, and the ceiling had been designed to resemble a starry night sky. But what truly caught her attention were the oversized beds—massive, luxurious, and arranged like an open slumber party rather than traditional seating.She folded her arms. “That is… highly impractical.”Draco’s gaze swept over the setup before a slow smirk curled his lips. “I disagree. Picture it: all my friends, watching a film, getting cozy. By the end, everyone’s spooning.” He turned to her, his smirk widening. “Kind of like the last three times you stayed over.”Hermione’s mouth fell open. “I do not spoon you.”“Oh, you absolutely do,” Draco drawled, clearly enjoying her flustered expression. “One might even say you cling.”Hermione swatted his arm. “I do not cling!”Draco laughed, reaching to pull her into a brief, teasing hug. “It’s alright, Hermione. I am, admittedly, quite comfortable.”She shoved him away with a huff, her face slightly pink. “Unbelievable.”Draco’s eyes gleamed mischievously as he cast another look at the beds. “You know,” he began, tone casual, “a setup like this could be perfect for a—”“No,” Hermione cut in sharply, already anticipating where he was going.He grinned. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”She raised a brow. “It was something entirely inappropriate.”Draco pressed a hand to his heart in mock offense. “Hermione, please. I was merely going to suggest a cozy group nap.”Hermione gave him a pointed look.“Fine,” he conceded. “An orgy.”“Draco!”He laughed at her scandalized expression and held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to hex me.”The tour concluded as they stepped onto the back terrace, the expansive gardens stretching before them. Just as Hermione turned to comment on the breathtaking view, a sudden blur of feathers erupted from a nearby decorative urn.A flurry of wings, a sharp squawk, and then—chaos.The missing bird, very much alive, launched itself straight at Draco with the ferocity of a tiny, feathery demon. He let out a very undignified yelp, stumbling backward as the creature flapped wildly around his head. “Hermione! Do something!” he shouted, ducking as the bird dive-bombed him again. “Tell it to stop!”Hermione, doubled over laughing, could barely get the words out. “I can’t—speak—bird!” she gasped between wheezes.Draco dodged left, then right, swatting at the air as the bird continued its assault. “Well, you turn into one, don’t you?” he shot back, his voice a mixture of desperation and outrage.Hermione wiped at her eyes, still giggling. “That’s not how it works!”The bird, seemingly satisfied with its reign of terror, finally flapped off toward the trees. Draco straightened, scowling as he adjusted his now-rumpled clothes. “I changed my mind. I don’t want this house.”Hermione snorted. “You’re being dramatic.”He exhaled sharply, then turned to her with narrowed eyes. “You are not telling Blaise or Luna about this.”Hermione bit her lip, struggling to keep a straight face. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”Draco eyed her suspiciously. “Liar.”
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆✨⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The next house loomed before them like something straight out of a crime thriller—an imposing, modern mansion with stark white walls, massive glass windows, and a driveway long enough to host a full Quidditch pitch. The sprawling grounds stretched endlessly, the ocean glimmering in the distance.Hermione squinted at it. “I think I saw this place in a documentary about a smuggling ring.”Draco turned to her, unimpressed. “A successful smuggling ring?”“Oh, extremely successful,” she confirmed. “Right up until the part where the police raided the place.”Draco hummed in consideration. “Well, as long as they cleaned up the evidence.”A new estate agent, a perpetually smiling woman in a crisp navy suit, ushered them inside. The foyer was cavernous, with ceilings high enough that they might as well have been standing in the atrium of a museum. The floors gleamed, the air smelled faintly of expensive cologne, and everything was so pristine that Hermione felt as if touching anything would result in an instant fine.“The grounds are extensive,” the realtor informed them as they walked further in. “Perfect for outdoor entertaining.”Hermione peered out at the vast expanse of land. “You’d need to fly just to get from one end to the other.”“Good thing we’re Quidditch players,” Draco said, casting Hermione a teasing glance.“Right? And look at all the couches everywhere.” Hermione gestured dramatically at the seating areas scattered along the hallways. “It’s like they knew how exhausting the journey to bed would be. Need a break? Just collapse here for a power nap before continuing the expedition.”Draco smirked. “This place really understands the struggles of the wealthy.”They moved through room after room, each one filled with sleek furniture and towering bookshelves that held exactly zero books of value. Hermione sighed as she picked up another coffee table book titled The Power of Beige.“Ugh.” She flipped through it, her disappointment mounting. “I don’t know what I expected, but I hate it.”Draco plucked one off another table. Minimalism: Living With Nothing, Owning Everything. He gave it a slow blink. “This one is empty.”Hermione gasped in mock horror. “That is so deep.”“Terrifying, really.”They wandered through the house, making their way up the grand staircase, where an enormous window framed a breathtaking view of the ocean. The sun was beginning to set, casting golden hues across the waves. It was undeniably beautiful.Then Hermione noticed something in the reflection of the glass. A small, strange figure sitting by another window, staring out at the same view they were admiring.She frowned. “Draco?”“Hmm?”“Tell me you see that.”Draco followed her gaze. His entire body went still. “What. The. Fuck.”There, perched on the windowsill, was a doll. But not just any doll. It had the body of a soft, plush bunny—floppy ears and all—but instead of normal stuffed animal feet, it had disturbingly realistic, fleshy baby doll legs sticking out at the bottom.They stared at it.It stared at the ocean.Hermione took an instinctive step back. “Why does it have feet?”Draco looked personally offended. “And why are they baby feet?”“This feels illegal.”“Hermione, I think the house is cursed.”Hermione turned to him. “By that?”Draco’s expression was grim. “Obviously. Look at it.”They both turned back to the doll. It remained motionless, its tiny, grotesque baby feet pointed straight down like it had been caught mid-thought about its next move.“What if it’s watching the ocean because it’s waiting for something?” Hermione mused.Draco’s eyes widened. “What if it’s waiting for its master to return?”Hermione shuddered. “What if the last owner never actually left?”“What if the doll is the last owner?”They locked eyes.“Nope,” Draco announced, already turning on his heel. “We’re leaving.”Hermione didn’t argue. She followed him swiftly down the hall, throwing one last glance over her shoulder. The doll remained at the window, but she could have sworn it had shifted slightly to the left.As they hurried through the house, another unsettling detail emerged. A door at the end of the corridor creaked open—slowly, dramatically, as if beckoning them. Faint whispers curled through the air, unintelligible yet insistent, the temperature plummeting.Draco grabbed her arm. “Absolutely not.”“You don’t even want to see what’s inside?” she asked, despite every fiber of her being screaming don’t see what’s inside.“No, because whatever is inside definitely wants to see us.”Hermione hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Right. Time to go.”They practically speed-walked back to the front entrance, past the confused realtor.“Leaving so soon?” she asked pleasantly. “What did you think?”Draco didn’t slow down. “It’s a no.”“Yeah, big no,” Hermione echoed as she pushed open the front door.“Would you like to see the guest houses? They’re quite—”“No!” they both called over their shoulders before striding out to the car.As the mansion disappeared behind them, Hermione finally exhaled. “That place had Dark magic all over it.”Draco shuddered. “I am never stepping foot there again.”Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out a small notepad, scribbling something down.“What are you doing?” Draco asked warily.“Notifying Harry. That place needs curse-breakers. And a good old-fashioned Muggle exorcism for good measure.”
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The final house of the day was a sprawling, ominous estate that looked like it had been preserved in a time capsule from the 1940s. The mansion had once belonged to Field Marshal Reginald Beauregard Ashworth III and was now owned by his son, the equally pretentious Maximilian Reginald Ashworth IV. The property was enormous, but rather than the rolling gardens and pristine landscaping of the previous homes, this one had something far more unique—cannons. Actual, aged cannons lined the front lawn, standing guard like relics of an era long past. Various wartime memorabilia were scattered across the grounds, giving the entire place an air of a particularly aggressive museum.Draco eyed a rusted artillery piece near the entrance. “I assume these are just for show?”Hermione gave a small smile. “One would hope.”Their realtor lingered at the entrance, allowing the estate’s butler to take over the tour. He was tall, gaunt, and wore an expression of permanent disapproval. His uniform was immaculate, though it somehow made him look more like a funeral director than household staff. His gaze flicked to Hermione first, raking over her with a brief but unmistakable look of condescension before shifting to Draco. He gave a curt nod.“Sir, I will be conducting your tour today.”Draco’s polite nod was clipped, his fingers drumming once against his thigh before stilling.“Of course.” His tone remained civil, but his gaze lingered on the butler for a fraction too long—clearly annoyed. He exchanged a glance with Hermione, who kept her expression carefully neutral despite the snub.The moment they crossed the threshold, the scent of aged paper and antique wood filled the air. The walls were lined with dark paneling, and the decor consisted mostly of oil paintings and furniture that had clearly been treasured for generations. Everything had the appearance of being expensive once, though time had left its mark.Hermione glanced around thoughtfully. “It certainly has a strong historical presence.”The butler made a quiet noise of disapproval. “Some prefer modernity over legacy.” His tone was clipped, his words just vague enough to remain technically polite.Draco’s brow lifted, but before he could respond, Hermione simply said, “I think a well-maintained estate carries a certain charm.”The butler didn’t acknowledge her words, instead turning on his heel and continuing the tour.As they walked through the dimly lit corridors, Hermione found herself comparing it to Malfoy Manor. That, at least, had a sense of elegance. Yes, it was just as old—older, even—but the difference was in how it had been maintained. Malfoy Manor had an air of refinement, a place where wealth and class had been carefully curated over centuries. This? This was just decayed grandeur clinging to the past, hoping no one would notice how out of place it had become.The hallways were lined with statues—looming, solemn figures that seemed to watch them as they walked by. One corridor, that they had slipped away to, had black and white checkered tiles, resembling a chessboard.Draco paused, staring down at the floor before glancing at the statues. “I think I would enjoy playing wizard’s chess in here.”Hermione gave him a wary look. “Draco, no.”Draco grinned, stepping onto a white tile and gesturing grandly at a statue. “Black rook to white butler—stab him for real, please.”Hermione pressed her lips together, looking as though she wanted to scold him. Instead, a tiny, pleased smile tugged at her mouth. “I can’t condone that. But I
can
appreciate it.”Draco gave a mock bow. “That’s all I ask.”They continued the tour, eventually making their way outside to the vast grounds. The view was spectacular, and the estate was positioned perfectly along the water. But what caught Hermione’s attention were the cannons aimed directly at another mansion across the bay.She elbowed Draco. '"Do you think the last owners engaged in long-distance warfare with their neighbors?"Draco folded his arms, studying the alignment of the weapons. "Given the demographic of people who live in places like this, I’d wager it was less ‘warfare’ and more ‘passive-aggressive skirmishes.’'Hermione nodded sagely. "Arguments about hedge heights, whose gardener is the best, whether Winston Churchill was too progressive."Draco smirked. "A cannonball to the porch says you’re wrong."The butler, who had been growing visibly impatient, cleared his throat. “If you are ready, I will now show you the communal tennis court.”They followed him down a stone path until they reached a well-maintained, though rather understated, tennis court.Draco observed it with mild curiosity before glancing at Hermione. “So let me get this straight.” He gestured toward the house. “For—what is it? Ten million pounds?”The butler’s lip curled slightly. “Fourteen million.”Draco gave a thoughtful nod. “Fourteen million pounds, and the tennis court is shared?”The butler’s nostrils flared ever so slightly. “Sir, this is a prestigious estate. Its value is not measured in its amenities but in its history and standing.”Draco nodded, his tone polite. “An interesting approach.”Hermione, sensing the conversation had run its course, glanced at the butler with measured interest. “Shall we see the rest of the property?”As they turned to leave, the butler suddenly stopped and fixed Hermione with a sharp glare. “One must wonder,” he said with a sneer, “why she is even here. The lady is clearly out of place.”Draco froze.Hermione felt it before she saw it—the shift in his demeanor, the sudden drop in temperature between them. When he turned to the butler, his expression was cold, sharp, and
lethal.“I beg your pardon?” Draco’s voice was low, dangerous.The butler didn’t back down. “This estate is not suited for—”“Enough.” Draco cut him off, his voice sharp as a knife. “I would rather drain my bank account than spend a single penny on this moth-eaten doily of a house.” He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his gaze locked onto the butler with icy disdain. “And if I
were
interested in this glorified museum of dust and regret, I’d
still
walk away simply because
you
came with it.”The butler paled.Hermione, who had been ready to unleash her own scathing remark, found herself momentarily stunned.Draco turned on his heel and strode toward the exit. “Let's go, Hermione. I think I saw a modern civilization on the way here.”As they walked out, Draco sighed. “You know, Stardenburdenhardenbart begged to come along.”Hermione groaned. “Did he try to disguise himself again?”Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. Into something that resembled what I assume my child would look like. It was deeply unsettling.”Hermione covered her mouth, eyes shining with amusement. “Why?”“Well, for starters, he was dressed in full lederhosen,” Draco said, visibly disturbed. “He said it would ‘establish his authority’ while he judged the kitchens.”Hermione completely lost it. “Lederhosen?”Draco scowled. “And he had a tiny satchel. Like a business satchel.”Hermione was doubled over laughing. “So your hypothetical child would be a tiny Bavarian businessman?”“Apparently.”Hermione wiped her eyes, still giggling. “Did he at least try to tone down his accent?”Draco gave her a flat look. “No. If anything, he doubled down. Told me, and I quote, ‘I vill not be taken seriously as a kitchenz inspector if I do not haff ze proper attire!’”Hermione clutched her stomach, wheezing. “The lederhosen is what makes or breaks it, of course.”Draco sighed. “Oh, and he wanted to bring a clipboard. To ‘ensure everyzing is up to code.’”Hermione nearly collapsed against him. “Honestly, the butler should be grateful he never got his wish.”Draco smirked. “Oh, he would have been eviscerated.”Hermione looped her arm through his. “You didn’t even get the butler stabbed.”Draco sniffed. “I am nothing if not skilled in righteous indignation.”She patted his arm. “A missed opportunity, truly.”Draco sighed dramatically. “If anyone was going to do the stabbing, it would have been Stardenburdenhardenbart.”Hermione gave him a questioning look, and Draco continued, voice completely deadpan. “And let’s be honest—if he had known about the butler, it vould haff been ‘a matter of personal duty and honor.’”Hermione snorted. “I can practically hear him now—‘Ze arrogance! Ze disgrace! You haff ze sophistication of a damp potato, ze charm of overcooked cabbage, ze presence of a half-baked strudel, and ze personality of stale toast!'"Draco nodded sagely. “He vould haff stormed in demanding to see ‘ze owner of zis sorry excuse for an estate.’”Hermione shook her head. “And then?”Draco’s expression turned grave. “And then he vould haff spotted ze cannons.”Hermione gasped theatrically. “Oh no.”Draco sighed. “He vould haff placed a hand over his heart and solemnly declared, ‘I haff trained my whole life for zis moment.’”Hermione wiped away a tear of laughter. “So you’re saying if Stardenburdenhardenbart had come, we’d currently be making a swift and undignified exit?”Draco exhaled dramatically. “At best.”Hermione nodded. “At worst, he’d have taken over the estate and declared himself 'Lord Stardenburdenhardenbart, Meister der Schnitzel und Herr von Ashworth Manor.’”Draco opened the car door for her. “A true loss for wizarding history.”Hermione laughed as they climbed into the car, leaving the estate—and its insufferable occupants—behind them for good.